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He opened his mouth for a moment, and I thought he was going to give me a smartass retort, but he didn’t. He sighed instead and ran his fingers through his hair, sagging a little.
“You’re right. Your attitude is shit, but so was my behavior.” He let go of the lawnmower and closed the distance between us, leaving barely six inches between the tips of our toes.
I wanted to crumble and step back, but I didn’t. I steeled myself, raised my chin, and looked him dead in the eye.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly. So softly that there was no denying the honesty behind his words. “If I could go back, I would have called you, if only to say goodbye properly. If I ever thought I’d hurt you by not doing it, I never would have ignored you.”
“How could you think it wouldn’t hurt me?”
“Because.” He took a deep breath through his full lips, and he reached forward, pushing some of my damp hair away from my face. His fingers lingered against my cheek, just brushing my skin. “You always told me you didn’t feel anything for me, just like I told you the same thing.”
I swallowed, tilting my head to look away.
He caught my chin in his hand and forced me to meet his eyes. “I guess we were both lying, Imogen.”
I stepped back, away from his touch that seemed to brand itself on my skin. “Guess we were. Still doesn’t change anything now.” I glanced back at the house where Maya was. “We’re different people with different lives now.”
He nodded, darting his own gaze in the same direction. Without another word, he turned and went back to the lawnmower.
I let myself into the shed and grabbed the secateurs, then stopped. There was a small open box of water balloons where I’d made too many yesterday, and a quick glance over my shoulder at Mason confirmed that he was within throwing range.
So I did what any self-respecting woman would do.
I threw it.
I hit him square in the back. The balloon exploded, covering him in cold water.
He froze, and the mower stopped running when he drew his shoulders back, showing every dip and curve of his back muscles.
Ugh. That was karma.
Slowly, he looked back at me over his shoulder. His lips quirked up into what could only be described as a half-smile, half-smirk. “Thanks. That helped.”
I gave him a flat stare.
“That backfired, didn’t it?”
“Shut up.” I huffed, tugging the shed door closed behind me.
“Does that mean we’re friends now?” Mason called as I stalked off toward the front yard.
“In your dreams!” I yelled right back, not even bothering to turn and look at him.
“I know what I’m doing tonight, then!”
My steps faltered, my mouth dropping open. I jerked around to glare at him for that, but he was already starting the mower again, not so much as glancing in my direction.
With another huff, I spun back around and walked to the front, out of his sight.
Where he was out of mine, too.
I dropped to the grass in front of the bush I no longer wanted to prune.
Friends?
Could he and I ever be friends? Like real ones? Not the kind of friends where you pretend you’re friends but you’re only really civil to each other, but actual friends.
Was that possible?
I ran my thumb over the edge of a rich, green leaf.
I didn’t know.
The truth was, I didn’t think Mason Black was the kind of person I could be friends with.
Not if I wanted to keep hold of my heart.
***
“You have to stop.”
Grandma looked up from her book, peering over the rim of her scarlet glasses. “Stop what?”
“Whatever it is you’re doing with Mason, stop it.”
“I needed the grass cutting. He was available.”
“No, he wasn’t. He had Maya, and I could have cut the grass. You knew I wasn’t working today because Hannah needs the hours.” I sat on the chair opposite her. “You’re trying to do something, and I don’t like it.”
“Immy, it might surprise you learn this, but I’m going to say it anyway. The world does not revolve around you.”
Ironic, coming from the woman who believed the world should and did revolve around her.
“I know that. Do you?”
“My world revolves around me. It’s not up to me to make sure anyone else’s does.” She shrugged, replacing her bookmark. “Yours revolves around me because you’re too nice to tell me to piss off.”
I sighed, slumping back against the plush cushions. “You’re my grandmother, and despite all your irritating eccentricities, I do actually love you. It’s my job to look after you.”
“I don’t need looking after.”
“Yes, you do. The last time I left you unsupervised for book club, you all ended up being given a police warning about flashing your bloomers.”
“I don’t need looking after,” she repeated. “Back in my day—”
“You couldn’t flash an ankle for fear of being called a slut,” I reminded her. “It has never been acceptable to flash your bloomers in public.”
