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Gasps filled the room, and almost immediately, the momentary silence was filled with the sound of their tittering. They broke into arguments about what fillings the pie should be; cherry or apple, if you please. Lil wanted to know how the cake should be iced; sugar icing or buttercream. Kathleen asked whether her muffins should be blueberry or chocolate, and Grandma wondered how many sprinkles to put on the cupcakes.
I pushed my canvas across the table and dropped my forehead to the cold, paint-coated surface.
Dear God.
Nothing would stop them now.
CHAPTER THREE – MASON
Sweet Tea Shenanigans
“Fuck.” I jerked out of the way in time to stop the box cutter slicing my finger open. I had ten thousand boxes to unpack and a sliced finger wasn’t going to help me on my mission.
It would be about as helpful as my three-year-old had been the last two days.
Thankfully, I’d managed to send her back to her mom’s house with the pinkie promise that I’d paint her room next week with all the free time I didn’t have.
I tipped the box I’d just emptied upside down and retrieved the box cutter from the floor before I stepped on it and took off my toe, then sliced down the tape so I could collapse the box.
Honestly. I didn’t care if you were a fucking ballerina—moving house made everyone useless, clumsy messes.
It didn’t help that I wasn’t exactly fully thinking about what I was doing.
No. I had one too many brain cells focused on my new neighbor.
Imogen Anderson. The woman I’d almost fallen in love with in college. I said almost because I’d never let myself go the whole way. I knew it wouldn’t work. We’d spent so long making sure that we were only casual that there was no way I could ever admit I had real feelings for her.
Did I regret it? Sure. I wish I’d told her before I’d graduated that I liked her as much as I did—then maybe she’d understand why I never called her.
On the other hand, if I’d told her, there was every chance I wouldn’t have Maya.
And I’d pick my daughter over everything else.
Although, there were a few months where sleep almost edged her out.
Almost.
Sometimes, it kinda did.
I was only human. Humans liked sleep. Humans needed sleep.
Except toddlers. Apparently, toddlers were the exception to the rule. Those little monsters didn’t need anything except snacks, constant attention, and milk.
Like cats.
Huh. Toddlers were secretly cats.
That made so much sense.
I was pretty sure I’d seen Maya climb on top of a bookshelf once. Not a two-shelf thing, but one of those towering monstrosities that was almost ceiling-height.
God only knew how she’d gotten both up and down there without killing either her or me.
I pulled the curtains from the box marked ‘IV OO,’ which was Maya’s way of helping label the boxes. It was a good thing I spoke three-year-old because reading it was a little like reading Welsh; some people could understand it, but to everyone else, it was just a bunch of letters in an inexplicable order.
Reaching up to the pole I’d secured to the wall this morning, I secured the curtains onto it and turned the little screws that fixed the pole to the fittings. And I paused.
This window looked out onto both my front yard and Imogen’s, and my position gave me a view of an elderly woman hobbling across my grass with a basket of something clutched tightly to her.
I didn’t know who she was, but I was going to make an educated guess and assume she was Imogen’s grandmother. They had the same nose that turned up a little at the tip.
Right on cue, three surprisingly forceful knocks rattled my door a minute later. I left the curtains where they were hanging a little wonky and headed for the door. The second I opened it, I was greeted to the sight of the woman I’d seen shuffling along my grass, but the black wrap she’d been wearing had opened to reveal a bright red cardigan and startling yellow skirt.
Yeah, she was Imogen’s grandmother. There was no doubting where my old flame got her personality. If her grandma was half as flamboyant as her clothing…
“You used to sleep with my granddaughter. I brought you muffins.” She thrust the basket at me and invited herself in, pushing past me before I could even think about choking out a response.
Choke was exactly what I did. On my own damn spit.
I pushed the door shut and followed her through to the box-strewn living room. “That’s the first way anyone’s ever said hello like that.”
She stopped, looking me up and down. “Well? You did, didn’t you?”
Swallowing, I put the basket down and held out my hand. “Mason Black, ma’am. You must be Imogen’s grandmother.”
“I suppose I must be. I’m Jennifer, but you can call me Jen.” She sighed, putting her hand in mine and shaking it like she was interviewing me for a job. “And I know who you are. I read her journal.”
