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I do a quick inventory of my emotions. But the panic and fear are gone. All that remains is my need to see Mason again, to be with him as much as I can.
Finally, I nod. “I’m okay. I’m sorry I freaked out.”
He smiles at me and I lift my hand in a small wave before I walk to my car. If this is how we can deal with things going wrong—if this is how he helps me keep it together when I’m falling apart—I’m going to be more than just okay.
Chapter 19
Mason
I didn’t think things could be as good as they are. And I think I’m in love. I didn’t think I wouldeversay that again.
But Natalie is different than any woman I’ve met before, and she sure as shit isn’t anything like my ex. Nicole wasn’t only out for personal gain; she was a bitch who didn’t care about me at all. It’s because of her attitude toward our relationship that I didn’t want to date for this long.
But Natalie makes me see things differently. When I’m with her, I’m happy. And when I’m not with her, I’m trying to figure out how I can be with her again.
Our relationship feels perfect right now. But we still have some big things to figure out. One of which is Kylie.
Natalie asked me for time. I’m more than willing to give it to her—she wants to find out if we work before she brings Kylie into the mix and in my eyes, that makes her a good parent. I’m not planning on going anywhere, but she wants to protect her daughter, and Kylie should come first no matter what.
It might not be right away, but eventually, I’m going to meet Natalie’s daughter.
And I have no idea how to do that. I don’t know how to do this. I’ve never been in contact with children, really. I don’t have nieces or nephews. And I wouldn’t know how to be with Kylie. What would she need from me? How do I go about being a person in her life she might want to relate with?
What if she hates me?
God, I have no idea what I’m doing. This is even more uncharted territory than getting this serious with a woman again. And I don’t have a lot of people I can talk to about it. I don’t have any friends with kids. Not even their own kids, let alone a relationship where they accepted someone else’s child.
The only person I can talk to about this is my mom.
When I arrive at the house, everything’s quiet. Mom opens the door herself, and I smile, hugging her.
“It’s so good to see you up and about,” I say. “How are you feeling?”
“Much better, sweetheart. Come in.”
“Where’s Dad?” The television is off when it usually is blaring the news or a sports channel. If he’s not looking after my mom or doing a few things for work in his home office, that’s what he does. He doesn’t really switch off the television while he works, either. Last Christmas I got him a smaller television for in his office.
I don’t remember him being happy about it, but he uses it all the time.
“He’s gone to the office for a change. He never leaves the house anymore, so I told him to go when they called. I’m fine.”
I nod. I’m glad. Not only that she’s doing well enough to be alone, but that my dad isn’t here.
“Coffee?” Mom asks, and when I nod, I follow her to the kitchen.
“How have you been?” she asks while she makes us each a cup of coffee. The coffee machine gurgles and spits the coffee out before Mom adds steamed milk with a swish from the nozzle.
“Good,” I say. “Very good, actually. The restaurant is coming on great. I found a decorator who knows exactly what he’s doing. I’ve hired a head chef and he is assembling his kitchen staff. I’ve got a manager in place to help me with the dining room staff. I convinced my favorite bartender to move over with me. I’ll be able to open soon if it keeps running this smoothly.”
“I’ll be the first to eat there,” Mom says and hands me a cup of coffee.
“Thanks,” I say. “And you’re more than welcome, of course. We will do a soft opening, with a few exclusive guests to kick it off before I open for the general public.”
My mom nods while I speak, taking it all in. It’s nice to spend some time with her while my dad isn’t around—I don’t have to watch what I say, waiting for him to have an opinion about everything I do.
We walk back to the living room and sit down. Mom’s breathing harder than she should—a trip to the kitchen and a cup of coffee shouldn’t have her this out of breath.
“Are you okay?” I ask. The familiar twist of concern settles in my gut.
