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Chapter 31
They kissed for a long time, just standing there in her kitchen, arms wrapped around each other. When they finally pulled apart, Hannah was breathless. A kind of startled joy bubbled through her like fizzy water.
At the same time, her mind was reeling with the implications of what they’d just admitted to one another—to themselves. Was she ready to love again? Did he really mean what he said? Could she ever be enough for him? Was he right for her? Could they still explore their D/s relationship without running into the same brick walls they had before? Were they moving too fast, too soon?
It was all too much to think about.
“Let me put away the éclairs,” she said, reaching for something concrete to do while she gathered her thoughts. However confused she might be, the sexual electricity still crackling in the air from that amazing kiss had left her both aroused and as nervous as a teenager on her first date. “Unless you want another one?”
“No, thanks,” he said, patting his gut. His usual grumpy expression—what she thought of as his chef face—was nowhere in evidence. He was smiling broadly, grinning ear to ear. “Two’s my limit. Especially if we want to grab a bite later. I was thinking I could take you over to Uptown Café for a meal.”
Mason owned Uptown Café and, until he’d retired to The Enclave two years before, he’d also been the head chef. The place was super trendy and wildly popular, reservations required weeks in advance.
“Oh,” Hannah exclaimed. “I’ve never been.” She grinned. “Think we can get a reservation? I hear it’s basically impossible.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Mason deadpanned. “I know a guy.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s five thirty. How about we make it for eight? We should have digested those éclairs by then.”
“Sounds good,” Hannah agreed, excited to try the food at Uptown Café, and also glad they had a concrete plan that precluded falling into bed together, something she was most definitelynotyet ready to do. “I’ve got a nice Sauvignon Blanc chilling in the fridge. Care for a predinner glass?
“Sure,” Mason agreed with a smile. The palpable tension that had pulled him as taut as a rubber band since he’d arrived on her doorstep had vanished, making her realize he’d been as nervous as she had, maybe even more so.
They sat side-by-side on the sofa. Mason poured the wine and handed her a glass. “To new adventures,” he said, clinking her glass with his. She curled into a corner of the sofa and turned to face him. How strange it felt to have another man in her home, a man who had just professed his love for her.
“Tell me about your childhood,” she said, feeling the need to lower the erotic temperature in the room, which had soared during that kiss. “How many siblings? Did you always know you wanted to be a chef? Are your parents still alive? Does your family know about your BDSM lifestyle?”
Mason held up a hand, laughing. “Whoa. I can only keep one question in my head at a time. I’m not really used to talking about myself.”
“Now’s as good a time to start as any,” Hannah retorted with a grin, feeling more relaxed now that she was on safer ground. “I want to know everything about you.”
He told her about his life in the lower Hudson Valley and about his two older brothers, both of whom had gone into the family construction business. He talked of his parents, who were still alive and well. He lit up when he talked about second grade, where a cooking class was offered four times a year. He’d loved every session more than the last. He’d even asked Santa for an Easy Bake Oven.
“Me too,” Hannah exclaimed, laughing with delight. “I loved making tiny brownies and cookies in that thing. And making my family eat them.”
Mason asked her questions in turn about her early life, her children, her writing career, her exposure to BDSM prior to coming to The Enclave. They shared funny stories about their awkward teenage years and serious recollections about difficult times in their lives.
Their talk was easy and animated, and Hannah couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so relaxed and happy. As clichéd as it sounded, it was as if they’d always known each other.
The room had darkened as they’d talked, the sun setting without their noticing. The wine bottle was empty, Hannah pleasantly buzzed. “What time is it?” she asked.
Mason looked at his watch. “Oh, shit. It’s already eight fifteen. Still want to go to Uptown Café? I’d just as soon order pizza so we can keep talking.”
“I like that idea,” Hannah agreed, not wanting to break whatever lovely spell had wrapped itself around them, capturing them in its warm, lifegiving glow.
Mason pulled out his phone. He typed something quickly, thumbs flying, and then looked up at her. “Mellow Mushroom?”
“The best in Asheville,” she replied with a laugh. “The Holy Shiitake Pie?” It was her favorite pizza at Mellow Mushroom, with an olive oil and garlic base, covered in fresh shiitake and portobello mushrooms, along with caramelized onions, mozzarella and white cheddar cheese, finished with fresh chives and shaved Parmesan.
“You have to ask?” he quipped.
They continued to talk until the delivery guy arrived at the door forty minutes later. They returned to the kitchen and proceeded to inhale the pizza, liberally sprinkled with red pepper flakes and washed down with fresh lemonade.
It was after eleven when they finally pushed back from the table.
“Gosh,” Hannah exclaimed. On the one hand, she didn’t want him to leave. On the other, she was relieved that the decision would be made for her. “I guess you need to head back. You have to be up in seven hours to get breakfast going.”
“Actually, I don’t,” Mason replied. “I texted Anthony before I ordered the pizza. Told him they’d need to fend for themselves for one more day.”
“Oh,” Hannah said, feeling suddenly hot and cold all at once. Her body thrilled at the implications of his words, but her mind was suddenly on high alert. What was he expecting now?
