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She frowns. “’Mergency?”
“No, he just wants to talk. I’ll be back soon.”
Elise turns her face toward me without opening her eyes, and I give her a soft, quick kiss. “Love you.”
“I love you, you adorable murder mastermind.”
She smiles. “Mm-hmm.”
Jesus Christ.
It’s not a long drive to Mason’s. Traffic’s light. I have no idea what he wants to show me in Central Park. We’re too late for sunrise.
I park on his secure floor and jog down. This is…this is good. In my previous life, I’d be sneaking out of someone’s bed right now, feeling like an empty shell of a person and knowing it would never get better.
Poor Mason. He tried to tell me I was wrong, and I was a stubborn asshole.
I cross the road to Central Park, to the entrance nearest his building. There’s some foliage around. A statue. Once I’m in the park proper, the sidewalk splits off.
Mason stands on the running track that goes around the reservoir, his breath foggy in the cool morning air. On a nearby tree, somebody got a basket into the branches, and it sways there in the breeze.
I point up at it. “Thatis your landmark? That basket? Nobody’s looking for that.”
He turns to face me with a grin that reminds me so much of Mason in high school, Masonbeforehe was hurt, that my chest gets all tight. “Hey.”
I meet him on the running track. “Tell me you didn’t summon my ass at daybreak just to see that basket.”
He peers up at the branch. “It’s worth it, though. No idea how it got up there.”
“My God, Mason.”
“I didn’t bring you here to see the basket. Relax.” He stretches one arm over his chest, then the other.
I back up a step. “You look weird. What’s going on?”
He rolls his eyes. “I look good, asshole.”
“Fine. You look great.” There’s nothing different out on the running track. “Is this some surprise TV show or something? What am I supposed to be looking at?”
He stretches his arms again, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “I just thought it was time to tell you what I’ve been working on.”
“You’re being such a cagey prick, and it’s giving me a goddamn heart attack.” This is true. “Just tell me what it is.”
“Okay.” He paces off a few steps, then turns back. “Don’t lose your shit, all right? Everything’s fine.”
He keeps moving down the trail. Wait—he’s outside injoggers.Mason almost never leaves his building in athletic wear.
“Should I go with you?” I shout at his back.
Mason turns around, lining up on the right side of the jogging track. “Stay where you are.”
“This is weird,” I shout.
“Shut up,” he shouts back.
I shut up.
“Am I supposed to be looking at you, or is there—”
