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She sipped her water and ate slowly, her eyes wandering and people watching. She glanced at Mason under her lashes as he shoveled food into his mouth. Lunch had been hours ago, but he hadn't complained.
The day had been a revelation, but he'd said some things earlier that made her wonder if his views regarding their relationship had changed. He was so attentive today, holding her hand, opening her door, touching the small of her back as they walked.
He'd scolded her for trying to pay for their smoothie and again tonight for the dinner at the luau, which had made her smile. She wanted him to understand where she was coming from, though.
She didn't like surprises. Surely it was better to talk and get it all out in the open? She honestly didn't know, and not for the first time scolded herself for never having had a relationship before.
The idea of talking about her feelings made her shift nervously on the seat. She took a drink and cleared her throat.
She avoided looking him in the eyes as she said, "So Mason, about the paying for things. I appreciate you being a gentleman and all, but it's unnecessary."
He scowled at her and swallowed his food. "I think it is necessary. It's part of my job to take care of you, remember?"
She frowned, hope and confusion warring in her chest. "I get that, but it doesn't extend to money. My parents fought a lot about money. My mom tried to use it to control my dad so he wouldn't buy more drugs. It didn't work, but it was still a contentious issue with us all. I got a job as soon as I could in high school so I wouldn't ever have to ask my parents for money. I've been independent for a long time."
He put his hand over hers on the table, stilling her nervous twisting of the fork. "I'm not trying to take your independence, Luce."
"No? What about with that whole master thing?"
He arched a brow. "If you don't find it fun and something you want to explore, then we won't do it. What you call me has no bearing on whether I take care of you. I'll take care of you the same whether you call me master or moron. I simply want to show you how much I value you."
"By buying me?" her voice rose an octave, but he shook his head and leaned back in the chair.
"Never. It's not about the money, but about spending time with you, doing little gestures to show how much I'm thinking about you."
She frowned and shook her head. "But why? Is this going somewhere?"
His eyes turned guarded, and his hand slid away. "This?"
She nodded, putting her hands in her lap and picking at her nails. "Yeah, I don't want to get used to you doing all this. It's what a boyfriend would do, yeah? But we're not dating, are we?"
Her nerves left her hands shaking. She felt his heated stare but wouldn't look up. Couldn't look up.
"No," he said, drawing out the syllable as if he were thinking about it. "No, we're not dating exactly. I'm still too raw from losing Amanda. She always said I didn't spend enough time with her, that she needed more than holding hands to know how much she meant to me."
Lucy's heart broke. She'd never take the place of his dead love. Her voice was soft when she replied, "I'm not Amanda."
She looked up. His eyes were shining bright with emotion, his lips pursed and nostrils slightly flared.
He swallowed, then said, "I know you're not. Back when we slept together a few months ago? I felt guilty, like I'd cheated on her. That's why I disappeared the next day and didn't even have the courtesy to text you." His tight, tense words, were full of pain and emotion.
She took a deep breath. She'd disappointed him because she wasn't Amanda. Did he regret sleeping with her? Maybe all this attention was his way of trying to make it up to Amanda. Maybe taking care of her would make him feel less guilty about Amanda's death.
She wasn't sure how she felt about that, but she had to get the facts straight. "Do you still feel guilty being with me?"
He glanced away, unable to meet her gaze. He didn't need to say anything. That look was enough. Yet he still said, "Not really. But I can tell you that I am definitely not ready for another relationship."
She chugged her fruity cocktail, hoping the alcohol would numb her to the emotional rejection. "That's good to know now, before I got too attached to how well you're taking care of me."
An awkward silent passed between them, then she blurted, "So, what's our plan moving forward? Regarding us," she said, putting her fork down. "You're not ready for a relationship, but we're stuck here with each other for another week. What do you want to do?"
His teeth clenched and his spine straightened. "What do you want to do?"
She shook her head and laughed. "Oh no you don't. You don't get to play the master and then turn this around on me. Fess up, dude."
He chuckled and his shoulders relaxed slightly. "Fine. I'd like to continue the way we've been. We'll keep dating, being boyfriend girlfriend, or hell—we can even keep pretending we're married. But only while we're here. When we go back to Texas, we go our separate ways."
She tilted her head, trying to keep the pain in her chest from showing on her face. "And what about when we're both hanging out with our grandparents? The holidays?"
