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Mrs. Wells nods. “Take care.”
I give her a grateful smile before continuing down my jogging route. If I go a little faster, I should still be able to make it back home in the next six to eight minutes.
I pick up my pace a notch. I can handle it. I’ve been jogging at least three times a week for the past six years. So can the dogs. In fact, they seem happy to finally be able to stretch their legs.
“Let’s do this, boys,” I urge them on.
I hold tightly to their leashes while I swing my other arm. My ponytail whips back and forth. My breathing grows heavier. I can feel my lungs expanding to try to take in more air. Beads of sweat break out on my skin. I feel a stain growing between the cups of my sports bra.
As I approach the Burkes’ residence, I start to slow down. I stop right in front of the house to catch my breath. It’s getting a makeover right now. New coat of paint. New curtains. A new path leading up to the front door. More plants in the garden. I guess Mrs. Burke is determined to make Giselle’s wedding a spectacle.
A question suddenly comes to my mind. If my mom were still around and I was the one getting married, would she act the same way?
“Aster.” A man’s voice breaks into my thoughts.
I turn my head. Because of my cap, I see his body first. A flat stomach beneath a loosely fitting grey shirt. A sculpted chest nearly bursting through the cotton. Arms tightly packed with contoured muscles hanging at his sides. No, not hanging. He’s carrying them proudly, his broad shoulders straight. I lift my head and find my gaze pushed back by a pair of tar-black eyes. They stare at me from beneath thick eyebrows and a wide forehead covered in wisps of dark hair – blacks and dark browns melded into one.
Where have I seen those eyes before?
I search for his name in his chiseled features but only come up with it when I see the mole on his chin under the camouflage of a thin beard.
“Mason?”
His thin lips curve into a grin, the kind that makes you feel like all your secrets and weaknesses have just been exposed and will be exploited so that even if you put up a fight, you’re certain to lose. The grin of a devil.
It’s Mason Burke, alright.
My brain sifts through a list of things to say.
Hi. How are you? Too bland.
Oh my God. Is it really you? Too ecstatic.
What are you doing here? Stupid question. It’s his family’s house and it’s his sister who’s getting married, so yeah, he has every reason to be here.
You look different. Also stupid. Of course he does. It’s been, what? Ten years? Eleven? Hell, I look different. Plus it’s too vague.
You look… hot. Now, that’s specific. Too specific. And awkward.
It’s nice to see you again. Is it? Am I really happy to see him after all these years?
I’m sorry I slapped you last time. Right, I did that. Shit. But surely he’s forgotten about that, right?
I fidget with my watch. “I, um…”
Suddenly, I hear glass break. I turn towards the Burke house, thinking maybe someone dropped something, but as I see everyone still going about their tasks, I realize the sound could have come from next door. From my house.
Shit.
“I have to go,” I tell Mason before sprinting off.
With each frantic beat of my heart, a single thought runs through my mind. Please let my dad be okay.
I find my father in the living room. Blue and white fragments flecked with gold, all that’s left of the ceramic vase that used to sit on the mantel, lie scattered on the floor in front of him. Behind the couch, I catch a glimpse of my third dog, another German Shepherd named Bart, who looks confused and scared, and also a bit guilty. My dad looks the same way.
“I don’t know what happened,” he tells me in a quavering voice. “I was just standing here and…”
His features are seized with anguish as he looks at the mess in front of him.
“Did I do that? Did I break that? Is that…?” He looks at the mantel and gasps. “Oh my God. I broke your mother’s favorite vase, didn’t I?”
He grips his hair. My heart sinks. My father is on the verge of falling apart, of shattering into pieces just like the vase.
I won’t let it happen. Not yet. Not for as long as I can.
“It’s okay, Dad.” I wrap my arms around him and stroke his back just as he used to do to me when I was a child on the brink of tears. “It’s just a vase.”
He shakes his head. “It’s your mother’s favorite vase. She’s going to be so mad at me. I can’t bear it when Carol is mad at me. I… I can’t.”
