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Mason
Mason chucked the empty coffee cup into the bin on the street as he looked both ways in preparation to cross. A familiar figure caught his eye. The skinny man leaned against the hardware store window, a lit cigarette sticking out of his mouth as he scowled at the scratch-off in his hand. Lester Marby wasn’t who he wanted to see today, but he had a bone to pick with him about his daughter, Cara.
Mason approached, stopping a few feet in front of him, blocking the rays of the low sun from Lester’s face. “Lester?”
Lester looked up with a scowl, tossing the ticket to the ground before wrapping his fingers around the cigarette. He inhaled, his thin lips puckering around the white stick before blowing a puff of smoke in Mason’s face. “What the fuck do you want?”
Mason waved a hand in front of him, trying to get rid of the smoke. “Your daughter is bullying mine.”
Lester’s scoffing turned into a fit of coughing. “So? Maybe your kid should toughen up.”
Mason gritted his teeth and counted to ten before answering. “You need to put a stop to it before I take matters in my own hands.”
Lester’s eyes narrowed as he stood to his full height, still much shorter than Mason. He threw the cigarette butt onto the ground as his voice rose. “Are you threatening my daughter?”
Mason shook his head. “No, I’m warning you to speak with her before I take this to the school and do everything in my power to have her expelled.”
“Go ahead and try! You ugly asshole. Think you can tell me what to do. Who the fuck do you think you are?” Lester screamed, spittle flying out of his mouth as his angry eyes bulged.
A couple of women crossed the street to walk on the other side of the road, eyeing them warily. A father, who’d been window shopping nearby, picked up his child and walked in the opposite direction. A few others stopped and stared.
Mason’s back stiffened. He took a step forward, and Lester flinched backwards. Fucking spineless rat bastard. “Speak to her, because if anyone hurts my little girl again, there will be problems.”
Mason turned and walked away, ignoring Lester’s curses. He crossed the road and headed for the bookstore. One confrontation down, one to go.
He pushed open the door to The Oyster Bookstore. Immediately, the smell of books hit his nose, melded with fresh, sweet greenery. His eyes scanned the large sculpture in the center of the room made from hundreds or maybe thousands of pages.
Mason headed straight for the front desk where a man in his mid-twenties sat, focused on the computer screen.
The man glanced up and offered him a friendly smile that wilted as Mason got closer and then returned a tad bigger, as if he needed to overcompensate for his split-second reaction. He was used to those kinds of responses with his injury on display.
“Good afternoon, I’m Troy. Can I help you?”
Mason scanned the area. “Is Pippa in?”
“No, she worked earlier. She’s gone home for the day, but I can help.”
Mason nodded and headed outside. Thanks to Aspen going on and on about Pippa, he knew just where to go.
He turned left and headed up the stairway to the apartment above the bookstore. Knocking, he took a deep breath, trying to prepare himself to see her again. But it was useless. There was no preparing for the way his body fired awake as her smile greeted him, even if it did drop a few degrees when her eyes widened in surprise.
“Oh. Hello, Mason.” She tugged one of her full lips between her teeth.
His hand fisted at his side so he didn’t do something stupid like use his thumb to tug it away. “Hey. I wondered if you had a minute to talk?”
She blinked as if that was the last thing she’d expected him to say. “Sure. Come on in.” Pippa turned and walked inside. He followed and closed the door. His eyes dropped to Pippa’s ass as it swayed, her hips moving side to side.
Something rich and savory filled his nose. “Smells good in here.”
He scanned the small kitchen. The cupboards were painted a bright cheery yellow. The walls were white and covered in bright art of all kinds. There was a tiny moveable island with a basket of fruit in the center. A small table with a mason jar filled with wildflowers sat against one of the large bay windows overlooking Main Street with bright, see-through yellow curtains.
Behind him was a small living room with an elegantly styled bookshelf. It was decorated with a few glass globes filled with mini lights, and mice curled up with tiny books by the fire, or on an equally small chair with a cup of tea. A small coffee table was situated by her sofa. Beyond that were French doors leading to another room with the corner of a bed sticking out from where he stood.
Pippa walked over to the stove, using a wooden spoon to stir a pot of yellowish rice. “I’m making arroz con gandules with tostones.”
There was enough there to feed an army. “I’m sorry. If you’re expecting company, I can come back.” Was it for Ricky?
She chuckled and shook her head. “No, it’s just me. My mom always said that food was better shared. I was never taught how to make a smaller portion, so I still cook with what I know. I usually bring the extra down for my employee.”
