Chapter 15 Mason
Chapter fifteen
Mason
The wind bites at my jaw, but I barely feel it.
Not when my breath is fogging the air in front of me. Not when Frankie Monroe is crouched a few feet away, talking to my father’s grave like he’s the only one on earth who might understand what’s cracking her wide open.
Her voice is soft, the words warm and shaky and beautiful—just like her. She doesn’t know I’m here, doesn’t know she’s saying the kind of things that could undo a man.
Not in some performative way, but the real kind. That makes me wish I had a pen to write it all down, so I don’t forget a single fucking word.
I thought she’d left without saying goodbye. I saw her at the lake, just for a second. Our eyes caught across the crowd, just long enough for me to hope. Then she looked away.
So I’d gone looking. Around the lake, back to the station and then to the cabin. Finally here, retracing my steps because I couldn’t find my phone, and all I wanted was to hear her voice.
And now she’s here. Facing my dad’s headstone with her heart in her hands, telling him that maybe it belongs here.
She says something about how I made her feel like she could matter to someone, and I swear to God, I nearly drop to my knees.
Because she already does.
Then she turns—and when her eyes land on me, she startles like she’s seen a ghost.
And maybe I am. I’ve haunted her inbox, haunted her life. I’ve been the one who disappeared, who tried to outrun grief and connection and ended up back here anyway.
With her.
The only person I think I’d like to haunt me.
Something shifts in her face. Confusion, maybe. Embarrassment. And yeah, I probably wasn’t supposed to hear all of that, but fuck it. I’m not sorry.
“I didn’t mean to overhear,” I manage, stepping forward slowly. “I just… didn’t want to interrupt.”
She blinks fast. Her scarf is flapping in the wind, her cheeks are pink from the cold. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything more fucking gorgeous.
I clear my throat, glancing between the gravestones.
“I, uh… lost my phone this morning,” I manage, raking a hand through my hair. “I was retracing my steps, trying not to lose my shit. I didn’t expect to find you.”
She says nothing, just stares at me with those wide green eyes framed in damp lashes.
“I thought you’d gone,” I admit. “Back to Toronto. I went to the cabin—”
“You went to the cabin?” she cuts in softly, the disbelief strong.
“Yeah.” I nod. “You weren’t there, and I panicked. Thought I’d blown it. That I’d ruined the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to me.”
Her lips part, but she doesn’t speak.
“I saw you at the lake,” I go on, heart hammering. “Then you were gone. I couldn’t find my phone, couldn’t find you, couldn’t fucking breathe. I begged Tamara for your number—she looked at me like she was gonna call the cops, but she gave it to me anyway.”
The choked sound Frankie makes, part laugh and part sob, nearly finishes me.
“I was on my way back to use my home phone when I realized there was one place I hadn’t checked.” I gesture toward the headstone. “And there you were. Talking to my Dad like you’ve always been part of his life.”
Her expression softens, something blooming behind her eyes.
“Frankie,” I say, taking a step closer. “I thought you'd left.”
She swallows. “I thought you didn’t care.”
“No.” I shake my head fast. “I care. I care so fucking much it’s honestly kinda gross.”
Her brow furrows, the ache in her eyes matching mine, but her mouth twitches.
“Gross like Hallmark movie gross?”
“Worse,” I deadpan. “Like, Christmas special level gross.”
A breath of laughter escapes her, and I swear it brings color back into the air. She takes a beat, then bites her lip.
“I didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye,” she whispers. “I just… I didn’t know if I was wanted. Thought you’d ghosted me again.”
“Never,” I say fiercely, stepping in so close I can feel the warmth of her breath in the frozen air. “Frankie, never again. If I’d known how to reach you, I’d have run barefoot through the snow. Hell, I’d have stolen Herb’s truck.”
Her breath shakes and her fingers twitch like she wants to reach for me.
“You’re wanted, baby,” I murmur. “So fucking much. Since the first night you opened your smartass mouth and told me you had no holiday spirit but an exceptional hand technique.”
Her cheeks go scarlet. “You remember that?”
“I remember every goddamn word you’ve ever said to me. Even the weird ones.”
She lets out a watery laugh. “That’s most of it.”
“Exactly.”
A gust of wind rattles the trees above us. She shivers, and I reach out to tug her scarf gently back into place.
“I lost my phone,” I say quietly, knuckles brushing her cheek. “But losing you? That would fucking end me.”
Her exhales is shaky, hand reaching out to grasp mine, her cold fingers curling steady.
“That’s the thing, though.” Her voice wavers. “I’ve spent so long convincing myself I don’t belong anywhere.”
“You do.” I cup her chin gently, thumb stroking the apple of her cheek. “You belong right fucking here.”
“In a cemetery?”
“There’s that smartass mouth again.”
She grins, and my finger traces up her jaw, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Okay… how about at Herb and Leah’s, with the excellent Pinot Noir selection?”
“Warmer.”
“Hmm. With you?”
I huff a laugh and step in, brush a kiss to the corner of her mouth.
“With me.”
Her gaze lifts to mine, green eyes sobering and softening all at once. I can see the fight in her, the battle between self-preservation and honesty.
“Mason, I…”
For one nauseas moment I think she’s going to back away. I brace for it, every muscle preparing to break, but as her eyes meets mine again, there’s no more fear, no more doubt.
“I want to be with you, too” she says, voice trembling. “I want this.”
“Thank fuck.” I wrap my arms around her waist, pulling her tight to my chest, into every place I’ve kept empty. “Say it again.”
“I want to be with you, Mason.”
Everything that’s ever felt cold, suddenly melts clean away.
“Jesus, Frankie.” My forehead drops to hers. “That’s all I want, too.”
Emotion climbs my throat, and I grip the back of her neck to tug her into a kiss.
It’s slow at first, but when her fingers fist my jacket to pull me down harder, I lift her off the ground and crush my mouth to hers.
Her tongue slides against mine, and I can taste the tears on her lips. I know she’ll taste mine too, but I don’t care when I feel this full and alive.
Even though, yeah, it’s wildly inappropriate given the company.
When we break apart, she laughs.
“We’re making out in front of your dad.”
“Technically, your parents too.”
She snorts. “I can’t believe we’re making out in a cemetery.”
“I mean… not ideal. But, technically, they brought us together. They probably planned it.”
Her laughter bubbles out, raw and real and echoing across the snow.
“What would your Dad say?”
I glance at his headstone, then back at her. “Probably ‘it’s about time.’”
She smiles softly. “I think mine would say we’re a match.”
“And mine?” I nuzzle her temple, kiss her earlobe. “That festive bastard would say we’re a merry match.”
She blinks at me, eyes shining, and I see something shift. A door opening and a home being built, right here in the middle of snow and grief and ghosts.
“I think I love you,” she whispers so quietly it almost gets lost to the wind. “God, that’s terrifying.”
“Good,” I murmur, thumb brushing the corner of her mouth. “Because I know I love you, too.”
I rest my forehead against hers, our breath curling together in the cold as I absorb the words.
There’s no fear or panic, just the warmest feeling I’ve ever felt.
And in the quiet that follows, in the space between heartbeats and graves and tears drying on cheeks, two people finally stop haunting each other.