7. Mason
MASON
Star Falls is something straight out of an old television sitcom. Small shops line the main street that is, funnily enough, called Main Street. People are everywhere, walking and talking to each other without a care in the world or a need to be somewhere in a hurry.
“What’s this?” I ask, pointing to the white building that has a line out onto the sidewalk.
“The ice cream shop.”
I’m so full. I couldn’t possibly add another thing to my stomach. She was right about Benito’s. The food was better than I would’ve thought a small town like this could ever have.
“Want some?” she asks as my footsteps slow.
I place my hand on my stomach and debate whether I want to put myself into a food coma for the rest of the night. Then throw in the fact that it’s still cold outside, and it’s a solid no from me. “No,” I say, but my voice lacks conviction.
Lizzy bumps me with her shoulder and leans into my space. “Are you sure? It’s really good.”
“Next time.”
She trips, and I reach out to catch her before she can face-plant on the sidewalk in front of everyone. “Are you okay?” I glance around, wondering what the hell made her foot catch.
“You’re going to come back?” she asks as she straightens, but she doesn’t immediately move away from my grip.
“Why not? It’s cute as hell here,” I tell her, soaking in all the small-town vibes before I head back to Chicago tomorrow.
While the town is busy, it has a quietness to it that has my mind more at peace than it usually is back home. It’s like all the background noise has been turned off.
“It’s cute?” She wrinkles her nose as she glances around like she sees something different than I do.
As we cross a bridge, it’s my turn to nearly trip over thin air. “What the…” I move to the metal railing and lean over. “This is stunning.”
“It’s the falls,” she says, as if it’s not a big deal. “Hence, Star Falls.”
“I’ve never seen a waterfall in person,” I whisper, unable to stop staring at the rushing water.
There’s a soothing quality to the sound of the water rushing downstream and falling over the edge at breakneck speed. I could stand here all day and watch the water go by, letting go of everything else my mind is unable to block out.
“We can go down there.” She points to a wooden platform near the water’s edge about thirty feet below us.
“Really?” I hadn’t even noticed a few people down there already because I was so transfixed by the water.
“Come on,” she says, pulling my sleeve.
We cross back in front of the ice cream shop, and we come to a staircase almost hidden on the other side.
We’d walked right by it, and I never noticed it.
If I hadn’t been here with her, I would’ve missed the chance to get close to the waterfall.
The first one I’ve ever seen in person in my entire life.
The water gets louder with each step we take down toward the main platform.
I clasp her hand in mine, wanting to make sure she doesn’t tumble down the creaky wooden stairs.
The area is thick with trees, giving it a fairy-tale vibe.
I glance across the river, finding the other side lined with restaurants that overlook the falls.
“I want to eat there next time,” I tell her, pointing toward the two-story glass-enclosed restaurant with my free hand.
“If you come back, I’ll make reservations.”
“I’ll be back,” I tell her as we step down onto the main section of the platform that lines a fifty-foot walkway on the edge of the river. “I’ll need to see this again.”
She turns and looks at me, a carefree and beautiful smile on her face. “Yeah?”
“And then there’s you. I need to see you again too.” I squeeze her fingers.
Her smile widens as she tilts her head, not breaking our physical contact. “You see me all the time in Chicago.”
I tug her hand, pulling her into my arms. The place is magic, and I can’t help but get swept away by everything around us. Jesus, my thoughts are a jumbled mess, and somehow, I sound more like my sister than myself. “I don’t see you nearly enough.”
Her breath hitches as she gazes into my eyes. “What’s gotten into you?” she whispers, our lips almost touching.
“You,” I whisper back before tipping my head, taking her lips in a hard, fast kiss.
I can’t help myself. I don’t care who sees us or how small this community is.
Let the gossips yell that they saw us kissing from the mountaintops.
I want the world to know that I want this woman more than I want the air I breathe.
It’s never been so easy to be around someone. She feels like home, like we were always meant to be together. Our bodies fit perfectly together. There are no awkward movements in the way our bodies mold to each other.
The world around us melts away. The murmurs of the crowd above and on the riverside disappear as if we’re in a fever dream and no one else exists in the world except us.
I tangle my fingers in her hair as I cradle the back of her neck, loving the warmth of her skin against my cool hands. She gasps at the contact, but the sound disappears as I kiss her deeper, sliding my tongue between her open lips.
She tastes like wine again. This is the second time we’ve kissed, and both times she’s tasted of something I’ve spent my entire life drinking in my Italian family.
“I want you,” I murmur against her lips, unable to keep those words to myself any longer. The need to be with her in every physical way possible is becoming overwhelming.
“I want you too,” she pants as she breaks the kiss, placing her hand on my chest.
Our eyes are locked. Her green to my brown. Our breaths are rushed, as if we’ve been underwater without air for longer than humanly possible.
She shoves me away, and it’s as if someone poured a bucket of cold water over my head. “What the…”
“Not here,” she says, glancing around.
I follow her gaze, and more than a few people are watching us intently.
“I wasn’t planning on bending you over the railing.”
Her face turns an even brighter shade of pink. “Jesus, Mason. That’s a visual.”
“A good one, though, amirite?” I say, moving us toward the very spot she’s picturing herself bent over.
Our hips touch as we rest our body weight against the railing, staring across the water. My breathing still hasn’t returned to normal, nor has my heart rate.
I slide my arm over, making every inch of our sides touch that can. “So, now what?”
She glances over for the briefest of moments. “I don’t know. This is complicated.”
“We can just do more of that.” I tick my head toward where we were standing when we kissed. “I have all the time in the world until you want more.”
“I want more,” she says to the water. “My body does, but my heart is saying to slow down.”
I can’t blame her, but I want to argue and say we’ve known each other for months and months. Long enough that my cousin and her brother have dated and gotten engaged. Soon, they’ll be married, and we haven’t moved beyond first base.
I’m a patient man.
I can be a patient man.
I’ll continue to be a patient man.
Lizzy’s worth it. I don’t want to do anything that’ll jeopardize what we’ve been building for nearly a year. I don’t want her to move faster than she wants and ruin everything before we really have a chance to get started.
“We’ll wait for your heart to catch up with the rest of you,” I promise her.
Something more is brewing under the surface. Maybe it’s the man who made her feel like shit about her body. Someone messed with her mind about beauty, love, and relationships. I’ll do whatever it takes to change the way she thinks about herself.
“Thanks,” she says, leaning farther into me and resting her head on my shoulder. “You’re a good man, Mason.”
“I haven’t always been,” I confess, knowing my not-so-illustrious past and the sins I’ve committed.
I wasn’t always the best person to date. I haven’t thought too much about it, but my sister swears it’s because of our father’s history.
“Eh, we all have pasts. None of that matters.”
I stare down at her as I wrap an arm around her back. “You’re a remarkable woman, Lizzy.”
She peers up, her green eyes shimmering. “I know.”
I lean forward, brushing my lips against her forehead. If I could freeze a moment in time, this would be it. “Thank you for this.”
“For what?” Her green eyes search mine.
“For bringing me here.”
“You can thank the hit-and-run driver for that.”
“You’re right. If they ever catch him, I’ll have to send a thank-you card.”
She elbows me in the stomach. “You’d better send him a knuckle sandwich.”
I grunt at the impact, doubling over to make her think her blow hurt me, when it didn’t. I’ve taken harder jabs from my little cousins.
“Oh my God. I’m so sorry,” she says with wide eyes.
I chuckle because she’s so panicked. “I’m fine. You didn’t hurt me, sweetheart.”
“Jerk.”
I wink at her. “Just needed to remind you I’m not as good all the time as you think I am.”
Her eyes narrow, which is better than the fear I saw a moment ago. “I know you’re a devil, but I think I like the wickedness in you.”
“You’ve always liked bad boys, haven’t you?”
“I’ve never dated one. Maybe that’s been the problem.”
“No. Wrong. We’re a world of trouble, but eventually, we grow up.”
“Are you grown now?” she asks with hopefulness in her eyes.
“I’m on my way there. But I also know I’m not the same shithead I was a few years ago.”
“So, it’s the right time?”
“Right time for what?” I ask, wanting her to say the words.
“For more.”
Not exactly the answer I was hoping for, but it isn’t one I am disappointed in either. “You want to get out of here?”
She swallows, indecision etched on her face.
“Not to do that.” I won’t lie. My hopes are a little dashed, but not completely. I don’t want her to go faster than she wants, but I also want some contact…any contact with her. “Maybe we can watch some television and kiss a little like we’re kids again.”
She turns, placing her back against the railing, and stares up at me with narrowed green eyes. “How old were you when you had your first kiss?”
“The typical age.”
Her hand moves to my chest as she tilts her head. “What’s the typical age?”
I laugh. “How old were you?”
“Eighteen,” she says.
I jerk my head back and stare at her in disbelief. “Eighteen?”
She nods.
“Tongue or no tongue?”
“No tongue.”
“Seriously?” I ask, not believing her.
“Seriously.” She nods. “Why? How old were you?”
“Tongue or no tongue?”
“Both,” she replies.
“No tongue ten, and tongue twelve.”
Her mouth falls open as she stares at me. “You think that’s typical?”
“Well, yeah. But based on your face, I’d say you don’t feel the same. But I also don’t think eighteen is typical for no tongue. How old were you when you had your first French kiss?” I ask.
“My first kiss was with you.”
“Liar,” I say, shaking my head. “You’ve been yanking my leg the entire time.”
She shrugs. “Let’s go.” She takes my hand, pulling me toward the stairway to street level. “Since I started so late, I need more practice.”