Chapter 5 #2
She blinked. “Do you always carry around two pairs of sunglasses?”
He smiled. “I like to be prepared.”
She hesitated, fingers resting on the frame. No one ever just did things like that. Not for her, anyway. Not without expecting something in return. But what in the world could he want from her?
She studied his eyes. He waited, showing nothing but patient understanding. There was nothing there that gave her pause. “Well… thank you,” she said finally, soft yet sincere.
His smile broadened, as if her answer had pleased him somehow.
“I was hoping,” he continued, nodding toward the main building, “that you might walk with me to the chow hall and join me for breakfast.”
Her brow creased. “Why?”
“Because I don’t like to eat alone. It makes me lose my appetite.
And if I don’t eat all the pancakes I’ve heard so much about, Chef Connor will assume I don’t like his food and take it personally,” he said solemnly.
“And I do not want to start my day by offending the man who controls the pancakes.”
She snorted before she could stop herself. Cheeks flaming, she covered her mouth with her hand.
She wasn’t born yesterday. Master Mason need have no fear of eating alone.
But there was care wrapped up in the excuse, the way he’d clocked her standing there alone and chosen this approach.
Curiosity tugged at her. Besides, he was cute, in a solid, steady way that made her want to poke him just to see what happened.
“Okay,” she said, stepping back. “But only because pancakes are sacred.”
They walked together to the cafeteria. He matched his pace to hers without making a show of it. Once they had their food, he carried both their trays easily, as if they weighed nothing. When they sat, he angled his chair just enough to include her without crowding her movement.
Chef Connor’s pancakes lived up to the hype. Fiera ate with enthusiasm, syrup trailing dangerously close to disaster.
“Chin,” Mace said gently.
She blinked. “What?”
Before she could react, he reached for his napkin and wiped a small dribble of syrup from her chin. The gesture was so casual, so normal, that she didn’t even think about it until it was over.
“There you go,” he said. “And finish your milk.”
She eyed the cup suspiciously. “I don’t like milk all that much. I’m not a kid, you know.”
“Didn’t say you were,” he replied evenly, still smiling. “Still want you to drink it.”
She resisted on principle, but when he kept watching her, she took a long gulp, glaring over the rim. He waited, never looking away.
When the cup was empty, he nodded once. “Good girl.”
Her chest felt tight in a strange, warm way.
“Hands,” he added, standing. She complied, and after he looked at them, he said, “Come on. We need to wash your hands.”
Okay, that was settled, not that she’d had any doubts, but he was totally a Daddy. Even though his words were the ones she would have said she wanted to hear, she groaned. What was it that made her want to push back against him? “Master Mace, I can wash my own hands.”
“Fiera.”
Something about the way he said her name made her bottom clench. With a sigh, she said, “Fine.”
Taking her sticky hands in his, he walked her to the nearest family restroom. If she thought he’d leave her there to set up for the lasso class, she was wrong. Instead, he entered the bathroom with her.
What the heck? “Um, hello. I said I could do it myself.” Could her tone get any brattier? Still, she couldn’t help wondering what he would do.
Again, he smiled. “Didn’t say you couldn’t.” Then shut the bathroom door, closing them both inside. “Hands.”
Without thinking, she did as he instructed, holding out her hands. His voice was calm yet commanding.
At the sink, he turned on the water and tested it to make sure it wasn’t too hot. Then he took her hands again and washed them. His palms rubbing against hers sent tingles down her spine again, only this time they were landing farther south.
When he was finished, he dried them as well. “All done,” he said, stepping back. “That wasn’t so bad, now was it?”
She couldn’t have spoken if he’d paid her. Her mind spun as he took her hand again and led her back out into the morning.
Reaching over, he lowered the sunglasses he’d given her back onto her nose. “These belong on your nose, not your head, when you’re outside.”
When they arrived, the lasso area buzzed with anticipation. Someone had placed coiled ropes along the barn fence. Littles gathered in clumps, talking and laughing.
Master Mace stopped with her at the edge of the crowd. “Wait right here,” he said, pointing to the ground where they stood. “I need to make sure I have everything I need for the class. I’ll come back soon to check on you.”
She nodded, but something in her chest sank. Putting on what she hoped was a convincing smile, she said, “Okay.”
He hesitated, as if he wanted to say more. Instead, he gave her a small smile and turned away.
Fiera watched him go, telling herself not to expect him to return. People said things. Promises were easy. It had been her experience that was as far as it went. She’d never been worth someone actually following through on their promises.
She shifted her weight from foot to foot, her fingers brushing Sniffles’ ear.
He won’t come back. Why would he?
It would be humiliating. Better to go before he had a chance to hurt her. That was what she told herself. Still, she stayed right where he’d told her to wait.