Chapter 19 #2
“I need to know you mean that,” I breathed. “Because, Mason, I can’t do this again. I can’t go back to blow jobs in supply closets and keeping a careful distance and pretending we’re just colleagues. I can’t keep loving someone who won’t let me.”
“I know.”
“So when you say you want to be public, you mean it? You’re ready for people at the firm to know? For your father to know? For the world to know?”
“Yes.” No hesitation. “My father already knows. I told him about you. Not your name, but that I’m in love with someone from work. Someone who makes me happy. Someone I almost lost because I was too scared to fight for us.”
“What did he say?”
“He told me not to make his mistakes. Not to let fear or pride cost me the person I love.” Mason’s voice was rough. “And he was right. I almost lost you because I was too afraid to be honest. Too afraid to choose you over my comfort. But I’m choosing you now, Beau. I’m choosing us.”
I wanted to believe him. God, I wanted to believe him so badly. But words were easy. Words were safe.
“I need to see it,” I said finally.
Mason blinked. “What?”
“I need to see that you mean this. That you’re really ready.” I took a breath. “Actions, Mason. Not just words. I need you to show me you’re all in.”
“How? Tell me what you need and I’ll do it.”
“I don’t know yet.” I wiped at my eyes, frustrated with myself for crying. “But I need proof. I need to know you’re not going to panic the next time someone asks questions or puts us under mistletoe or sees us together.”
Mason nodded slowly. “Okay. That’s fair. What if—” He paused, thinking. “What if we tell the firm? Together. Before the holiday break ends.”
“You’d do that?”
“Yes, immediately.” His voice was steady. “We can tell Carter and Patsy. Or we can wait until after Christmas. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”
“And if they have a problem with it?”
“Then we deal with it. Together.” Mason stepped closer again. “Beau, I know I fucked up. I know I hurt you, and I have a lot to prove. But I meant what I said. I love you. And I’m going to spend however long it takes showing you that I’m serious about us.”
I looked at him—really looked at him—and saw something I hadn’t seen before. Certainty. Determination. A resolve that comes from making an actual decision instead of just reacting to fear.
“I love you so much, Mason,” I whispered.
“I know. I’m so sorry.”
“Stop apologizing and start showing me.” I reached out and straightened his tie, the gesture intimate and familiar. “You say you’re ready. Prove it.”
“I will.” Mason caught my hand, holding it against his chest. “Starting right now.”
“Right now?”
“Right now.” He pulled me closer, his other hand coming up to cup my face. “Can I kiss you?”
My breath caught. “Here? In public?”
“Here. In public. On the Canal Walk where anyone could see us.” His thumb brushed across my cheekbone. “Unless you’re not comfortable—”
“Kiss me,” I breathed.
He did.
It had a delicate sweetness, like a vow. The December air chilled his lips, but his kiss was warm, and I yielded as he drew me near. When we finally broke apart, we were both breathing hard.
“That’s a start,” I said, my voice shaky.
“Just a start.” Mason pressed his forehead to mine. “I have a lot more to prove. But Beau, I swear to you—I’m not going anywhere. I’m all yours if you’ll have me.”
I thought about the compass sitting on my dresser at home, wrapped and waiting. So you always know where home is.
Maybe home wasn’t a place. Maybe it was a person.
“I’ll have you,” I said. “But Mason, I’m serious. Actions. Not words. Show me this is real.”
“I will. Starting tomorrow.” He kissed me again, quick and fierce. “Come to my place tonight?”
“Your place?”
“I want to wake up with you and make you breakfast in the morning. I don’t want to waste another second of time we could spend together.” His eyes were bright. “Please?”
I should probably play it cool. Make him work for it. But I was tired of playing games and pretending I didn’t want exactly what he was offering.
“Okay. Your place tonight.”
The smile that broke across Mason’s face was worth every second of heartache.
We walked back along the Canal Walk together, and this time, Mason took my hand. Right there in public where anyone could see.
It was just a small gesture. Just fingers intertwined as we walked.
But it felt like everything.
* * *
That evening, I stood in Mason’s kitchen watching him cook risotto—badly—while Christmas music played softly from his speaker. He’d changed into soft clothes, his hair was still damp from a shower, and he kept looking over at me like he couldn’t quite believe I was there.
I couldn’t quite believe it either.
“I’m terrible at this,” Mason said, stirring the pot with intense concentration. “Why did I think risotto was a good idea?”
“Because you’re trying to impress me.”
“Is it working?”
“The effort is working. The risotto remains to be seen.”
He laughed, and the sound made something in my chest ease. We’d spent the last hour talking—really talking—about everything. About the party, about his father, about what came next. Our fears and hopes and what we both needed from this relationship.
It felt like starting over. But better. Honest.
“I got you a Christmas present,” I said suddenly.
Mason turned from the stove. “You did?”
“Yeah. Weeks ago. Before the party.” I picked at the label on my beer bottle. “I wasn’t sure I was going to give it to you.”
“And now?”
“Now I think maybe I will. On Christmas.” I looked up at him. “If we’re still... if this is still...”
“It is.” Mason abandoned the risotto completely, coming over to stand in front of me. “Beau, I know you need proof. I know you need to see that I’m serious. But please believe this—I’m not going anywhere. I’m all in. Completely.”
“You promise?”
“I promise.” He kissed my forehead, then my nose, then my lips. “Now tell me more about this present. Do I get a hint?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Not even a small one?”
“Not even a tiny one.” I pulled him closer, breathing in his familiar scent—coffee and expensive cologne and something uniquely Mason. “You’ll just have to wait.”
“I’m not good at waiting.”
“I know. But I’m worth it.”
“You are.” He said it with such certainty that I almost believed him. “You’re worth everything.”
The risotto burned while we kissed in his kitchen, and neither of us cared.