Chapter 39
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Standing outside my apartment, I feel like I’m waiting for a first date with a stranger. My palms are clammy despite the chill in the air, my heart drumming way too fast for something as simple as dinner.
It’s been a week since Mason and I agreed to call each other boyfriends.
Every day since, we’ve texted and video chatted late into the night, sometimes falling asleep with our phones still propped against our pillows.
Yesterday, he surprised me by saying he wanted to drive back up to Shelby Harbor to take me out on our first real date.
Logically, I shouldn’t be nervous. Mason and I have known each other for months. We’ve kissed, had sex, shared secrets we’ve never told anyone else. But the “boyfriend” label makes everything feel sharper, more fragile. Like one wrong step could shatter it.
Part of me still worries he might change his mind—that he’ll realize I’m not worth the trouble and disappear, the way he once did before. I tell myself I forgave him, but it still feels like our relationship is skating on thin ice.
The choking rumble of a familiar pickup pulls me from my spiral.
Mason’s truck turns onto my street, headlights sweeping across the pavement.
He eases to the curb, kills the engine, and hops out without hesitation.
A moment later, I’m wrapped up in his arms, his hold so tight it knocks the breath from me.
“Hi, baby,” he murmurs against my ear. “How are you?”
I smile against his shoulder. “I’m fine. How was work today?”
“Exhausting,” he sighs, pulling back to scrub a hand over his jaw. “I’ve been picking up extra shifts. Rent in Shelby Harbor is brutal, and tuition isn’t going to pay itself.”
A frown tugs on my lips. “I can’t believe you drove all the way here after work. You must be really tired.”
“Are you kidding? I’ve been looking forward to this all day.”
My cheeks feel warm despite the cool September breeze. “Me too.”
He grins, stepping back to swing open the passenger door. “Your chariot awaits.”
I laugh under my breath and climb inside.
The truck hums softly as we pull away from my building. Mason doesn’t tell me where we’re going. He said he wanted it to be a surprise.
We pass through the bustle of downtown Shelby Harbor, the bars and nightclubs glowing with neon and lamplight.
Then Mason steers us toward the outskirts, where the streets thin out and the buildings shrink.
Vineyards and orchards flank the roads, the scent of ripe concord grapes wafting through the cracked windows.
His hand rests easy on my thigh, his thumb brushing slow, absent-minded strokes that set my nerves sparking. “You look beautiful, by the way,” he says suddenly.
A nervous laugh slips out of me. “Thanks. I just… I hope I’m not overdressed.” I glance down at myself—baby blue button-up, nails painted to match, dark pants, black loafers. It felt right when I put it on, but now I’m second-guessing.
Mason squeezes my thigh, eyes flicking toward me before returning to the road. “No way. You look perfect.”
I bite back another laugh and shift my gaze to him instead. “You look nice, too.”
He’s in black pants and a deep green collared shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The color makes his eyes look like they’re glowing in the dim cab light. His forearms flex as he shifts gears, tendons moving beneath golden skin.
God, my boyfriend is sexy.
He smirks, catching the way I’m staring.
“That shirt should come with a warning label,” I grumble, warmth creeping up my neck.
He chuckles, the sound low and pleased, and his hand slides just a little higher on my thigh as the dark road unspools ahead of us.
The truck veers off the main road, turning onto a long gravel driveway. My brows knit together as we wind past rows of grapevines, their leaves vibrant green in the fading daylight.
When the weathered sign comes into view, I stop breathing for a second. Brackett Hill Vineyards.
Mason glances at me, grinning. “One of the first times I came over to your place in Claremont Shores, you poured us some wine. I remember you said this winery was your favorite. I did some digging, and turns out they do private dinners and tastings. So…” He shrugs, a little sheepish. “I booked us a table.”
For a moment I just stare at him. His heart is too big for his own good. “Mason, that’s… God, that’s perfect.”
He parks near the entrance, then hops out and circles the truck to open my door like we’re in some old-fashioned romance movie. I roll my eyes but can’t stop smiling as I take his hand.
Inside, the winery is airy and elegant, the ceiling strung with glowing twinkle lights.
The wide room opens into floor-to-ceiling windows that look out across the rolling hills, the vines barely visible in the last stretch of dusk.
The air smells faintly of oak barrels and crushed grapes, warm and rich.
A host greets us with a practiced smile, checks Mason’s reservation, then leads us to a table tucked in the far corner—private, cozy, with a perfect view of the windows and the golden twilight beyond.
Mason pulls out my chair for me before sitting down across the table.
“You really didn’t have to do all this,” I say, gesturing around vaguely. “This must be really expensive.”
“I wanted to,” he says simply, eyes steady on mine. “It’s our first real date as boyfriends. It needs to be special.”
The waitress steps up to our table, a tall woman with silver hoop earrings and a black pencil skirt.
“Good evening, gentlemen. Tonight’s tasting is a fixed menu,” she explains, placing two slender-stemmed glasses in front of us. The wine catches the light like liquid gold. “And I should note—everything has been prepared vegetarian, as requested with your reservation.”
My head snaps toward Mason, warmth blooming in my chest. He’s so thoughtful it hurts. I want to leap across the table and kiss him breathless, but I rein myself in.
The waitress continues, “To begin, you’ll be trying our 2021 Chardonnay Reserve. It’s crisp and lightly oaked, paired with a shaved fennel and apple salad, finished with candied walnuts and a citrus vinaigrette.”
She sets two small plates between us, the salad arranged like something out of a magazine—slender curls of fennel glistening under a drizzle of dressing, bright green apple slices fanned across the top.
“Thank you,” Mason says, grinning.
“You’re welcome. Enjoy,” she replies with a polite nod before slipping away.
When she’s out of earshot, I lean in with a smirk. “Are you sure you can handle salad without ranch?”
Mason huffs a laugh. “I think I’ll survive.”
I swirl my wine, inhaling the sharp, fruity scent before taking a sip. Of course, it’s delicious.
“So,” Mason says, stabbing a forkful of salad. “How were your classes today?”
“Well, I officially survived my first week as Dr. Maxwell’s teaching assistant. I thought I was just going to be grading papers, but she already roped me into running a study session next week.”
“Damn,” Mason purrs. “Look at you. Professor Davis has a nice ring to it.”
I scoff. “I’m not a professor. Just a TA.”
“Shut up and let me fantasize about this.” His eyes glint with mischief. “But hey, just be careful. Students have been known to flirt their way into higher grades.”
I snort. “Yeah, right. Nobody’s going to flirt with me.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Mason’s tone sharpens just slightly. “You’re literally the hot TA now. Someone’s going to try it. I’m warning you.”
Heat creeps up my neck, equal parts flattered and flustered. “Relax. Even if someone did, I’d shut them down. I already have a boyfriend, remember?”
The tension in his face softens. His lips curve into a smile as he reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “You do.”
***
The taste of wine still lingers on Mason’s lips as we stumble up the stairs to my apartment, kissing until we can barely breathe. When I push open the door, the familiar blend of coffee and lavender drifts out to meet us, threaded with the faint sweetness of candles I must’ve forgotten to blow out.
I tug him inside, pressing his back against the door. My fingers skim down his torso, light and teasing, until they wrap around the hard bulge swelling in his pants. He groans into the kiss, rutting against my palm.
“Wait,” he breathes, breaking away just enough to meet my gaze. His chest heaves, eyes blazing. “Hunt, I don’t want you to think this is just about sex. I love you. If you just want to kiss and cuddle tonight, that’s more than enough for me.”
My tongue skims across my teeth as I smirk. “Mase, I love you, but if your dick isn’t inside me in the next five minutes, I might actually lose my mind.”
His eyes widen, heat flaring in them before his restraint snaps. A growl vibrates in his throat as he crushes his mouth back to mine—urgent, messy, teeth scraping my bottom lip. He presses harder against me, rutting like a desperate animal.
I pull back to frantically grab his hand and lead him through my apartment, making a beeline for my bedroom.
This place feels infinitely more me than my room in Claremont Shores ever did.
Potted plants clutter every shelf, windowsill, and countertop—cascading ivy, succulents, and a small avocado tree in the corner that stubbornly refuses to fruit.
Books are stacked in uneven towers on my desk, and a thrifted lamp glows warm in the corner, painting everything in amber light.
The ivory walls are decorated with framed botanical photographs, prints from local artists, and pinned insects. From the top floor, wide windows frame the dazzling city below, a sliver of Lake Michigan shimmering through the skyline.