Chapter 2 #3
Up close, he’s even more unfairly attractive. Strong jaw. Straight nose. Eyes that are a warm amber color, like honey in sunlight. And when he smiles down at me, it’s the kind of smile that probably gets him anything he wants.
“Hi,” he says, his voice deep and smooth. “I think you made me famous.”
I open my mouth to respond. To apologize. To say literally anything.
Instead, I inhale sharply through my nose.
And breathe in a massive cloud of powdered sugar from the beignets.
The sneeze is immediate, violent, and catastrophic.
White powder explodes from the plate, billowing up in a cloud that coats everything in a three-foot radius.
Including Mason.
His black shirt is suddenly covered in white. His jeans have streaks across the thighs. There’s even some in his hair.
His friend across the café absolutely loses it, laughing so hard he nearly falls out of his chair.
I’m frozen, hand over my mouth, powdered sugar still floating in the air like the world’s most embarrassing snow globe.
“Oh my God,” I manage. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry.”
Mason stares down at himself, brushing uselessly at the sugar. It’s not working. The powder is fine enough that it’s clinging to the fabric, spreading more with every attempt to remove it.
Then he starts laughing. Thank the heavens he’s not angry. “That’s one way to make an impression,” he states.
“I am so, so sorry.” I’m grabbing napkins, handing them to him, trying to help, but I’m just making it worse. “I didn’t mean to. I just, the sugar, and I inhaled, and—”
“It’s fine.” He waves off my attempts to clean him. “Really. I’ve had worse happen.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“You’d be surprised.” He’s still smiling, and there’s something in his expression that’s almost… pleased? Like this is entertaining rather than annoying.
I force myself to meet his eyes. “I also didn’t mean to put you in the photo. I swear I didn’t even notice you were there. I was focused on the food.”
“You didn’t notice me?” He raises an eyebrow, and there’s definitely smugness in his tone now.
I stare at him. “The food was very interesting.”
“Uh-huh.” He glances at the remains of my beignets, then back at me. “Clearly.”
There’s a pause. I’m acutely aware that we’re being watched by approximately everyone in the café, including Nina, who’s behind the counter making exaggerated kissy faces at me.
I want to die.
“I really am sorry,” I say again. “About the photo seemingly going viral. I had no idea people would… react like that.”
He pulls out his phone, shows me the screen. The notifications are still rolling in. “It looks like you’ve got quite the audience.”
“I swear I’m not that popular normally. This is unprecedented.”
“Someone called me a Nordic god sent to test the faithful. That’s a new one.”
I can’t help it. I laugh. “I saw someone call you a lumberjack snack.”
“That’s my personal favorite so far.”
We’re smiling at each other now, and the moment feels different. Lighter. Like we’ve moved past the awkwardness.
“Well,” he says, “I just wanted to come over and say thanks for the publicity.”
Before I can ask anything else, he’s already stepping back. “Enjoy your beignets,” he says. “And maybe warn people next time before you weaponize the powdered sugar.”
“I’ll put up a sign,” I manage.
He winks, which has my stomach fluttering. Then he heads back to his table, where his friend is still laughing.
I watch them gather their things and leave, and the moment the door closes behind them, Nina appears at my table like she’s been launched from a catapult.
“What was that?” she hisses, eyes wide. “What just happened?”
“I accidentally made him go viral online and then sneezed powdered sugar all over him.”
“I saw! The whole café saw! It was amazing!” She’s practically vibrating with excitement. “Do you know who that is?”
“Mason Grey, apparently.”
“He’s gorgeous. Like, criminally gorgeous. Everyone in town knows him.” She leans in closer. “Please tell me you got his number.”
“I got his shirt covered in sugar. Does that count?”
She laughs, bright and delighted. “You’re my new favorite person.”
She bounces back to the counter to help a customer, leaving me alone with my thoughts and my rapidly cooling mocha.
I pull out my phone and look at my post again.
Six hundred likes now. The comments are still rolling in.
And then I see a new follower notification.
@MasonGrey is now following you.
My heart somersaults in my chest.
I click on his profile. It’s only three photos. Ocean views for two. And one photo of him shirtless on a boat deck that has seventeen thousand likes and comments that are somehow even thirstier than the ones on my post.
I close Instagram before I can spiral into overthinking.
Stay focused.
I take another sip of my mocha and pull my laptop back toward me, determined to get some work done. The illustration of Loki stares back at me.
My fingers hover over the trackpad without moving.
After a moment, I grab my phone and open Instagram again.
Mason’s profile is still there, right where I left it. I catch myself smiling at the photo of him shirtless. Then I realize what I’m doing and close my phone.
“Get it together, Anita,” I mutter.
But maybe coming here wasn’t such a bad idea after all.