Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
Mason
The bookstore felt different when it was closed—quieter, more intimate, as if the books themselves were resting.
Morning sunlight cast golden rectangles across the hardwood floors.
Though it was my second day off, I’d come in early to catch up on paperwork and inventory I’d neglected during the preparations for the art reception.
But I was finding it difficult to concentrate.
My mind kept drifting back to yesterday—to Caleb’s unexpected appearance during the storm, the weight of my mother’s afghan over us both, the taste of perfectly made macaroni and cheese, and most of all, the kiss and intimacy that had changed everything.
My fingers absently touched my lips as I remembered the kiss.
Gentle. Tentative. Like coming home after a long absence. And the—
A tap on the door pulled me from my thoughts, and my memories screeched to a halt.
Todd waited on the doorstep, his arms straining around the bulk of bubble wrap, cardboard, and packing tape.
I rushed across the hardwood floor and fumbled with the stubborn lock.
“Morning,” he called cheerfully. “Hope I’m not interrupting. I wanted to get those sold pieces packed up for delivery.”
“I could use a break.” I relieved him of some of the packing materials, tucking cardboard under my arm.
We moved to the events room, where three empty spaces on the walls marked the paintings that had sold. I helped Todd lay out bubble wrap and cardboard.
“That reception was incredible,” Todd said as we carefully wrapped the first painting. “I’ve never sold three originals in one night.”
“The prints did great too,” I added. “People have been coming in specifically to look at them.”
Todd beamed. “I’m already planning a new series. Especially since I heard Mary Anne’s thinking of retiring at the end of the summer.”
My hands froze on the bubble wrap. “Retiring? Really?”
“That’s the rumor. Said something about wanting to travel with her husband while they’re still young enough to enjoy it.” Todd secured a corner with tape. “Timing works out well for me to have a new collection ready for whoever takes over.”
Whoever takes over. The possibility I hadn’t dared consider suddenly unfurled inside me. If Mary Anne was retiring…would she sell the gallery? Could Caleb stay under the new management? The thought sent my pulse racing.
“Have you… Has Caleb mentioned anything about it?” I tried to keep my voice casual, but my hands trembled slightly as I handed Todd another roll of tape.
“Not specifically.” Todd shrugged. “But he’s been asking a lot of questions about the local art scene, long-term planning stuff. More than you’d expect for someone just filling in temporarily.”
I nodded, afraid to say more, afraid my hope might be visible on my face. We finished packing the paintings in companionable silence, but my mind was spinning with possibilities.
After Todd left with his carefully wrapped cargo, I tried to return to my inventory sheets, but it was useless. The idea of Caleb staying, of this tentative reconnection between us having a real chance—it was too overwhelming to set aside.
Another knock sounded on the door, and my heart leaped before my mind could temper it. Caleb stood outside, his hair slightly windblown by the sea breeze.
I swung the door wide open, my pulse quickening and butterflies taking flight in my stomach at the sight of him.
“Thought I might find you here,” he said with a smile. “Gallery’s closed, too. Need help?”
I gestured to the events room. “Todd just took the sold paintings. I was about to rearrange what’s left.”
“Perfect timing, then.” He shrugged off his coat, and I caught the comforting scent of his cologne as he passed me.
We worked together, adjusting the remaining paintings to fill the empty spaces. Caleb had an eye for composition, suggesting arrangements I wouldn’t have considered. Our hands brushed occasionally as we held frames steady, each touch sending electricity through me.
“That one should move to where the seascape was,” he suggested, pointing to a painting of the lighthouse. “The lighting hits it perfectly there.”
As we carefully moved it into position, I gathered my courage. “Todd mentioned something interesting,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant. “About Mary Anne retiring.”
Caleb’s hands stilled on the frame. When he didn’t immediately respond, I risked a glance at his face. Something complex passed across his features—surprise, uncertainty, maybe even a touch of dismay at having this conversation.
“Is it true?” I pressed when the silence stretched too long.
“She’s considering it. Nothing’s definite yet.” He met my eyes briefly, then looked away. “I’ve been thinking about…possibilities.”
My heart thundered in my chest. “Possibilities?”
“If Mary Anne does retire, I…” He took a deep breath. “Maybe I could remain as the director.”
The words hung in the air between us, heavy with implication. I set down a hammer, afraid my shaking hands might drop it.
“You’d stay in Seacliff Cove?” My voice came out barely above a whisper.
“I’d like to.” His eyes met mine, genuinely uncertain. “If it makes sense. Professionally, I mean.”
But we both knew it wasn’t just a professional decision. Not after yesterday, not after years of history between us.
“I didn’t want to mention it yet,” he continued quickly. “Nothing’s definite. Mary Anne might change her mind. And I’ve only taken a sabbatical from the Louvre.”
“But you want to stay.” It wasn’t quite a question.
A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I want to stay.”
The simple admission unlocked something in my chest. Hope—dangerous, beautiful hope—bloomed there, warming me from within.
“What does that mean for…us?” I hardly dared ask, but I had to know.
He propped the painting against the wall and took a step closer, still hesitant but with more certainty than before. “I’d like to find out. If you would.”
My throat tightened with emotion. “Yesterday wasn’t just comfort during a storm?”
“Not for me.” His voice was soft but sure.
I moved toward him, closing the distance between us. “Not for me either.”
His hand reached up to cup my face, thumb gently tracing my cheekbone. “I’ve missed you, Mason. For eleven years, I’ve missed you.”
I leaned into his touch, allowing myself to believe, just for this moment, that this might be real. That he might stay. That we might have a second chance.
When his lips met mine, it wasn’t tentative like yesterday. It was a promise, warm and certain. My hands found the soft fabric of his sweater, and I pulled him closer as the kiss deepened. I wasn’t sure how long the kiss lasted—heartbeats, minutes, hours.
As we locked up the bookstore later, stepping out into the late afternoon sunlight, I allowed myself to fully feel the hope that had taken root.
Yes, there were still uncertainties—plans that might fall through, fears that needed to be faced.
But for the first time in years, I could see a future I wanted to walk toward.
But was I setting myself up for heartbreak again if Mary Anne’s plans fell through?