7. Mia
My students notice my distraction immediately and promptly call me on it.
“Miss Reyes isn’t paying attention! She needs to sit in the peace corner!” they jeer at me.
I can’t help laughing but force myself to concentrate on the school day, even though I’m eager to get it over with and get back to Mason and his restaurant planning. Now that he remembers his purpose, plans for Wild Sage are taking off at warp speed, and I don’t want to miss a thing.
And since that kiss… he’s been on my mind constantly. I”m constantly daydreaming about him, even when I”m supposed to be focusing on other stuff.
But my priority is to my students, and we plug through the gingerbread houses, sealing the walls together with tubes of white icing and leaving them to set overnight before the bell rings.
“Don’t eat that!” I call out to one of the sneakier boys, who tries to snatch a piece of gingerbread from the roof of one of our creations.
I ensure they bundle up in their multi-colored snowsuits and hats, their mittens covering small hands, and file them out of the first-grade classroom toward the student helper who will see them to their respective busses or parents.
Retreating to my desk, I collect my belongings, eager to be on my way, when a knock on the door interrupts me. The gym teacher, Jerry, lounges in the doorway.
“Ah!” I groan, guilt flooding me at the sight of him. “I still haven’t firmed up those dinner plans with you!”
“The way I hear it, we’ll be having dinner at Wild Sage soon,” he replies, folding his arms over his chest with a smile. “Good for you, getting back out there again.”
I flush and look down.
“That’s the hope,” I agree, returning his smile. “Things are definitely moving along for Mason and Wild Sage.”
He nods slowly. “It’s a relief that he’s staying to open it. I understand things were a bit touch and go there for a bit.”
The smile remains on my face, but inside, my stomach flips. “What do you mean?” I reply, already wishing I hadn’t asked.
“No, nothing,” he replies quickly, reading my discomfort. “I mean, Spruce Crossing isn’t exactly LA or New York. It seems like a strange place to start a restaurant if you want to make a name for yourself.”
“Did you tell him that?” I whiplash with far more anger than I intended.
His hands raise defenselessly. “I don’t even know the guy. But I know you’re spending a lot of time with him. And just because I didn’t say anything to him, doesn’t mean someone else won’t. For the life of me, I can’t figure out what he’s doing here, of all places. And I’m not the only one.”
I grit my teeth.
“This isn’t said to upset you, Mia. It’s just something me and the missus were talking about last night.”
“I know,” I mutter. “And you’re probably right. He would probably do much better somewhere else.”
“Restaurants are a tough business. Spruce Crossing probably can’t handle another one. I mean, there aren’t that many mouths to feed.”
I hang my head, not wanting to say something I’m going to regret.
“We hope to meet your new friend and try his food, though,” Jerry adds. “Maybe you can bring him to dinner, too, if you ever get around to making those plans with the missus. She wants to thank you for all that work you did for the community center car wash in the fall.”
It was hardly a big deal to me, but I can see that they won’t let the matter go.
“I will call her,” I blurt. “I have to go now, though.”
He nods and leaves me to my thoughts, a dull headache creeping up the back of my head.
I tell myself not to be ridiculous, that Mason came to Spruce Crossing of his own volition after weighing the pros and cons. But that was before the accident, and before he’d actually experienced life here with cow traffic jams and nosy old ladies. Has the reality of it hit him yet? Will he change his mind?
Contractors measurethe distance between the booths inside Wild Sage as I enter, the sight of them giving me a smidgen of hope. Since regaining his memory, Mason has shown no doubt about surging forward with his plans for the restaurant at all. Over the last three days, the place looks like a completely different establishment. Mason is on a roll.
Jerry doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Mason is fully focused on his life here now that he remembers… isn’t he?
“There she is!” Mason’s voice booms out from the kitchen, and I turn around as he strides toward me, his arms extended. “How was school?”
“Great!” I tell him. “I saved the gingerbread houses from being eaten before they could be decorated.”
He grins and waves me through the swinging doors. I cast a last look at the contractors and follow him back, excitement coursing through me.
A gasp escapes my lips when I enter the kitchen, eyes popping when I see the commercial stoves in place. “You’ve been busy today!”
“They just came in,” Mason announces proudly. “They’re hooking up the gas lines tomorrow.”
I wish I could be here for that, but I still have to finish out the last two weeks of school before Christmas break begins.
My hands trail over the stainless steel appreciatively, but Mason calls me toward the counter space where pages scatter over the surface.
“I think I’ve got the menu figured out,” he tells me, my attention diverted toward the wide countertop.
My heart skips a beat as I fall beside his towering frame, my stature suddenly very noticeably tiny in comparison beside him. I sneak a sidelong glance at him, but his chocolate gaze is fixated on the papers in front of him.
“There will be daily specials, of course,” he explains, pointing to the top where “Specials” is written in his bold, even handwriting. “I think I’ll offer vegetarian and meat options every day.”
Excitement creeps into his tone, and it’s infectious. I slip my gloves off and take the makeshift menu in my hand.
“I’ve spoken to some of the local ranchers,” he continues. “They’ll act as my suppliers for the beef, and I have a couple of farmers in mind for the bison, chicken, dairy, and eggs. There’s a local produce supplier who is at the top of my list. I still need someone for fish, though.”
Pride snakes up my spine. “I could have helped you with all that.”
He turns to face me. “You’ve helped me enough,” he replies tenderly, brushing a stray strand of hair off my cheek. “I can’t wait to get cooking, so you can try some dishes I have in mind.”
I tip my head back, and he brushes a quick kiss against my lips. “I can’t wait, either,” I murmur hopefully, all of my earlier fears dissipating. He’s not going anywhere. “Do you have an opening night in mind?” I ask. “Or is that too ambitious at this point?”
His hand falls to his side, and he shakes his head. “No. I’m determined to open on December twenty-third,” he replies.
My mouth forms an “O” of surprise, but before I can make a comment, a gust of wind sweeps through the kitchen, and someone calls out to Mason.
“Mason? Are you in here?”
We make our way toward the front of the building and find Christian at the door.
“Oh, hi, Mia,” Christian says. “It’s a good thing you’re here, too. You both need to get down to the community center immediately!”
Mason and I exchange nervous looks. “Why?” I ask. “What’s wrong?”
“You’ll see when you get there!” Christian barks, spinning to leave us as he rushes out, and I watch him before glancing back at Mason.
“Should we go?” Mason asks me, and I shrug.
“It sounds like something’s going on,” I answer slowly, but even as I speak, I wonder if I’m not setting myself up for regret. What could possibly be going on?
We walkthe block to the community center, which is in Spruce Crossing Park. Mason’s brow is furrowed, but I’m far less concerned than he is, even though I don’t say it aloud. As much as I’ve wanted to embrace this budding romance over the past few days, I can’t stop the doubts from creeping into my thoughts. There have been outsiders whispering and questions about how he’ll make Wild Sage work with so few customers that linger in the back of my mind.
And now with Christian announcing more havoc…
“I hope this has nothing to do with my licensing,” he mutters, more to himself than me, but the words echo my innermost thoughts, anyway.
“It doesn’t,” I sigh.
“How can you be sure?” he presses, the stress on his face clear. “Why didn’t Christian give me more details?”
I bite on my lower lip, remembering that he’s from the city. I’m constantly reminded in small ways that he’s unaccustomed to our small-town issues.
“It could be anything,” I tell him, trying to sound reassuring. If the drama had anything to do with Mason’s business, Christian would have definitely provided more details in the privacy of the restaurant.
A familiar sense of dread overtakes me as we near the center, dozens of cars already parked in the small lot, some of them opting to idle on the road. Instantly, I see what the uproar is about, and I’m both amused and appalled. I want to tell Mason to turn around before he can witness the ridiculousness of it all, but it’s too late.
“Oh, dear,” I mutter.
“What? What’s wrong?” Mason questions, his head whipping left and right. I point to the front of the community center where the Christmas scene has been laid out, Santa’s sleigh adorned in pineapples, the plastic fat man in a pair of Bermuda shorts and a lei as he guides his team of flamingos through the snow.
“What?” Mason demands again, not understanding what blasphemy the new volunteer has created with the scene before us.
Half the town gathers around the offensive birds, crying out for the usual reindeer and traditional Santa who has always graced the front of the center in his red suit and hat.
The volunteer runs around trying to appease and explain her position as more cars drive up, her complexion waning to see the disruption her change has made to the community.
“I don’t understand what’s happening,” Mason confesses as I smother a sigh and walk closer. I don’t want to tell him, my embarrassment mounting as loud voices meet our ears.
“…every year! Why would you think this is acceptable? Put Santa back as he should be!”
Understanding colors Mason’s face, bemusement falling over his attractive features. “Are they mad about the display? Is that why the entire town is gathered here right now?”
Gritting my teeth, I force a grin. “Welcome to Spruce Crossing, where messing with Santa and his reindeer is cause for war.”
“We don’t really need to be here for this, do we?” Mason asks, looking around. “I mean, the mob seems to have it handled.”
Embarrassed by Spruce Crossing”s ridiculousness, I hang my head. “No. We can get back to the restaurant,” I breathe, wishing we’d just stayed at the restaurant in the first place.
I”m aware that Christian only mentioned it because he found it amusing, but I”ve been making an effort to show Mason that our town isn”t as narrow-minded as he might think.
If things like this keep happening, Mason is definitely going to change his mind about setting up his place here, and who could blame him?
As we walk back to the restaurant, I eye him through my peripheral vision, noting the way the corners of his mouth twist inward like he’s upset, and it makes my stomach knot. He’s going to leave. I can feel it in my bones. He’s too big-time for Spruce Crossing. Mason just doesn’t know it yet, but I can see it coming. He’ll get bored of it quickly.
Maybe it’s time for me to let him go before I let myself get hurt by another guy who just won’t stay.
“You okay?” Mason asks, catching my side look, and I nod, glancing away.
“I’m tired. I think I’ll just call it a day when I get back.”
“Too much excitement, huh?” he teases, and the words bother me more than I care to admit.
“Something like that.”
We walk in silence. It’s going to be another lonely Christmas at my place. I’m glad I didn’t bother with a tree.