6. Lizzy
LIZZY
Six hours passed in a blur. When I’m alone and listening to an audiobook, it goes by quick, but nowhere near the speed it did with Mason in the car with me.
The conversation never stopped. There were no awkward pauses where we struggled to think of things to say to each other.
It was refreshing and shocking all at the same time.
“So, this is it, huh?” he asks as we pull into the center of town, and he stops at the traffic light at the main intersection.
It’s quaint and beautiful. No building is over three stories tall, and we have a gazebo in the town center, surrounded by a little park. Small businesses line Main Street, many of them started generations prior.
“This is it. This is Star Falls.”
“It’s cute. Reminds me of something I’d see in a movie.”
I glance around, soaking in the scenery I’ve taken for granted my entire life because it’s the only place I’ve ever lived. The unique beauty became part of the background noise of my everyday life. “It’s cute but also extremely boring compared to Chicago.”
“I can see why you love it so much.”
“I used to love it. I thought it was the best place ever, but lately…”
“It doesn’t feel like home anymore?” he asks, and I swear there’s a hint of hopefulness in his voice.
“It’s lost its sparkle, but mostly because my brother isn’t here anymore.”
“You know where he is?” he asks, teasing me.
“Where?” I ask, playing his game.
“Where I am.” He gives me a smile that stops my heart for a second.
The man is handsome as the devil—tempting as him too.
I’ll never forget the first time I saw him at the bar.
I nearly swallowed my own tongue. Never in a million years would I have thought I’d be here with him now.
And even more, I never would’ve guessed he’d be doing his best to try to lure me away from here.
“I know,” I say with a sigh, wishing it were so easy to move to another state. I do have a life here. A boring one, but it’s still a life.
“Are you hungry? Is there any place good in town?”
“I’m starving. What do you want to eat?”
“Italian,” he answers, but from the way he’s looking at me, I feel like he’d rather have me.
Of course an Italian man is going to want to eat Italian. “Benito’s is by the next light. They are the best in town.”
“Is it Chicago good, though?”
“You’re such a food snob,” I tease him, swatting his arm playfully.
“It’s hard not to be.”
“You’ll love Benito’s. You’re a lot like him and his family.”
“Is he ridiculously handsome?” Mason asks, clearly needing his ego stroked.
“Not as handsome as you,” I tell him. I know how to play the game.
He lifts his chin a little higher with the compliment.
“Park here.” I point to an open street spot near the restaurant.
Mason parallel parks like a pro. I still struggle with getting the angle right, and it takes me multiple tries before my car is perfect. When I have to do it in Chicago, it’s always stressful because people are less patient than here.
Mason hasn’t even made it to the sidewalk before I’m stopped by Marilyn, an old friend of my parents. “Sweetie, you’re looking well.”
“Thanks, Mar. You too. How have you been?”
Marilyn is stunning. For a woman in her sixties, she has very few wrinkles. I’d never guess her age if I didn’t know her. Her hair is long and mostly gray, but there are still hints of black scattered throughout.
“Getting old isn’t for the faint of heart,” she says, tiny lines deepening around the corners of her eyes. “But it’s still a blessing. I try to remember that when I feel down, honey.”
I know what she’s saying. My parents weren’t lucky enough to grow old. They didn’t have the gift of time like most people do, including Marilyn.
I pat her hand that’s resting on my arm. “I know, Mar.”
Her gaze swings to who I can only assume is Mason because her eyes widen. “Oh. Who do we have here?”
“I’m Mason. Lizzy’s friend,” he says, offering his hand to Marilyn. When she slides her hand into his, he lifts her fingers to his mouth and places a kiss against her skin.
Oh. He’s a smooth one.
Marilyn’s face immediately turns a bright shade of pink. “Lizzy’s friend.”
“He’s Hunter’s fiancée’s cousin,” I add, “and my friend.”
“You’re a handsome bugger, aren’t you?” Marilyn asks, not pulling her hand out of his grasp. “Lizzy’s lucky to have you as a friend.”
“I’m the lucky one, ma’am,” he replies, his arm at his side brushing against mine.
“Marilyn, is this your grandson?” Cathy, another old friend of my mother’s, stops and asks.
“No, Cathy. This is Lizzy’s friend.” Marilyn finally lets her hand slide out of Mason’s.
I do my best to stop myself from rolling my eyes. I can’t imagine what Mason’s thinking. We haven’t made it a foot and have already been stopped by two people.
“Oh,” Cathy says, sounding very much like Marilyn as she places her hand across her chest. “Well… I…”
“I know.” Marilyn shoulder bumps Cathy. “He’s a lot to take in.”
Mason chuckles, and I’m pretty sure he’s loving the attention. The man gobbles it up, but somehow, he isn’t cocky with me—at least, not all the time.
“I hate to cut this short, ladies, but I need to get some food in Lizzy. She hasn’t eaten all day,” Mason tells them.
“Of course. Don’t be a stranger,” Marilyn says, her eyes moving between Mason and me. “Come on, Cathy. We have a lot to talk about.”
The “a lot to talk” about is no doubt Mason and me. I also knew that within an hour, a majority of the town would know about Mason being here because the older ladies spread gossip faster than any social media app ever could.
I take Mason’s hand, pulling him toward the door and off the street before we’re stopped by someone else. His fingers intertwine with mine, and my stomach flutters at the contact and the intimate gesture. When he’s around me, he has a sweetness to him that makes him even more irresistible.
The smell inside Benito’s makes my stomach growl, and my mouth waters.
“It passes the smell test,” Mason says as we move toward the hostess stand.
Rita’s there, as always, her face covered in a smile. Rita’s just like Cathy and Marilyn. She’s a gossip, and since she works at the best restaurant in town, she knows everything.
“Lizzy,” she says, her eyes on Mason and not me. “Table for two?”
I’m usually in here alone and sit at the bar. I don’t love eating alone, but I also don’t like having to cook for myself every night. The bar is a great option for me since it’s usually filled with locals I’ve known my entire life, so it’s never lonely or quiet.
“Please,” I tell her.
“Right this way,” she says, grabbing two menus even though I have the damn thing memorized.
Mason’s hand doesn’t leave mine as we weave our way through the crowded dining room. I don’t need to look around to know all eyes are on me or, I should say, us.
This is the reason small-town living has been getting on my nerves lately. When I was younger, I never minded the way people watched every move I made, but the older I get, the more annoyed I find myself becoming.
Thankfully, Rita doesn’t stick around as she tucks us into a booth near the back of the restaurant. It gives us a moderate amount of privacy.
“Was it me, or was everyone watching us?” he asks as he makes himself comfortable and picks up the menu.
“It wasn’t you.”
“It’s sweet.”
“It’s not,” I argue as I glance up from the menu.
“Everyone loves you.”
“You’d think that, but they’re only excited to have something new to talk about. I’m not usually the topic of town gossip.”
Mason chuckles and shakes his head. “Don’t think this doesn’t happen at my bar too. The regulars have a lot to say about everyone and everything.”
“I haven’t noticed that, but I feel anonymous when I’m there.”
“They’re good at hiding it,” he tells me, his gaze moving to the menu in his hands. “Now, what’s the best thing on the menu?”
“If you want something filling and rich, go with the lasagna. If you want something light, the lemon chicken is divine.”
“Which one are you having?”
“The chicken.” The last thing I want is to feel like a beached whale all night. I love the lasagna, but all the gluten makes me bloated.
“I’ll have whatever you’re having.”
“You sure? You look more like a lasagna guy.”
He raises an eyebrow as his gaze meets mine. “I look like a lasagna guy?”
“You don’t get those—” my eyes dip to his muscular biceps “—from watching how much you eat.”
“I eat a lot of protein, but I’ve never been one to care much about calories or carbs.”
“Lucky,” I mutter. Everything that goes into my mouth instantly settles in my gut, ass, and thighs.
“Who hurt you, sweetheart?”
My belly flutters at his words. “What?”
“Who made you think like that?”
“Like what?” I ask, setting the menu down in front of me.
Before he has a chance to answer, Benito’s standing next to our table with a big smile. “Bella, we’ve missed you,” he says, bending over to kiss each of my cheeks. “Rita told me you brought a guest, and I had to come out and say hello and meet your new friend.”
I smile up at Benito. I’ve known him and his family my entire life. “This is Mason. He lives in Chicago.”
Benito’s face lights up before he turns toward Mason and extends a hand to him. “Welcome to my restaurant. I’m Benito, and any friend of Lizzy’s is a friend of mine.”
Mason shakes Benito’s hand, staring at him in a way that makes me think that Mason’s leery of Benito’s kindness. “Thank you. I’ve heard only good things.”
“Let me offer a treat for your table. I have a pot of artichokes in the back that I’ve been making all day. I’d love to send two out for you two to enjoy.”
“That would be amazing,” Mason says, his eyes lighting up.
“I don’t think I’ve ever had artichoke outside of a jar,” I say.
Benito clutches his chest, rocking back like I’ve wounded him. “That’s a crime. You must try mine. It’s an old family recipe.”
“Whatever you want, Benny,” I tell him. “If you make it, I’ll eat it. You’ve never given me anything even remotely bad.”