9. Luke
Luke
I slide the last box of pasta onto the shelf and wipe my hands on my apron, letting out a satisfied little sigh. The grocery store is quiet now, the afternoon lull settling in after the lunch rush.
Mrs. Peplinska is behind the counter sorting through some receipts, her silver curls bouncing as he hums an old tune. She’s been like a second grandma to me ever since I came back to Hardrock Park, and I love these quiet moments chatting with her.
“You did a great job on the stockroom today, honey,” Mrs. Peplinska says, looking up with that warm, knowing smile. “Especially after that little distraction the other morning.”
Mrs. Peplinska then winks that magical wink of hers.
My cheeks heat instantly. “Mrs. Peplinska!”
“Oh, don’t you Mrs. Peplinska me. I remember what it’s like to have a handsome man turn your head. Is it that big strapping fellow who dropped you off the other day? Mason, wasn’t it?”
I bite my lip and nod, unable to hide my grin. “Yeah. He’s… really something.”
Just then my phone pings loudly from my back pocket. My heart does a happy little flip. Mason. He said he might text me after his errands today.
I pull my phone out fast, already giggling in anticipation as I unlock the screen.
But the name on the message isn’t Mason.
It’s Patrick.
My stomach drops like I’ve just missed a step on the stairs…
PATRICK: Hey Luke. I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately.
I know I was out of line back in the city.
I said and did a lot of shitty things. I’d really like to make it up to you.
Maybe grab coffee sometime? I want to finally end things on good terms. You deserve that.
I want to show you I’m not a total scumbag.
Come on, you know I’m not. But I need to see you to show that. Let me know.
I stare at the screen, rereading the words twice, three times. My thumb hovers over the keyboard but nothing comes out. Mrs. Peplinska must notice the sudden change in my face because she sets down her papers and comes around the counter.
“Everything alright, dear? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“It’s… Patrick,” I whisper, showing her the screen. “My ex from the city. The toxic one I told you about once.”
Mrs. Peplinska reads it quickly, her expression turning thoughtful. “Well. That’s quite the message. What are you feeling right now?”
“Confused,” I admit, shoving the phone back into my pocket like it might burn me.
“He was charming at first. Flowers, fancy dinners, all that. But then it was constant criticism, controlling me, making me feel small for wanting a quieter life. He called me weak for leaving finance. And now, out of nowhere, he wants to ‘make things right’? It doesn’t feel real. ”
Mrs. Peplinska places a gentle hand on my arm. “Take a minute before you reply, Luke. Don’t let old ghosts rush you. Think about what’s best for you right now. You’ve built a good life here. Don’t let him shake that unless you’re sure it’s worth it.”
I nod, swallowing hard.
“You’re right. I’ll think about it.” I hug Mrs. Peplinska quickly, clock out, and head out the back door toward my car. The drive to Milo and Connor’s cabin is quick when you know the shortcuts like I do, but my mind is spinning the whole way.
Mason’s face keeps flashing in my head—his stern but caring eyes, the way he makes me feel safe and strong.
Why is Patrick popping up now, just when things are finally feeling good?
By the time I pull up to the cute log cabin nestled in the trees, I’ve pushed the message to the back of my mind. Or at least tried to.
Milo throws open the door before I can even knock, already in a bright purple romper with little star prints, his hair all messy like he’s been rolling around.
“You’re here!” Milo squeals, pulling me into a hug. “Taron’s already inside setting up the fort. Hurry, we’re fighting intergalactic invaders today!”
I laugh and let him drag me in. Taron is on the floor in a pink romper, surrounded by stuffies and blankets turned into a massive pillow fort. He waves a foam sword dramatically. “Captain Luke! We need your super strength!”
Within minutes I’ve changed into the spare romper Milo keeps for me—soft yellow with rainbow stripes—and we’re deep in Little Space.
The living room is a battlefield.
We zoom around with our stuffies, blasting imaginary aliens with juice-box lasers and dramatic sound effects.
Popcorn flies everywhere as we dive behind the couch for cover.
Candy wrappers litter the coffee table. The pop music playlist is turned way up: bouncy, silly songs that make us dance between battles.
“Take that, evil Zorgon!” I yell, swinging Buster the stuffie like a mighty hammer. Taron and Milo collapse in giggles, their stuffies joining the fray.
We’re in full Little headspace, carefree and wild, when Connor’s head pops around the corner from his home office.
He looks mildly grumpy, eyebrows furrowed.
“Boys! The music is shaking the walls. Turn it down a notch before the damn mountain lions over on Mighty Pine Point think we’re under attack for real. ”
Milo gives Connor his best innocent pout. “But Daddy, we’re saving the galaxy!”
Connor’s stern look softens instantly at the Daddy. He sighs, fighting a smile. “Volume down. And save me some popcorn.”
Connor disappears again, but not before we hear him chuckle.
The three of us burst into fresh giggles and turn the music down—just a little. The playdate stays magical: more superhero battles, juice boxes with silly straws, coloring pages of brave princely warriors, and lots of cuddles with our stuffies when the invaders get too scary.
But as the afternoon winds down and we start tidying up, the real world creeps back in. I sink onto the couch between my friends, hugging a pillow to my chest.
“So… I got a weird text today,” I say quietly. “From Patrick.”
Both their heads snap toward me.
“City Patrick?” Taron asks, eyes wide.
I nod and tell them everything: the message, the make things right line, how it’s stirring up old feelings.
“He was such an asshole,” I say, grimacing at the memory. “Charming on the surface, but he made me feel like I was never enough. Part of me wants to tell him to get lost. But Mrs. Peplinska said I should think about it… and maybe ending things properly could give me closure?”
Milo leans in, resting his head on my shoulder. “It wouldn’t hurt to meet him for coffee in a public place. Just to hear him out. If he’s genuine, great. If he’s playing games, you walk away knowing you’re stronger now.”
Taron nods. “And you’ve got Mason. And us. You don’t have to do any of it alone. But facing old stuff can make room for the new good things.”
I chew my lip, still feeling conflicted. “Maybe you’re right. A quick coffee. Just to close the chapter. But it feels… weird. Like inviting trouble when things with Mason are finally getting really nice.”
They both hug me tight, reminding me I’m safe and loved.
By the time I leave Milo and Connor’s cabin, the sun is dipping low and my heart feels a little lighter, even if my mind is still tangled.
I text Mason on the drive home, keeping it simple and happy…
LUKE: Playdate was super fun! Miss you already. Gym tomorrow?
His reply comes almost instantly…
Mason: Good boy. Can’t wait. Sleep well, little one. Unless you feel like a quick drink at the Lantern? Call it a night-cap?
I smile at the screen, warmth blooming in my chest. Whatever Patrick wants, it doesn’t change what I have right now. Mason makes me feel seen, safe, and strong.
I just hope this old ghost doesn’t ruin the beautiful thing that’s starting to grow between me and my Mountain Daddy…
* * *
Later that evening, the Woody Hollow is warm and lively, filled with the usual mix of locals unwinding after a long day. Mason and I managed to snag our favorite corner booth near the back.
The jukebox is playing soft country, and the scent of burgers and beer fills the air.
I’m sipping a strawberry lemonade—virgin, because of training tomorrow—while Mason nurses a cold pint. Normally these nights with him feel like magic… easy laughter, his big hand resting on my thigh under the table, that protective warmth that makes me feel so small and safe at the same time.
But tonight something feels slightly off, even before the conversation turns serious.
My phone has been buzzing in my pocket every so often. I’ve been trying to ignore it, but Mason notices.
Of course he does.
Daddy notices everything.
“Who keeps messaging you, little one?” Mason asks casually, though I catch the slight edge in his voice. He sets his beer down and leans back, one thick arm draped along the back of the booth.
My stomach tightens. I didn’t want to bring this up tonight. I wanted it to be just us—good food, flirty touches, maybe a little Daddy praise before we head home. But I hate lying to him, even by omission.
I take a deep breath. “It’s… Patrick.”
The change in Mason is immediate. His easy smile vanishes. His shoulders stiffen, and that warm, open expression I love so much shutters into something harder. Colder. The mountain man who can bench press a small car suddenly looks like he’s ready to throw one through the window.
“Patrick,” Mason repeats, voice flat. “Your ex.”
I nod quickly, reaching across the table to squeeze his big hand.
“It’s not what you think. I promise. I have zero feelings for him anymore.
None. He was awful… controlling, mean, made me question everything about myself.
Today he texted saying he wants to make amends.
Apologize properly. End things on good terms. I haven’t even replied yet.
Mrs. Peplinska and the boys think maybe meeting him for one coffee in public could give me closure, but… I don’t know.”
Mason’s jaw clenches.
I watch as he stares into his beer for a long moment, thumb absently stroking the condensation on the glass. The good mood we walked in with has completely evaporated. There’s a stiffness to him now, like every muscle is coiled tight.
“I’m not worried about you, Luke,” Mason finally says, voice low and rough. “You’re strong. You know your worth now. It’s that sonofabitch Patrick I don’t trust. Men like him don’t just wake up one day wanting to make amends. They want something. Control. Attention. Or worse.”
Mason’s protectiveness should make me feel safe. Instead, guilt twists in my chest. I hate that I’ve brought this shadow into our evening.
“I know,” I say softly, scooting closer so our thighs press together. “That’s why I’m being careful. But ignoring him forever feels… unfinished. Like he still has this tiny piece of power over my peace. One quick coffee, hear him out, and then I can block him for good. That’s all.”
Mason exhales through his nose, nodding once, but the tension doesn’t leave his body.
“If you decide to do it, you tell me the when and where,” Mason says. “I’ll be nearby. Not hovering, just… close enough.”
I smile, even though my heart feels heavy. “My big protective Daddy.”
Mason tries to return the smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Always.”
I squeeze his hand tighter. “I don’t want to ruin the rest of the evening talking about him. Please? Let’s just enjoy being here together.”
Mason drains the rest of his beer in one long pull and sets the glass down with a decisive clink. “Actually, it’s probably time we headed home anyway. Early training tomorrow. Can’t have you showing up tired and sassy.”
The words are reasonable, but the tone is off. It’s too clipped. Too final.
I want to argue, to pull him back into the warm bubble we had when we first sat down, but I can tell his mind is elsewhere now—probably imagining worst-case scenarios involving Patrick. I hate it.
“Okay,” I say reluctantly, gathering my little crossbody bag. “Let’s go.”
The walk back to my apartment is quiet. Too quiet.
Usually we swing our joined hands, tease each other, steal kisses under streetlights.
Tonight Mason’s hand is in mine, but it feels tense.
His stride is longer than usual, like he’s trying to outpace the uncomfortable thoughts in his head.
I keep glancing up at him, searching for the easy smile that was there earlier, but his jaw stays tight, eyes fixed forward.
When we reach my building, Mason stops at the bottom of the steps.
The silence stretches out before us…
“Mason…” I start, stepping close and wrapping my arms around his waist.
He hugs me back, strong and solid, but there’s a distance in it. “Night, Luke. Sleep well. I’ll see you at the gym.”
I rise onto my tiptoes for a kiss. It’s quick—affectionate, but lacking the heat and hunger from previous nights. No tongue, no growl, no hand sliding down to squeeze my ass. Just a press of lips and then he’s pulling away.
“Night, Daddy,” I whisper, hoping the honorific will bring him back to me.
Mason nods once, brushes a strand of hair from my face, and turns to walk back toward his truck parked down the street.
I stand on my steps and watch him go, arms wrapped around myself against the evening chill. This time he doesn’t stop at the corner. He doesn’t turn around, doesn’t look back and wave, or catch the kiss I blow after him.
My chest aches.
I let myself inside, lock the door, and lean back against it, staring at the ceiling. Buster is waiting on the couch, but even his fluffy presence doesn’t fix the knot in my stomach.
I pull out my phone and stare at Patrick’s message again. One stupid text and it feels like it’s already cracked something fragile and beautiful between Mason and me.
I type out a quick reply to Patrick before I can overthink it:
LUKE: Good to hear from you. A surprise, but good. I’ll think about meeting for coffee. I’ll let you know.
Then I mute the chat for now so I don’t obsess. I change into my cloud pajamas, make my usual bedtime milk and cookie, and curl up with Buster on the rainbow quilt. But sleep doesn’t come easily. I keep replaying the stiffness in Mason’s shoulders, the way he didn’t look back…
Mason is jealous. Protective. Maybe even a little scared.
I get it. But I hate that my past is reaching out and dimming the light between us.
Tomorrow at the gym I’ll make it right. I’ll show him with every rep, every “yes, Daddy,” every smile that Patrick means nothing.
I’ll show that my heart is already leaning hard toward the gruff, paddle-wielding, stew-cooking mountain man who makes me feel stronger and safer than I’ve ever felt.
And if Mason still can’t see that I’m not interested in Patrick, then he’s an absolute fool.