Chapter 2 Mason
MASON
An hour.
I had an hour alone with Gabby, and I couldn’t think of a single damn thing to say.
The radio sat silent on the console between us. Conner’s voice still echoed in my head—keep each other warm—and I wanted to reach through the airwaves and strangle him. He knew exactly what he was doing. They all did.
I risked a glance at Gabby. She was staring out the passenger window, her arms crossed tight over her chest. The fog on the glass made it impossible to see anything outside, but she was looking anyway. Probably trying to avoid looking at me.
I didn’t blame her. I’d barely said ten words to her since we got in the truck. Before that, I’d spent days pretending I didn’t notice her while having almost every meal at the honky-tonk where she worked.
Real smooth, Mason. No wonder the guys called it my tragic love life.
The thing was, I wasn’t like this with other women. I could talk to women just fine. I could even flirt when the situation called for it. But put me in front of someone I actually wanted? Someone who made my chest tight and my brain short-circuit? I turned into a mute idiot.
And Gabby… God, Gabby. She’d been wrecking me since the first night we walked into the Wildwood Ridge Roadhouse.
Bright eyes, quick smile, the way she moved between tables like she was dancing.
She remembered everyone’s orders without writing them down.
She laughed at Conner’s terrible jokes. She always smelled of vanilla and something warm—like fresh-baked cookies.
I was a thirty-five-year-old firefighter who’d run into burning buildings without flinching, and this twenty-three-year-old server had me tongue-tied like a teenager.
Pathetic.
“So.”
Her voice made me jump. I turned to find her looking at me now, her expression unreadable.
“So,” I echoed, like the eloquent conversationalist I was.
“An hour, huh?”
“Looks like it.”
She nodded slowly, then turned back to the window. A few seconds passed.
“You know, you could just tell me,” she said.
My heart stuttered. “Tell you what?”
“What I did.” She was still facing the window, but I could see her reflection in the fogged glass—the tight set of her jaw, the furrow between her brows. “To make you hate me.”
“What?” The word came out sharper than I intended. “I don’t—Gabby, I don’t hate you.”
“Could’ve fooled me.” Now she did turn, and her eyes were bright—not with tears, but with frustration.
“You’ve been coming into the roadhouse for days.
You talk to everyone. Elsa, Kameron, even the cook.
But me? You won’t even look at me. You asked my name three times the first week, like you couldn’t be bothered to remember it. ”
Oh, fuck.
She thought I was asking because I didn’t care enough to remember. The truth was so much more embarrassing than that.
“I knew your name,” I said quietly.
She blinked. “What?”
“The first time I asked.” I forced myself to meet her eyes, even though every instinct screamed at me to look away. “I already knew your name. Elsa told me the night before.”
Confusion flickered across her face. “Then why—”
“Because I wanted to talk to you.” The words felt like they were being dragged out of me with a fishhook. “And that was all I could come up with. Your name. I asked you your name because I’m a fucking idiot who can’t string a sentence together around a woman I actually…”
I trailed off. Coward.
“A woman you actually what?” she asked.
Her voice was softer now, but there was an edge to it. Like she wasn’t sure if she should believe me.
I scrubbed a hand over my face. The truck cab felt too small, too hot, even with the snow piling up outside.
“A woman I’m interested in, okay? That’s why I’ve been weird. Not because I don’t like you. Because I like you too much.”
Silence.
I risked a look at her. She was staring at me with wide eyes, her lips slightly parted. For a second, I thought maybe I’d broken through. Maybe this was the moment everything changed.
Then her expression shuttered.
“Right.” She let out a short laugh that didn’t sound amused. “And you’re telling me this now. While we’re stuck in a truck together. In a snowstorm. With nowhere to go.”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. “That’s not—”
“Look, I get it.” She held up a hand, cutting me off. “We’re trapped here for an hour. Might as well pass the time, right? I’m convenient.”
“Convenient?” I couldn’t keep the disbelief out of my voice. “Gabby, you think I—”
“You guys are from out of town. You’re new, you’re exciting, and every single woman in Wildwood Valley has probably thrown herself at you since you got here.
” Her voice was steady, but I could hear the hurt underneath.
“So forgive me if I’m a little skeptical that the guy who couldn’t look at me for a week suddenly decided I’m interesting the one time we’re stuck alone together. ”
She thought this was about proximity. About boredom. About being the only option.
She had no idea.
“I don’t even like sweet tea.”
The words came out before I could stop them. Gabby blinked, thrown off by the subject change.
“What?”
“Sweet tea.” I shifted to face her fully, my knee bumping the center console.
“I hate it. It’s too sweet, it’s got a weird aftertaste, and I’d rather drink water.
But you always bring it to our table, and you always smile when you pour it, so I’ve been drinking that sugary garbage for six days because it meant you’d come by more often. ”
Her mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
“I switched shifts with Hux twice,” I continued, because apparently the floodgates were open now and I couldn’t stop.
“He owed me, but I didn’t cash in for anything important.
I cashed in so I’d be off duty when you were working.
So I could come in and sit in your section and not talk to you like a fucking wimp. ”
“Mason—”
“I asked Elsa about you.” The words kept coming, like a dam had burst. “Three weeks ago. Asked if you were single, if you were seeing anyone. She told me to man up and talk to you. I told myself I would, and then you smiled at me and I forgot how words worked.”
The truck was silent except for the wind howling outside and the soft whir of the heater. Gabby was staring at me like I’d grown a second head.
“You asked Elsa about me?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.
“I’ve been coming to that roadhouse every chance I get.
” I let out a breath, the confession leaving me winded.
“Not for the wings. Not for the beer I can’t drink on duty.
Not even for the company, because the guys give me shit constantly.
I come because you’re there. And every time, I tell myself I’m finally going to say something, and every time, I choke. ”
I met her eyes.
“This isn’t about being stuck in a truck, Gabby. This isn’t about convenience. If anything, being stuck here is the only reason I finally had the balls to tell you, because I knew I couldn’t run away.”
She was quiet for a long moment. The snow was piling up on the windshield now, cocooning us in white. The windows had fogged completely, turning the cab into a warm, private world.
“You really hate sweet tea?” she finally asked.
A startled laugh escaped me. “God, yes. It’s disgusting.”
“You drank like fourteen glasses last Tuesday.”
“You were wearing that blue shirt,” I said. “The one that matches your eyes. I would’ve drunk motor oil if it meant you’d keep coming back to the table.”
Something shifted in her expression. The wariness was still there, but underneath it, I saw something else. Hope, maybe. Or the beginning of belief.
“That’s…” She shook her head slowly. “That’s the dumbest, sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”
“Yeah, well.” I shrugged, feeling the tension in my chest start to ease. “I’m not known for my smooth moves. Just ask the guys. They’ve been giving me hell about you since day one.”
“Wait.” Her eyes widened. “That’s what they were teasing you about? At the table? When Conner said you were going to choke?”
I nodded, feeling my face heat. “They’ve been trying to get me to talk to you for weeks. Kept saying I was hopeless. Briggs started a bet on how long it would take me to finally make a move.”
“Oh my god.” She covered her mouth with her hand, but I could see her lips curving underneath. “I thought they were making fun of you for not being interested. I thought the joke was that you’d never go for someone like me.”
“Someone like you?” I frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I don’t know.” She dropped her hand, and I could see the vulnerability in her eyes now. “The small-town server. The girl everyone knows but nobody really sees. You could have anyone. I figured I wasn’t even on your radar.”
“Gabby.” I leaned closer without thinking, drawn to her like gravity. “You’re the only thing on my radar. You have been since the night I walked into that roadhouse and you smiled at me like I mattered.”
Her breath caught. I watched her throat move as she swallowed.
“Mason...”
“I know this is crazy.” I kept my voice low, steady, even though my heart was hammering against my ribs.
“I know we barely know each other. But I’ve been wanting to know you for a full week, and I’ve been too chickenshit to do anything about it.
So if you want me to back off, I will. We can sit here in silence until the guys show up, and I’ll never mention this again. ”
I made myself hold her gaze.
“But if there’s any chance—any chance—that you might feel something too, then I’d really like to spend this hour getting to know you. For real this time. No running away.”
The seconds stretched out. Snow ticked against the windows. The heater hummed.
Then Gabby reached over and put her hand on mine. “Okay,” she said.
“Okay?”
“Okay.” A small smile tugged at her lips. “Let’s get to know each other. But you have to actually talk this time. Full sentences. No grunting.”
The relief that washed through me was almost dizzying. “I can do that.”
“Good.” She turned her hand over, lacing her fingers through mine. Her palm was warm and soft, and the simple touch sent electricity up my arm. “So. Mason. Tell me something about yourself that you’ve never told anyone else.”
I looked at our joined hands, then back at her face—the curious tilt of her head, the warmth in her eyes, the way she was looking at me like I was worth knowing.
For the first time since I met her, the words came easy.