Chapter 12
Megan
We got home late last night from the Outer Banks.
It was perfect—quiet, slow, just the two of us.
No schedules, no alarms, no deadlines, no reason to be anywhere but together.
I already miss it. Part of me wishes we could have stretched those days out a little longer, stayed tucked away from everything.
Being alone with Mason like that…it still feels surreal. Sweet. Easy. New. Not scary the way I thought the first time would be. Every nervous thought I’d had disappeared the moment he touched me and whispered he loved me.
Waking up beside him each morning, I’ve never felt closer to another person in my entire life. Never felt safer either.
But I could tell Mason was ready to come home. Not in a bad way, just…settled. He likes routine. Our house. His job. His family. And honestly, I get it. I felt it too, that tiny tug in my chest that said it was time to step back into real life.
Still, coming home feels like crossing some invisible line: Once the honeymoon’s over, summer’s basically over too.
The new school year’s around the corner, and from here on out it’s meetings, classroom setup, laminating everything in sight, and labeling literally every object that isn’t nailed down.
Mason’s hand is woven through mine as he pushes open his parents’ front door, and everything hits at once—the sound, the smell, the feeling of home.
Laughter tumbles from the dining room. The warm smell of roast and biscuits drifts through the screen door like it’s been waiting for us to step inside.
Everyone’s here, just like every Sunday.
But it feels different walking in as husband and wife.
We haven’t seen any of them since the wedding, and something about that makes my chest flutter, both nervous and excited at the same time. It’s only been a week, but for some reason it feels like we’ve been away forever.
“This won’t be awkward at all,” he mutters, flashing me that teasing grin.
“Famous last words,” I whisper back, squeezing his hand as we round the corner.
“There they are!” Ella calls from the table, beaming.
Every head turns at once.
“Look who decided to show up!” Cody teases, lifting his fork. “You two forget what time church starts?”
“They’re still in honeymoon mode,” Jesse says, smirking, earning himself a nudge from Ella.
“Stop,” she hisses, laughing. “They just got back.”
Maureen’s already out of her seat, coming around the table to pull us both into hugs. “Well, look at you two. All tan and married.”
“The beach was beautiful. I didn’t want to leave,” I say.
“Was it the most relaxing week of your lives?” Addison asks from her seat.
Mason laughs. “Yeah, considering that’s the longest I’ve ever gone without hearing from one of you.”
“That was on purpose,” Leonard says, grinning.
Cody adds, “We figured you were busy.”
“Cody.” Karissa groans.
He shrugs, pretending innocence. “What? I meant busy relaxing.”
Laughter fills the room, and I feel my face warm, but Maureen is quick. “Well, sit down, I made plenty, so I hope you’re hungry.”
Mason pulls out my chair for me, his hand brushing mine under the table once we sit.
Conversations start again, and everyone starts passing food to Mason and me to fill our plates. The room feels comfortable, normal. It’s loud, it’s a little chaotic, but it’s exactly what I missed while we were gone.
And when Mason reaches over, quietly sliding his thumb along the back of my hand under the table, I know he feels the same way.
* * *
“There’s the famous uniform.” I smirk, leaning against the counter, my first cup of coffee in my hands as I watch Mason button his shirt and click his utility belt in place.
He grins, eying me. “I’m in the uniform and that’s all I get?”
“I didn’t brush my teeth yet, so yes.”
“I don’t care.”
Before I can stop him, he pulls me in, hands braced on my hips, and kisses me anyway. He smells like soap and coffee, and his freshly shaved jaw is smooth against my skin.
When he pulls back, I grin. “And you shaved.”
“Just for you.” He pauses. “Well, and my protocol.” He laughs, then makes a face. “Speaking of hair, I’m surprised you have any left on your head. I pulled half of it out of the drain this morning.”
I snort. “Oh yeah, that happens.”
“That happens,” he repeats, shaking his head. “You shed more than a dog.”
I laugh, sipping my coffee while he finishes lacing his boots.
“Be safe today,” I say quietly.
He glances up at me, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Always am.”
He presses one more kiss to my forehead before heading out, and the door shuts behind him.
By the time afternoon rolls around, I’ve been running errands and checking things off my to-do list like it’s my full-time job. Teacher brain is already kicking into gear.
I stop by the store on the way home, because somehow, in all the chaos of wedding prep and the excitement of leaving for our honeymoon, I forgot the most basic newlywed task of all: making sure our fridge wasn’t completely empty.
I made a meal plan on the drive back from the beach. Mason helped—well, sort of. He made requests, I looked up recipes, and we compromised somewhere in the middle.
Tacos? Easy. Burgers on the grill? He said he’d handle those, I just had to grab the fixings.
And then there’s chicken pot pie. That one’s new for me.
I usually buy the frozen ones, pop them in the oven for forty-five minutes, and call it a day.
But this feels like a new wife, new effort kind of week.
I found a simple recipe online. Real vegetables, real chicken, real gravy. The only cheat? Store-bought pie crusts. I’m hoping he won’t notice. I figure if the filling tastes homemade, I’m safe. One step at a time.
By six, the kitchen smells dangerously close to Maureen’s cooking. I slide the pie into the oven and set the timer. If it’s a disaster, at least I’ve got taco ingredients as backup.
I’m wiping down the counters when I hear the crunch of tires on gravel. Mason’s truck. And the miracle of all miracles—he’s on time.
A few seconds later, two strong hands slide around my waist, resting at my hips. His chest presses against my back, solid and warm.
“Something smells good,” he murmurs, his voice low against my ear. He kisses the side of my neck, and it tickles enough to make me squirm.
“Guess what it is,” I tease, turning my head slightly.
He hums, taking a slow breath. “Hmm. Something with chicken?”
“Yes.”
“Pot pie?”
I spin around, grinning. “Yes!”
He smiles, clearly proud of himself. “Sounds good. Smells even better.”
I beam. “It’s my first one from scratch.”
“Look at you,” he says, voice soft, teasing.
“I know. I’m trying.”
“And I’m already impressed.”
“Good. You’ll be even more impressed if it’s edible.”
He laughs, leaning in for another kiss. “I wanna check on something real quick before we eat. Something was up with the paychecks; need to make sure it went through right.”
“Okay.” I nod
He squeezes my waist once before stepping back. “Be right back.”
He disappears into the office. I look toward the oven, timer ticking down, and hope it tastes as good as it smells. Because tonight’s dinner feels like a test. A test on whether or not I have the potential to be a good homemaker or not.
While it bakes, I start cleaning up the explosion I left behind—measuring cups, mixing bowls, cutting boards, and about four spoons I didn’t need to use but somehow did.
Mason’s in the office down the hall, door cracked, his low voice drifting out every so often while he talks numbers or emails with his chief.
I hum under my breath, rinsing dishes and stacking them neatly in the rack, wiping down the counters until they shine. I even start setting the table, pulling out our mismatched plates and lighting the little candle I bought earlier today.
That’s when I realize the trash is full. Of course it is. I sigh and press the wet paper towels down into it with my hand when I feel a slice.
“Sh—shoot! OW! Holy MACARONI!”
The sound bounces off the walls, and my first instinct is to clamp my hand tighter. It burns—sharp and deep.
“Megan?” Mason’s voice echoes from the office. “What happened?!”
“I cut my finger—ow!” My teeth are clenched, tears stinging my eyes as I fumble for more paper towels by the sink.
Mason’s there before I can turn around. “Let me see, baby. Let me see.”
“No, it hurts.” I whimper, pressing the paper towel tighter, blood blooming through it.
“I know, but I need to see it.” His voice is calm, steady—his cop voice—but the worry in it still makes my stomach twist.
“I can’t look at it,” I say quickly, squeezing my eyes shut. “I’ll pass out.”
“I don’t want you to look,” he says softly. “Just me. Okay? Just let me look.”
He takes my wrist gently, peeling the towel back just enough to peek. “Mm-hmm. Yeah, that’s a good one,” he murmurs under his breath.
Then I look. For some stupid reason I look, and a wave of heat rushes through me—then cold. The floor feels like it’s tilting. The edges of my vision go fuzzy, tunneling in. Mason’s voice sounds far away now, muffled, like he’s talking through water.
“Meg? Hey.”
Everything fades. Then light. Sound. My head pounding. My cheek pressed to something cool.
I blink, disoriented, my vision swimming until Mason’s face finally comes into focus above me. His hand is on my cheek, the other holding my bandaged finger tight.
“Babe,” he says softly.
“I shouldn’t have looked,” I mutter.
“No, you shouldn’t have.” He laughs softly and brushes my hair back, leaning over and kissing my forehead. “You’re okay. I caught you.”
“I know you did.”
“Yeah, but what if I’m not here next time? That scares me, Megan.”
“Yeah. I know,” I mutter, eyes drifting down. Because it’s not like I haven’t thought about that before. I’ve gotten lucky he’s been with me every time.
He exhales, slow and heavy. “I need you to do two things for me,” he says, lifting my chin so I have to meet his eyes.
“One, stop hurting yourself—please. And two, if you do, because you’re the clumsiest person I’ve ever met…
” His mouth twitches like he’s trying not to smile.
“Do not look at it. Grab something, cover it up, lay down, and you call me.”
I shut my eyes and nod slowly. “I know. I will.”
“’Kay.” His voice is gentle, like the word itself is a promise. He leans in and kisses me again, longer this time, reassuring, before helping me up, slow and careful, one hand behind my back like he’s afraid I’ll tip over if he lets go.