Chapter 14
Mason
It’s been a long day. The kind that leaves your shoulders tight and your patience thin. I paid our bills when I got home, just to get it done—mortgage, utilities, truck payment. Watching that checking account drop lower with each click didn’t help my mood.
But when I hear tires crunching on gravel and see her car pull up, my mood lightens.
She comes through the door smiling, arms full of bags—some grocery, some definitely not. She sets them on the counter, her keys clattering beside them, and leans over to press a quick kiss against my cheek. “Hi, honey.”
“More shopping, huh?” I try to sound calm, casual, but my body’s stiff, my tone just a little too flat.
She glances up, brushing hair from her face. “Yeah, I know. But I forgot milk and my bagels, and—oh!” She reaches into one of the bags, pulling out a box. “And these.” She grins, holding up a pack of pregnancy tests. “Just a few more days and we’ll get to see if we made a baby.”
Her voice is playful, light. She leans into me, chest against mine, her fingers tracing my shirt. And for a second, all that frustration softens. I smile. “Right.”
I reach for one of the bags to help her unload them. First up, a pack of magnets—eight of them, little circles with pink-and-white plaid patterns. I flip them over, scanning for a price. Fifteen bucks. For magnets.
Before I can say anything, she’s talking again. “I’m excited to try this coffee creamer,” she says, putting it in the fridge. “It’s new.”
“Uh-huh.” I keep unloading the bags. Snacks, granola, organic labels everywhere. I like healthy stuff, sure, but organic is also double the price for half the quantity.
“Megan,” I start, “did we really need all this?”
She straightens. “It’s groceries, Mason. So…kinda.”
“It’s not just groceries,” I mutter, holding up the magnets. “This is luxury stuff we can’t afford right now.”
Her arms cross, her expression soft but firm. “Magnets are luxury?”
“Fifteen-dollar ones are,” I say, setting them down. “And all this organic stuff…it’s fine, I’m not saying it’s bad, but it’s expensive, and—”
She cuts me off, her voice raising. “You’re the one who’s used to all this homegrown, homemade, better-for-you crap! I’m just trying to please you!”
“Okay, but—”
“You haven’t said anything about a budget, or what’s too much, or what’s fine!”
I hold up my hand. “Okay,” I say calmly. “You’re right. We didn’t talk about it.”
“Exactly, so don’t talk down to me like I’m just spending for fun. I make money too, Mason.”
I take a breath, rubbing the back of my neck. “Meg. Take a breath, okay? I didn’t mean to make you upset.”
She exhales hard through her nose, still standing stiffly across from me.
“I’m not trying to make things harder,” I say carefully. “I just want us to be smart. We don’t have to stop getting things we want, I just…” I gesture toward the bags. “We gotta be mindful. Especially if”—I glance at the pregnancy tests still on the counter—“if there’s a baby on the way.”
Her expression softens, but her shoulders stay tense. “I know,” she says quietly, eyes fixed on the counter.
My tone shifts, gentler now. “I just…I paid the bills when I got home, that’s all. Seeing the totals just got in my head a little.”
“Right,” she mutters, still not looking up. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” I exhale, running a hand through my hair. “Just…no more random things for a while, okay? No more Pinterest-inspired décor.”
The second it’s out of my mouth, I know I said it wrong.
Her jaw drops slightly, eyes flicking up to mine, wounded. “You don’t like it?” she asks, voice small but sharp around the edges.
My stomach sinks. “I never said that,” I start carefully, gesturing around the room. “I said no more…for now.”
Her eyes scan the space—the soft pink pillows, the candles, the little wreath she hung on the pantry door. “I guess I did get a lot…” she says quietly.
I press my lips together, not trusting myself to answer without making it worse.
“Sorry,” she adds, voice tight.
I sigh, stepping closer. My hand slides around her waist, settling on the small of her back as I pull her in. “It’s okay,” I murmur against her hair.
She exhales slowly, her hand coming up to the back of my neck. Her fingers trail through my hair, gentle and unhurried, massaging lightly as she leans into my chest.
The tension between us softens, melting away into something fragile and real.
“I just wanted to make it nice,” she whispers.
“I know,” I say quietly. “And you did.”
We stand there for a moment, the hum of the fridge filling the silence. My heart steadies against hers, and the house feels calm again.
After we get the groceries put away, Megan heads for the shower while I start dinner. Burgers on the grill, buns toasting on the top rack, the air thick with that smoky summer smell. It feels good, simple.
I carry the food inside, and Megan’s just coming down the hall.
Her hair’s wrapped in a pink towel, and she’s wearing a white ribbed tank top and soft green shorts.
She’s got those little gold eye patches under her eyes again.
I learned about those on the honeymoon—she talked me into wearing a pair “for fun.” I didn’t notice any miracles happening for me, but my participation made her smile and that’s all that mattered.
“Smells amazing,” she says, peeking at the plate I set on the counter.
We sit, hands finding each other naturally across the table. “You wanna pray or me?” I ask.
“I can.” She nods, closing her eyes. “Dear Lord, thank You for today, for bringing Mason home safe, for giving us this meal and this house and…each other. Amen.”
“Amen,” I echo softly, smiling at her.
“So, how was your day?” she asks just before her first bite.
“Not bad. The usual—nothing major. How about you? You get a lot done at school?”
Her face lights up instantly. “So much. I started labeling desks and putting together the bulletin boards. I’m gonna do a farm theme this year.”
I smile. “That’s fun.”
“Right?” she laughs. “Except I couldn’t find enough cow print borders, so I had to order more online. Oh, and I met a new teacher today. He’s from Montana. He’s cool; really nice.”
She keeps talking, and I just listen, watching her eyes sparkle with every detail. She talks fast when she’s excited—hands moving, voice lifting, like she can’t contain how much she loves what she does.
She takes another bite of her burger, then stops midchew, frowning.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
She sets it down and tilts it up to inspect. “It’s a little pink in the middle.”
I lean closer to see. “It’s fine, babe. You can eat beef a little pink like that. It’s juicy.”
“Juicy,” she repeats doubtfully.
“Yup, it’s good. Try it,” I assure her.
“Are you sure?”
“Promise.”
She hesitates, then takes another small bite and immediately makes a face. “Nope. Can’t do it. Something about it is making me queasy.”
I smirk. “Because of the blood?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t know. It just—” She presses a hand lightly to her stomach and groans.
I watch her for a second, my teasing fading into thought. “Maybe you are pregnant.”
Her head snaps up, eyes wide, the corners of her mouth lifting into a slow, soft smile. “Maybe.”
We’ve only been married two weeks, and the thought hits me harder than I expect. We could be finding out soon. Already stepping into that next chapter. It scares me a little, but I know whatever ends up happening will all be part of His plan, and I have to trust that.