Chapter 3
I haven't baked anything in almost a year.
Not because I stopped liking it.
Ryan just hated the mess.
Too much noise.
Too many dishes.
Too much time spent doing something that didn't revolve around him.
By the third time he snapped at me for leaving flour on the counter, I stopped trying altogether.
Now I stand in the tiny kitchen of apartment 4C at eight in the morning, staring down at a bowl of cookie dough while Ava sits in her bouncer nearby, kicking her tiny legs happily.
It feels strangely normal.
Dangerously normal.
Which is probably why I keep expecting something to go wrong.
"You're supposed to be helping," I tell Ava quietly as I stir chocolate chips through the dough.
She responds with a squeal that appears suspiciously like an attitude.
I smile before I can stop myself.
It disappears as quickly.
The apartment still feels unfamiliar in the daylight. Small beams of sunlight spill through the thin curtains, while the faint noise of waves drifts through the split kitchen window.
It's peaceful here.
I don't know what to do with peace yet.
My eyes flick toward the grocery bag still sitting on the counter.
Mason.
Even thinking his name feels strange.
I barely slept after finding the food outside my door last night. Every few hours, I woke up convinced Ryan would somehow be standing over me.
But every time I opened my eyes, all I heard was silence.
No yelling.
No footsteps.
No fighting.
Just the occasional muffled sound from the apartment next door.
Mason is leaving early this morning.
Heavy footsteps.
A door shutting.
For some reason, that sound made me feel safer, not afraid.
Which is ridiculous.
I don't know him.
All I know is:
He's large
military
lives alone
and somehow knew exactly what we needed
That should terrify me.
Instead, I keep thinking about the note.
Figured you probably forgot to eat.
Nobody's noticed things about me in a long time.
Not gently anyway.
Ava fusses softly beside me.
"I know," I murmur. "Almost done."
The smell of chocolate fills the apartment as the first batch bakes, warm and sweet enough to make the place feel a little less empty.
For a few minutes, I can almost pretend I'm just a normal woman baking cookies on a Saturday morning.
Not someone hiding from her ex.
Not a person who jumped every time footsteps rang outside her door.
Not one checking the locks every hour.
Just... normal.
The thought hurts more than I anticipated.
I blink quickly and concentrate on transferring cookies onto a plate.
Most of them come out uneven because I'm distracted and exhausted, but they still smell good.
Good enough for a thank you.
Probably.
I stare at the plate for nearly ten minutes before finally grabbing it.
My nerves twist tighter with every move towards the front door.
This is stupid.
It's just cookies.
However, opening doors still feels dangerous.
I carefully unlock every lock before entering the hallway with Ava balanced on my hip and the plate in my shaking hand.
Apartment 4B stands directly beside mine.
I can hear movement inside.
A drawer is shutting.
Footsteps.
A low male cough.
My pulse jumps immediately.
I should go back inside.
Instead, before I can lose courage, I crouch quickly and place the plate down beside his door.
There's a sticky note under the edge.
Thank you for last night.
- Chloe
Simple.
Quick.
Safe.
I straighten too fast, anxiety climbing immediately through my throat.
Then the door opens.
I jump so badly that I nearly drop Ava.
The man standing in front of me is even bigger up close.
Tall.
Broad shoulders.
Dark hair still damp like he just showered.
Grey Army shirt stretched tightly across muscular arms covered in tattoos.
Intimidating.
My body reacts before my brain.
I take an automatic step backward.
Mason notices immediately.
His look shifts almost immediately—not exactly offended.
Careful.
"Sorry," he quietly says, stepping back himself. "Didn't mean to scare you."
Ava makes a tiny happy noise in my arms.
Traitor.
Heat creeps into my face as I glance down at the cookies.
"I just..." My voice comes out embarrassingly soft. "Wanted to say thank you."
Mason looks at the plate like he's confused someone baked for him on purpose.
Then he notices the sticky note.
Then me.
"You didn't have to do that."
"I know."
Awkward silence settles between us.
I hate how aware I am of him standing there.
Of how much space he takes up.
Of how deep his voice is.
Of how gentle he's being despite looking like someone who could break bones without trying.
Ava reaches suddenly toward the dog tags hanging around his neck.
Mason blinks.
Then, slowly, one corner of his mouth lifts.
"Guess I've got a fan."
The smile changes his whole face.
Softer.
Warmer.
Dangerously attractive.
I look away immediately.
Ava lets out another tiny noise and reaches again.
Mason hesitates before carefully holding one of the dog tags out toward her.
His movements are unbelievably gentle for someone of his size.
A strange ache pulls suddenly at my chest, watching it.
Like my body doesn't know what to do with kindness anymore.
"Chocolate chip?" Mason asks, glancing at the cookies.
I nod.
"They're a little burnt."
"They look fine."
Another awkward pause.
Then Ava yawns dramatically against my shoulder.
Mason's eyes soften slightly.
"You should get some sleep."
Something about the way he says it almost undoes me completely.
Not controlling.
Not irritated.
Not judgmental.
Just concerned.
And maybe that's why the words slip out before I can stop them.
"You're not what I expected."
The second I say it, panic flashes through me.
Too honest.
Too personal.
But Mason leans lightly against his doorway.
"Yeah?" he says quietly.
I swallow hard.
"You knocked on the wall last night."
A trace of guilt crosses his face instantly.
"Right." He rubs the back of his neck. "About that..."
"No." I shake my head quickly. "I mean... most people would've yelled."
His eyes meet mine fully for the first time.
Something unreadable passes across his expression then.
Something heavy.
"I'm not most people."
No.
I don't think he is.