Chapter 16
A few days changed things in a way I didn't expect.
Not in one big moment.
More like a slow shift, I only notice when I look back and realize I'm not as tense as I used to be.
Mason has been around more.
Not constantly.
Not intrusively.
Just... consistently.
A knock at the door when Ava's crying, and I've already run out of ideas.
A bag of groceries left on the bench with no explanation.
A "you eating?" from the hallway that somehow turns into him standing in my kitchen, checking what I actually have in the fridge.
And worse—
Or maybe better—
He's started to get a little more... comfortable.
With me.
With us.
It's subtle.
The way he leans a little closer when he talks now, like distance isn't something he thinks about anymore.
The way his hand will rest briefly at my lower back when he passes behind me in the kitchen, not lingering long enough to make it a question, but enough that I definitely notice.
The way his voice drops softer when he's talking to Ava, like she gets a version of him no one else does.
And the way he... decides things.
That part should annoy me more than it does.
It doesn't.
It just makes everything feel steadier.
Like, I don't have to hold everything together quite so tightly all the time.
"Chloe."
I look up from where I'm trying to fold laundry that Ava has already unfolded twice.
Mason is leaning in my doorway like he owns the frame of it.
Grey hoodie. Hands in his pockets. That calm, unreadable expression he always has when he's already decided something.
My stomach does that annoying little flip it's been doing more often lately.
"What?" I ask.
"You haven't eaten."
"I had breakfast."
He raises an eyebrow.
I hesitate.
"...A biscuit counts as breakfast."
"It doesn't," he says immediately.
I sigh, dropping a tiny onesie onto the couch.
"I'm busy."
"With laundry?"
"With life."
He steps inside anyway.
He does that now.
... enters like it's normal.
Like I didn't use to panic every time someone knocked on my door.
Ava is on the floor nearby, happily chewing on a toy, watching us like we're the most entertaining thing she's ever seen.
Mason glances at her.
Then back at me.
"You're not sleeping properly either," he says.
"I am."
"You're not."
I open my mouth.
Close it again.
Because he's right and I hate that he's right.
He walks farther into the kitchen as if he's assessing something.
Which he probably is.
"Sit down," he says.
I blink.
"What?"
"Sit down," he repeats, like it's the simplest thing in the world.
I fold my arms.
"No."
He looks at me for a second.
Then walks over.
And before I can even fully process what he's doing, he gently nudges me backward by the shoulder until I'm sitting on a kitchen stool.
Not rough.
Not forceful.
Just... certain.
My brain short-circuits slightly.
"Mason," I start.
"Eat," he says, already opening a cupboard as he lives here.
"I can make my own food."
"You don't."
"That's not true."
He glances at me.
I fall silent immediately because it absolutely is.
He takes out bread, cheese, and a pan like he's done this a hundred times in my kitchen specifically.
Which is ridiculous.
And also... true now.
Ava lets out a little squeal from the floor.
Mason glances over immediately.
"Is she alright?"
"Yes," I say quickly. "She's just... existing loudly."
"Good," he says.
Then, quieter, almost like it's automatic now:
"You've got her?"
I nod.
He doesn't wait for more confirmation than that.
He starts cooking.
I watch him for a moment.
The ease of it.
The way he moves around my kitchen is like it's no longer foreign.
Like he's settled into the space without asking permission.
"You know," I say carefully, "you didn't have to start feeding me like I'm... a project."
His hand pauses briefly on the counter.
Then he looks at me.
"No," he says. "Not a project."
My throat tightens slightly at the tone of it.
He turns back to the pan.
Just like that.
Like it wasn't anything important.
Ava suddenly crawls toward my feet and lets out a demanding sound.
I reach down automatically.
But Mason is faster.
He scoops her up without hesitation.
One arm under her, like she weighs nothing.
Ava immediately grabs his hoodie strings, as if they're hers.
"Hey," he murmurs to her. "There you are."
My chest does something weird again.
Every time I think I've adjusted to it, it happens again.
The ease.
The way she settles into him as she recognizes him.
Like he belongs in her orbit.
"You're spoiling her," I say.
"She's a baby," he replies. "That's the job."
I roll my eyes slightly.
"That's not a job."
He glances at me.
"It is now."
Something about the way he says it makes my stomach tighten.
Not in fear.
In something worse.
Awareness.
He finishes making the food and slides a plate toward me.
I don't argue this time.
I eat.
He watches until I do.
Which should feel annoying.
It doesn't.
Instead, it feels like someone is making sure I don't disappear into myself without noticing.
"You're always this bossy?" I ask quietly after a while.
A faint pause.
Then:
"Only when people don't look after themselves."
I look up at him.
He's holding Ava against his chest, her small hand curled into his hoodie again.
Like she always does.
Like it's instinct now.
My heart pulls in a direction I don't fully understand yet.
"That's... not a good habit," I say.
He shrugs slightly.
"I've had worse."
The way he says it is casual.
But it lands heavier than casual should.
I don't push.
Instead, I look back down at my food.
Because something about this—him here, Ava calm, me actually eating—feels too close to something I could get used to.
And that's the problem.
I'm already starting to get used to him.