Chapter 7 Mason #2
“It was my parents’ dying wish, Jace,” I growl at him, as if any of this is his fault. I set my tools down and press my fingers into my eyes, taking a breath. “What the fuck am I supposed to do if I can’t finish what they started?”
When I walk into the bar in the late afternoon, my mood has only worsened.
Did Sierra know who I was, and that I want Pier Seven, when she walked in here? Did she know before I did that we’re business rivals?
How would I fucking know?
I don’t know her.
And starting to think that I somehow did after mere drunken hours in her company was nothing but sheer stupidity. A dumbass bout of temporary insanity brought on by alcohol, her ridiculously beautiful eyes, and her incredibly convincing damsel-in-distress act.
That woman was never in distress.
I shut myself into my office, try to focus on what’s important. Work.
Tourism surges in Orchard Cove in early June with the lead-up to Sunshine Fest, which happens over the solstice weekend and kicks off the summer season.
We have a uniquely Mediterranean-like climate here in the Cowichan Valley; the area yields a wealth of organic produce and artisanal products, and Sunshine Fest is our town’s opportunity to proudly showcase what our home has to offer.
In the coming weeks, daily temperatures will steadily climb, local farm stands will start loading up with goods, and the wineries, craft beverage producers, and restaurants in the region will open up their patios and doors all day long as tourists flow through, winding their way along the Vancouver Island Wine Route and the Cider Trail.
In Orchard Cove, other than harvest season, it’s the busiest time of year for me and my family.
Which is exactly why I planned to run a pop-up restaurant in Pier Seven—to showcase Sea Haven’s artisanal ciders and spirits, pairing them with seasonal foods from the menu at the bar.
I even would’ve offered June’s ciders on the menu, like my parents did when they ran the pop-up at the pier last summer. We don’t carry any of June’s products at the bar, but during the festival, I would have.
I should be deep in preparations for the pop-up and everything else that comes with festival planning, like the increased volume of business both the bar and the cider house can expect, and the beer and cider garden we set up in the bar parking lot during the festival.
Instead, I find myself searching for Sierra Daniels on the web and every social media app I can think of. I study her website, and all the accounts she runs to promote her pop-up smoothie bar, Cutie Fruitie.
When I search her name on Instagram, I find her personal account, some posts on other accounts about Cutie Fruitie . . . and a strange meme featuring her and a purple dildo. “I can’t believe how Big it is!” she cries enthusiastically.
I sit back and watch it play, looping over and over.
Who is this woman?
Is she in porn or something?
I almost don’t even want to know.
But I can’t let June or this seductress from the city interfere with my parents’ dream. I’ve got to be smarter than this.
Since when was I ever such an idiot for a pretty face?
There’s a knock on my office door, and Beckett sticks his head in. “Hey, Mason. That Sierra woman is here. You said to tell you if—”
I’m already on my feet and brushing past him.
And there she stands, at my bar. Looking every inch as beautiful, lost, and fucking treacherous as she did last night. And earlier today, when I told her to stay away from my family.
“Hey,” she says stiffly. “I just—”
“Not out here,” I cut her off. “In my office.”
She hesitates but follows me inside.
I close the door behind her and she crosses her arms over her chest. She wears the same T-shirt and sweats I saw her in outside Pier Seven hours ago, and she looks tired.
Dark circles under her eyes and, if I’m not mistaken, the remnants of last night’s makeup.
Like she hasn’t showered yet or settled in anywhere. Or had a moment’s peace since we met.
That makes two of us.
She still looks hungover, actually.
She tears herself away from the eye-contact vortex that we both just got inexplicably sucked into. “Look, I’m just here to get my phone,” she says. “I think I left it here last night.”
I study her, trying to suss out the truth from her bullshit.
She didn’t have her phone at my place last night? And this morning?
I reorient myself around this fact. She couldn’t have used it, then, to take photos of any of the tax documents or other business records I keep at the house.
Of course, this could just be part of her story. She could have another phone.
She could be lying to my face. Again.
“I don’t have your phone. But if my staff found it, it’s likely behind the bar. We have a lost and found.”
“Great. Then I’ll go ask them.” She turns on her heel, and I wonder, did she choose right now to come over here because Jace just took my truck into Duncan? Did she think I wasn’t here, because she didn’t see it in the parking lot?
How disappointing for her.
I put out an arm, press a hand to the door, keeping it firmly closed. “You sure that’s all you want?”
She blinks up at me. “Meaning what?”
“Well, what was the next phase of your little plan? Dupe me into a marriage proposal? Signing over all my property? The orchard? Did June give you a list?”
She takes a deep breath. “I don’t know what’s going on between your family and your neighbor, but trust me, I want nothing to do with it.”
“I don’t trust you,” I say bluntly. “And I’m surprised June trusted you to pull this off. You don’t lie well.”
She looks nervous as hell. Shaky. But maybe that’s just the hangover.
“Well,” she says, “you don’t seem to have the best judgment on that—”
“Clearly.”
“—because I’m not lying.”
“So, you’re telling me that your whole damsel-in-distress act wasn’t designed to manipulate me?”
She huffs out a laugh. “You have a very inflated sense of self-importance. I literally don’t know you from Adam. And there was no act.”
“Then everything you said to me was true?”
“I don’t know what I said. I was drunk!”
“You said your boyfriend dumped you, just days ago.”
She looks away. “So? He did.”
“So, you were just gonna use me for a rebound lay,” I press. “A casual hookup. Nothing else.”
She looks up into my eyes, hers flooding with resentment and . . . hurt. But that could be a lie, too.
“As you know,” she says coldly, “there was no ‘lay.’ But if I wanted to, yes. It would’ve been a rebound.”
My heart thuds dangerously. Anger and mistrust and something much more thrilling at war in my blood.
I swallow.
If I wasn’t so damn attracted to her, would this be easier? Would I be seeing whatever’s going on here more clearly?
Yes.
“You’d just have sex with a total stranger you met in a bar,” I press. “For no reason.”
“You were going to have sex with a total stranger you met in bar,” she snaps back, “when you thought I was with that bachelorette party, which means I’d be leaving town tomorrow. Double standard much?”
“I wasn’t planning to have sex with you.”
She laughs in disbelief. “You would have. If I didn’t tell you to keep it in your pants.”
“You were the one who tried to take it out of my pants.” I scan her shocked expression. “Or did you forget that part?”
She did forget, maybe. Until right now, when I said it.
Now, I can feel her soft, warm hand wrapped around my cock, and wonder if she can feel it, too. Because last night, in bed, she put her hand right down my pants.
And now I’m getting fucking hard all over again.
“Get out of my way,” she grits out.
I decide I need her gone. All the blood in my head is rushing south, anyway. I’m probably not thinking straight.
I push away from the door, clearing her way.
She grabs the doorknob but pauses, her green eyes spitting cold fire at me. “You know, I thought you were a gentleman. But all I learned from that is that I have a really broken asshole detector. So, thank you for the learning opportunity.”
She leaves, and I still don’t know what to believe.
It’s just past sunset and I’m standing out in the bar parking lot, alone. Staring at Pier Seven across the intersection, lit up in the night. The door is propped open and pop music pulses out, impossibly bright in the evening air.
I’m pretty sure it’s K-pop.
Hard to tell for sure with the Sabrina Carpenter singalong going on in the bar behind me. The bachelorette party is back.
Somehow, not nearly as entertaining without their ringleader.
Who I haven’t stopped thinking about for a single moment of the damn day.
When Sierra Daniels walked into my bar yesterday, the very last fucking thing I was expecting was to meet, or like, someone new. But it’s been a really fucking rough year. And maybe I let my guard down too fast.
Maybe that’s what I’m most angry about.
That she made me start to feel something for the first time in fucking years.
Ever since my wedding day.
I haven’t thought about it in so long because I don’t want to. I don’t need to.
But not only did Sierra make my heart race, make me want again in a way I hadn’t thought I could, she made me fucking remember . . .
Everything that comes on the heels of that kind of wanting.
The heartbreak.
The days and weeks and fucking months of struggling to get over something that you were so sure about—but turned out to be so dead wrong about.
I will never, ever let myself make that mistake again.
The fact that I could feel so drawn to someone I just met and then be so spun around when she turned out not to be what I thought she was—all in less than twenty-four hours—has me shaken to the core.
I don’t need this. I really don’t need these fucking feelings coming at me faster than I can handle them, out of fucking nowhere.
But at least now I know: June Spencer plays fucking dirty. Grandpa tried to warn me, but now I’ve learned. The woman is not to be trusted.
Just because my parents trusted her doesn’t mean they were right.
All it means is that they were conned.
I make my decision as I’m crossing the street, and I walk into Pier Seven without knocking.
Sierra is inside with her tattooed employee.
Just the two of them, dancing their asses off and singing along to the incredibly loud music that is definitely some girly, hip-hop-infused K-pop, in the middle of Sierra’s nauseatingly adorable pop-up shop.
The walls of my family’s former restaurant are now decked out in signage, neon lights, and temporary decals for Cutie Fruitie smoothies.
Multicolored cartoon fruits smile at me from every direction.
But I barely notice any of it.
Unfortunately, when my eyes lock onto Sierra, my pulse races. Just like it did earlier, in my office, and every other time I’ve been near her.
It only gets worse when she looks at me. She notices me standing here and stops dead.
I can taste her. Feel her against my body. Last night, outside the bar. And in bed.
I can hear her laughter, feel her heart beating against my skin.
And I just need it to stop.
Her employee turns down the incredibly loud music as Sierra just stares at me.
Then she says, confused, “We’re not open until Wednesday,” as if I actually might’ve wandered in here for a smoothie.
I take a few more steps toward her, until we’re standing close. Her eyes widen as she holds my gaze.
“You want me to believe,” I say, heart pounding, starting to sweat for no reason but her, “that you didn’t plan this whole scheme with June Spencer to fuck with me?”
She answers, “I really don’t care what you believe, Mason.” But her cheeks are flushed pink. She’s breathing too hard.
“What I believe,” I tell her, “is that you walked into my bar and tried to seduce me because June put you up to it.”
She laughs softly, green eyes sparking with anger. “Then you are absolutely delusional.”
But I can feel her defenses wavering. Either there’s some truth to what I’ve said, or she’s wondering if there is.
“You’re telling me that June didn’t put you up to it?”
“Put me up to what? I’m here to run my smoothie bar. That’s all.”
I take a deep breath, trying to reel in the electric current and the prickling heat and the fucking want that pours off me like warm maple syrup. I wonder if she feels it, too.
The way she stares at me like every hair on her body is standing on end suggests that she does.
“No.” It comes out of me like a cough, an allergic reaction. This can’t be happening.
I can’t be this stupid.
I can’t still want this woman.
Sierra glances at her employee, then studies me, incredulous. “What do you mean, no?”
“I need you to leave,” I growl.
Her employee steps forward and clears her throat. “Excuse me, but who made you the boss of Orchard Cove?”
I ignore her, focused only on Sierra. “How much will it cost me?”
She blinks at me, clearly stunned.
“I’ll pay you,” I tell her. “To pack up your little shop, immediately, and clear out of my town.”