13. Callie
Chapter thirteen
My stomach feels like I’ve just stepped off a rollercoaster with the way it’s flipping and dancing.
The warmth of Mason’s palm when he pulled me out of his car that was made for giants—seriously, why is it so high off the ground?
—still seeps through the thin layer of my T-shirt.
His hands settled on my back and waist, and I could have stayed there until his muscles gave out.
That could have been a while, considering how many of them there are.
I lost all sense of reason when I walked in on him earlier with his shirt off, the chain resting against his smooth chest, and all.
Those. Abs. The whole moment feels like it’s stuck on a torturous loop, one where I’m left dizzy and salivating.
I don’t know who I expected Mason Heart to be, but it’s nothing like the man he’s shown me. How is someone so gorgeous, carefree, and flirty able to be so sweet and thoughtful, too?
The only other men I’ve known to be like that are my brothers. My ex was sweet in the beginning, when it suited him, but he wouldn’t go out of his way to do anything that didn’t serve him.
My dad has always been emotionally unavailable, and now we know he’s a big fucking liar.
After Carmen disappears inside, Mason and I follow.
I trail behind, taking in the property. Tall trees crowd the perimeter, with garden beds neatly maintained around the foundation of the home.
Before I get a foot on the first step, two hands grip my sides and place me on the second one.
My breath hitches, and my hands brace on Mason’s chest.
“There’s something wrong with this first step,” he says, removing his hands once I’m balanced and jumping straight over it to stand beside me. “Make sure you stay close to me while we’re in here. I don’t want you hurting yourself, and frankly, this place looks like it should be condemned.”
All I can do is nod. When he invited me to come see this house, I didn’t realise how close in proximity the activity would actually put us, and I’m wholly unprepared for the way his touch sends shockwaves through my body.
At the top of the steps, there’s a wrap-around porch. “I’ve always loved these in old houses,” I say, spinning in a circle.
“The rotting wood?”
“No.” I laugh. “The wrap-around porch. There’s something so homey and charming about them. It makes me think of sipping iced tea, sitting on a porch swing on a warm summer day, watching kids play, or a cool spring night listening to the crickets chirp.”
The wood has been stained dark, but it’s grown fragile over time, and the house itself is covered in old white shiplap with more dark stain on the window trims and doors. It’s got classic cottage charm mixed with old-money opulence… At least, that’s how it probably looked fifty years ago.
“Is that what you did growing up?” Mason asks.
I shake my head as we move inside the house. The foyer has a high ceiling with an iron dome pendant hanging in the centre, and a formerly grand staircase as the backdrop behind it.
“No. I grew up on the beach, but my childhood best friend had a tyre swing in her front yard, and I remember asking my dad for one for my seventh birthday. I wanted it so bad.”
He grins. “Did you get it?”
I shake my head with a shrug. “He missed my birthday that year.” And each one since. He was conveniently absent for every major event and holiday, and now I know why. He was with his other family. “This is gorgeous, though.”
“Did we walk through the same door? Or did you manage to step into a portal where this place is somewhat habitable?” I laugh as Mason’s eyes cast across the room, full of scepticism.
“The floors are old, but can’t you sand them back and refinish them?
Or replace them with new wood that has a similar natural, knotty grain.
” I tilt my head up as I spin in a slow circle.
“Remove the wallpaper, give it a fresh coat of paint.” I cross my arms over my chest, giving Mason a curious stare.
“I’m sure my brother said your company has worked on plenty of refurbishments. ”
“We have.” He nods. “Caleb’s one wasn’t much better than this. It was just old, though, not falling apart. I guess it just feels different knowing I’m looking for me. A lot of the clients we’ve had were renovating homes they already lived in. There was a certain sentimental value.”
“You heard what Carmen said. You need to broaden your horizons.”
I smile and move to the right, into a large family room. Big, picture windows give a clear view of the cosy garden out the front, and the pebble drive we came up, bordered with lavender bushes.
All the small, personal items in the house have already been removed, but the furniture has remained. Two lounges sit opposite each other in the centre of the room, with a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf that spans the length of one wall.
“Love the bookshelf,” I mutter before looking over my shoulder at Mason. “How big is your family?”
“There’s my parents and grandparents, my two brothers, both their girls, my niece, Beth, and me. Within a few years, I’m guessing it’ll be anything over twelve at a time.”
“You’re close with them.” It’s not a question. I’ve seen how much they mean to him, how much they’re in each other’s lives. It’s truly beautiful to see. I love my brothers and my mum, but I’ve always wondered what a big family would be like.
“I couldn’t imagine life without them. They’re everything to me.”
With all the sleuthing I did online, amongst the endless photos of him with various models, socialites, and actresses, he was often seen with his family.
It wasn’t hard to deduce that Mason was a man who loved company.
His image painted a life full of luxury and exclusivity.
Tabloids loved to showcase him as the unserious one in the family, the life of the party, the one who knows everyone, but every photo with his family is when his smile was the biggest, and felt the most real.
I keep moving through the room, following where the open doorway takes me, when a familiar tightening in my breasts makes me glance down at my watch.
I usually pump during my morning coffee break at nine, then again at lunchtime, but I misread the time this morning and pumped a whole hour earlier.
The longest I’ve gone between expressing or feeding is five hours, which gives me forty minutes.
Considering it was a half-hour drive just to get here, I doubt I’ll be making that deadline, but I was put on the spot to come out with Mason, and I felt too awkward to ask if he could wait for me to pump first. I’m sure it’ll be fine.
I come into a kitchen where Carmen is leaning against a bench, hovering over some paperwork.
There’s a natural stone wall running along the right-hand side, with a smoky, midnight blue oven standing in the centre.
Windows along the back wall show glimpses of more lush gardens.
An old supper table sits to the left, beside a fireplace that leads into a dining room.
Mason’s footsteps come to a stop behind me, making Carmen look up. “What do you think?”
“I don’t know why I had to rush over here,” he says, moving past me and running a finger over the counter. “Unless you think the house could fall down any minute?”
Carmen huffs playfully. “For a builder, you have no vision.”
“I think it’s amazing,” I say. “There’s so much character to bring back to life while still making it your own.”
“The place is falling apart. You may as well just start over.”
“No! Then you’d lose all this.” I turn, running my hand along the exposed brick wall, moving around the pieces that have been chipped away over time.
“Could you imagine a clean, sleek kitchen, and then this old brick just slicing through the middle of all the other perfection? Actually, scratch that. I’d totally go country glam, shaker cabinets, and gold hardware.
And I’d be keeping that oven.” I cross the kitchen, standing in front of it, with my hands held up as if I’m presenting it like some prize on a game show. “It’s blue!” I grin.
“Who even heard of a blue oven?” Mason huffs, with just a hint of a smile pulling the side of his mouth.
“Didn’t you say you wanted a place that felt like your grandparents’?
They don’t make houses like this anymore.
So big and open.” I move to the little supper table on one side.
“A nook would be really cute here. Kids can come in and do homework. And a fireplace in the kitchen!” I’m on the move again, headed to the brick hearth on the other side.
“This is so quaint and dreamy. If you knocked out the wall, it would make the two spaces feel more together,” I say, tapping the dusty, red bricks.
“So you can walk either side of it to get into the next room.”
“Do I need a fireplace in the kitchen?”
“Oh, you couldn’t possibly get rid of it.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s very happily ever after. Families are always gathered by the fire.”
“Why don’t you two keep exploring?” Carmen says, stepping through the close gap between Mason and me. I didn’t realise we’d gotten so close. Seems to be a thing for us lately. “I think I left some keys in my car for the back door.”
There’s a zing in the air that feels so fragile it might explode if you move wrong, so I smile, careful not to let my eyes linger on Mason’s for too long, and keep moving through the house.
Walking around the open side of the fireplace, there’s a large room that would be perfect for a dining table. Cracking wallpaper that’s gone yellow with age covers every wall, and a long window peers into the backyard.
“You could make this a door to an outdoor area?” I suggest, as Mason follows behind, watching intently as if he’s waiting for my every word and impression.
“For a big house, there’s not a lot of living space,” he muses.