Accidentally Bound: An Accidental Marriage Romance, page 14
“If the girl is with child Edna, she doesn’t need bourbon.”
“Oh pish,” Edna said dismissively, “a few teaspoons won’t hurt a thing. Trust me honey, she’ll appreciate the effort. Not enough men cook these days and definitely not the ones who look like you.” With that final compliment or parting shot, I wasn’t sure, the women had sauntered off with a job well done.
When I returned home, I frowned at the three boxes neatly stacked right inside the door. My stuff, of course. Trish was nowhere to be found so I considered this the hint that I was expected to leave. Mags had always said I was willfully obtuse when it suited me and, in that moment, I conceded she might have a point as I carried each box back upstairs and carefully unpacked it. Making sure to mix it all in with her stuff, just because I could.
With that done, I unpacked the grocery bags and got down to work, mixing up the herbs and spices with the meat, whipping up the barbecue sauce and chopping potatoes for boiling. All movements froze when I heard the door open and waited for her scream and shout, instead I noticed a moment of relief when she spotted the missing boxes. I scrambled back to the counter and dug my hands into the beef and sausage mix, forming it into a perfect loaf just as Trish walked in. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Cooking dinner.”
“Mason,” she began, the irritation in her voice rising. “You know that’s not what I’m asking.”
I nodded because, yeah, I did know. I just chose to ignore it. “I’m cooking dinner like I said. Because of your behavior lately you deserve some of my mediocre meatloaf.” Though it would probably be less mediocre than usual thanks to the two gray haired women in the market.
She frowned at me, hands on her hips like she was ready for battle. It wasn’t a battle though, which she would soon realize. I hoped. And if it was a battle, she’d better be prepared to lose. Or win, I guess. Whatever. The only way this battle would be won was if she was mine. Permanently. “Mason.”
“Trish,” I countered with far less annoyance in my voice. “You’re being a coward.”
She barked out a harsh laugh. “That’s rich coming from the guy who looked like the world might end at the very thought of me being pregnant.” Her blue eyes were wide and wild, angry still at my reaction.
I let a few seconds pass before responding, raking a hand through my hair in an effort to remain calm. “Christ woman, you gave me five seconds to think about it and react. I was just surprised because the whole damn town has been speculating for months and you haven’t said one damn word.” She didn’t look pregnant not now and definitely not naked, and she still hadn’t confirmed it.
“Yeah well, let’s keep it that way then. I don’t have any definitive answers for you but don’t worry, Mason because if I am pregnant, you’re off the hook.”
I sucked in a breath and clenched my fists. I’d dealt with a lot of difficult and terrified clients and never once did I want to put hands on them but right now, I wanted to shake some damn sense into Trish. When I was calm I busied myself pouring the barbecue sauce on top of the meatloaf and shoving it in the oven before I rounded the corner and got in her face. “You don’t get to make that decision, Trish. Besides, it won’t be necessary because I’ve decided that we’re not getting a divorce.” I hadn’t decided any such thing but with the words out of my mouth, I knew they were what I wanted. Exactly what I wanted.
“You can’t just decide that on your own.”
I smiled and placed my hands on her shoulders. “I can and I have, Cupcake. Don’t test me on this.”
“I put your stuff by the door,” she argued helplessly. I hated that she felt that way and that part of the fault was my own, but we were too damn close to something good. Fuck that, something great, and I wasn’t going to let fear get in the way.
“You did and I put it all back where it belongs. We had a fight, Cupcake. Couples fight but one little fight doesn’t mean we break up, or get divorced.”
She flushed at my words and ducked her head. “Not that it matters since once again, we are a town without lawyers.”
Another smile passed my lips and that little frown she shot me was damned adorable. “It seems the town agrees with me.”
“Why, Mason? Why are you doing this?” She sounded pained, like she really had no clue why I was doing all of this.
So I gave her the only response I could. “Because.”
Her pride, or maybe it was fear, wouldn’t let the stubborn woman ask me the follow up question, which sucked because I wanted her to ask. But it was also fine because Trish would find out in due time that I was just as stubborn as her, maybe more. And her reluctance to ask the question meant I’d get a chance to do exactly what Nash and Zeke advised. Show her. In a thousand different ways. “Right,” she grumbled and pulled away from me. “I’m going…I’ll be back.”
Yeah, she was unsettled by this new turn of events and that’s exactly what I wanted her to be. Off-kilter because it meant she couldn’t keep up those damn walls she used to keep herself safe. I finished off dinner, adding butter and chives to the mashed potatoes and pouring more sauce over the meatloaf. “Just in time,” I told Trish with a smile as I put the food on the table.
“Smells good,” she offered up reluctantly, smoothing the pink tank over her slender waist and round hips. She wore tiny cotton shorts that made my mouth water more than the food steaming on the table.
“How’s your, uh, appetite?” After witnessing her at the shop a few days ago, I really did wonder. She was so pale and afraid as she emptied her stomach into the trash bin that I’d been worried at first that maybe something was really wrong.
“Fine for the most part,” she offered up quietly. “Some smells still make me sick but so far these scents are making me nothing but hungry.”
“Good because I got a few pointers and even though I’m not totally sure you deserve it, this meatloaf is probably much better than mediocre.” Her lips twitched in a satisfying smile that I let stay with me as I scooped up potatoes on each plate and then thick slabs of meatloaf. “Now, eat up.”
“Mason, that’s too much,” she insisted, staring at the plate in fear.
“Nonsense, Cupcake, you can take it.” A laugh erupted out of me when she glared at my innuendo.
“Things change.”
“Some things, yes. That? Never.” I let my gaze linger, hot and intense, too intense for her to look away because I needed Trish to see that I was damn serious about her. About us. “Eat what you can but eat like I know you love to, Cupcake.”
“Stop calling me that,” she said but there was zero heat behind her words.
“Never.” I eyed her again, daring her to say whatever was on the tip of her tongue. Wisely, she didn’t and we ate mostly in silence, aside from a few satisfying moans from Trish.
“This is really good, Mason. Not mediocre at all.”
“Thank you, Cupcake. Take some for lunch tomorrow since we know it won’t make you sick.”
She looked surprised and pleased by my words and that sent a rush of heat through my veins because it felt a hell of a lot like progress. Trish ate nearly everything on her plate before retiring to our bedroom, which it still was and as soon as the kitchen was clean and leftovers packed for her, I joined her in our room.
After a quick shower I expected to see my pillow on the floor but it was there beside her so I slid on a pair of boxers and climbed in behind her, wrapping my body around her and holding her tight as she drifted off to sleep. Three days was too damn long without her in my arms and I savored it, spending hours awake just listening to her breathe, reveling in the silky feel of her skin and the soft crush of her waves before finally, sleep pulled me under. “Goodnight Cupcake. We’ll talk more in the morning.”
She said nothing but when I woke up the next morning, Trish was gone.
So were the leftovers.
Trish
“What is all this?” Molly stood in the kitchen beside a giant basket of…flour? “Why do we have so many bags of flour and why are they in a basket?”
Molly just beamed a wide grin at me, doing her best impression of a game show model. “It looks like your husband is pulling out all the stops to prevent this divorce from happening.”
I just groaned at her words. The things I loved most about Belle Musique, the sense of community, the way people pitched in to help without batting an eye and the closeness, well I hated them all right now. And it wasn’t just today, nope, it was yesterday too. “With flour?” That made no sense but I’d learned over the past couple days that making sense wasn’t part of the equation to Mason or the town at large.
Molly turned the basket around so I could see the letters on the back of each package. “Flour with a message. Flour power?” She laughed when I glared at her, shaking her head and looking every bit like the romantic she denied being.
But she was right, there was a message. Vague though it was, there it sat. One word. Because. Mason was taunting me because he was right, I was being a coward in that I didn’t want to know why he was doing what he was doing, pulling out all the stops as Molly had said. I didn’t want him to voice what my heart not-so-secretly hoped he would because that would allow hope to bloom and that was the one thing I couldn’t afford. Not right now, anyway. Maybe some day far, far into the future when I had answers. “At least I don’t have to buy flour for awhile.”
“That’s it? You’re not gonna tell me what it means?” Thankfully the bell over the door sounded indicating we had customers, which made Molly groan.
I knew I wasn’t safe from her prodding because her curiosity had reached a boiling point thanks to Mason’s full-court press. Yesterday he’d sent chocolates from all around the world and I wanted to send them back, to smash them into the shoes he kept on the floor in my closet but I couldn’t. Because as the jerk well knew, I’d been experimenting with different glazes for dipped cookies, baked goods and even a sensual option for couples. It was the perfect gift that showed he not only listened when I spoke but also remembered.
Damn him.
Ignoring those softening thoughts towards Mason, I shoved the basket of flour aside and pulled out the dough for the lunchtime sandwiches. Even though my thoughts and yeah, my heart might be softening, every time I closed my eyes all I could see was the abject horror on his face as he witnessed me puking into the trash bin. Yeah, that’s what I needed to remember. The rest of this was some combination of obligation because Mason was mostly a good guy and would feel compelled to stick around if he made a baby with his accidental wife, but also pity. And maybe a hint of self-preservation, knowing a small town in the south might not appreciate a man leaving his wife barefoot and pregnant. No matter how fake that wife was.
“Delivery for Trish!” I groaned at the now too familiar voice of Kyle Monaghan, handsome as sin delivery man.
I stuck my head out of the kitchen with the friendliest smile I could muster. “Hey Kyle, why don’t you keep whatever it is and give it to someone special.”
He flashed that stupidly gorgeous dimpled grin and hoisted a large, no a gigantic vase filled with actual flowers this time. Roses, tulips, daisies, carnations, gardenias, orchids and asters. Seven flowers for each type. Seven. It didn’t take a genius to figure it out. Because.
Again.
It was too much. Too overwhelming for someone perfectly prepared to stick her head in the sand and ignore what was happening around her. It was why I’d made and cancelled an appointment with my doctor. Twice. It was also why two boxes of untested pregnancy kits sat in my purse with the protective plastic still wrapped around them. I was in full on avoidance mode and the more Mason pushed, the deeper I buried my head.
“I think this delivery is meant specifically for you, Trish. Wouldn’t want to give any of my girls the wrong idea, would I?” More dimples were revealed as he slid the vase closer to the other side of the counter. Closer to me. “Go on. Read the card.”
The card. Oh god, the card. I couldn’t take a card, not right now. Instead of inching closer to the bouquet, I took a step back. And another. And another until I was squarely back inside the kitchen. On the other side of the door. Yep, Mason was right. I was a coward.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Molly appeared in the doorway holding the gargantuan vase filled with beautiful flowers. “Mason sent these for you because he wanted you to have them. Why are you running?”
“Why is he even doing all this, Molly?” I wanted to scream and pull my hair out because none of this made sense and I spilled my guts to Molly. Young, idealistic and romantic Molly who stared at me with wide, shocked eyes.
“Damn,” she said and I felt some sense of vindication. Then she ruined it. “This is amazing, Trish! Don’t you get it, this is Mason’s grand gesture! He’s going all out to show you that he really does care.” The way her shoulders fell was more like a swoon and I knew I was in trouble. “This is just the most incredibly romantic thing ever!”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and I held in the groan dying to escape at the wistfulness shining in her eyes. “It can’t be. He can’t…,” I let the thought trail off but not for dramatic effect, just because I couldn’t think of another thing to say except to deny what Molly was telling me.
The bell chimed again and Molly, like the perfectly trained employee she was, rushed to the front of the store to handle another customer. And I sank against the cold wall, enjoying the reprieve.
My heart raced like I’d just run a marathon and the nausea that had been plaguing me all morning and most of the afternoon had suddenly subsided, leaving me feeling lighter. Hungry. And more terrified than ever. “Back to work,” I ordered myself because if this nausea was what I thought it was, what I refused to consider, then I needed my business to be as successful as possible.
* * *
“Another delivery and I signed for it because looking at Kyle up close is even better than your Irish cream filled croissants.” Molly’s face flushed bright pink and I wondered if she had more than a passing appreciation of the resident flirt.
I stared at the envelope she held out to me as though it were a venomous snake. After a full week of Mason’s attempts at, what exactly, forgiveness or reconciliation, I wasn’t sure, I was on edge. I was wary as hell of everything I had to sign for whether it was for the shop or from Mason. “What is it?”
“It appears to be an envelope, Trish. It’s customary to open it and reveal the contents.”
I glared at her. “Smart ass.”
“The smartest, don’tcha know.” With a wink she left the kitchen, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
And my envelope. After staring at the damn thing for so long I thought it might grow legs and just walk away from me, taking the matter out of my hands altogether, I slid my finger under the flap and tore it open. For some reason I held my breath as I opened the envelope and pulled out the sheet of paper. I don’t know what I was expecting, maybe a long-winded explanation for his behavior this past week, including holding me all night but never making a damn move. But instead it was just one little line. One totally unsatisfying, vague, incomplete line.
You asked me why I was doing all this and the answer is simple. I’m doing this because,
And that was it. That word again. Because. It was seven letters I never wanted to see again. “What. The. Hell?”
A knock sounded on the swinging kitchen door. “Ready for me, Boss?”
I frowned at the door, realizing Molly couldn’t see me even as I nodded my agreement. “Didn’t know I had to be ready.”
A loud thud sounded when Molly kicked the door open and she sidled in with a wide, flat-ish box in her hands. “This is for you.”
I eyed the red box warily, walking toward it like it was a worrisome sound in a horror movie, slowly and deliberately. “What do you think it is?”
“A wedding dress,” she deadpanned.
I glared at her but Molly’s response was to shove the box into my arms, leaving me no choice but to deal with it. Somehow. She watched as I carefully lifted the lid and pulled back the paper to reveal a beautiful sapphire blue negligee that was more of a shorty bodysuit than nightgown but it was gorgeous. Sexy and scandalous. A little silver card fell to the floor when I lifted the lacy confection completely from the box. Because you are special. That was all it said. “Okay, now I’m even more confused.”
“I’d better go check on the front,” Molly said and left. Quickly.
Something weird was going on with her and I knew it had everything to do with whatever Mason was up to now. There was still work to be done so I put the negligee back in the box and set it aside, wiping down the table, again, and set out racks for the bread baking in the oven. Special. Mason called me special. What the hell does that even mean? Special as in special needs or special as in beautiful and cherished? I didn’t know and worrying about it only pissed me off.
“Here we go,” Molly said as she reentered the kitchen with a much smaller but taller box of…something. “Another delivery for you.” She flashed a much too innocent smile and pushed the box into my hands. “Another wedding dress,” she said flatly and then flashed a big excited grin before hurrying out of the kitchen. Again.
I recognized that gleam in her eye. It was the same one she had when she’d ordered a stripper to celebrate getting the job with me and when she signed Vivi up for a two year subscription to a porno magazine made for women. It was a gleam of trouble. But I now knew that I just had to let this play out, whatever it was. Mason clearly had something he wanted to prove to me and I was feeling silly or hormonal, emotional and curious as hell if I’m being honest to see if that little spark of hope would be allowed to bloom. Or if it would be stamped out mercilessly. Again.
