Misunderstanding Mason (7 page)

She found the
courage to look at him. “That’s it, you know, right?”

Mason stopped
chewing for a nanosecond—long enough to give her a stiff nod.

Contented by
the fact she didn’t have to elaborate, Kirstin stabbed her fork into her
chicken and popped a bite in her mouth. Around the fruity-tinted bite she
asked, “So, how much more do you want to accomplish on this project tonight?”

****

Mason didn’t
give a damn about Lisa Bennet’s project. His world had just tilted upside down,
the reality of Kirstin’s decision hitting him square in the sternum. Worse,
she’d driven home that sharp-edged truth with the brutal reminder tomorrow
night would be their last night together. The last time he’d have her sweet
smile to latch onto to overcome petrifying nerves at launch parties.

His appetite
took a nosedive through the floor, and he pushed his plate aside. “I don’t.”
Rising from the table, he added, “I’m going to jump in the shower and hit the
sack.”

Silence
descended around them as he took his plate to the sink and scraped it into the
garbage disposal. Behind him, the creak of wicker carried ominous undertones.

Kirstin’s
voice came softly, little more than a whisper. “Maybe I should finish up the
flat graphics and just drop them off with you. We have time; we don’t need to
push to get this done overnight. Or even in a week.”

Mason shook
his head. He didn’t have time. Kirstin hadn’t
given
him time. She’d made
the decisions, executed her plan, and left him struggling to discover how love
just disappeared in a matter of weeks.

Misunderstanding
the side-to-side motion of his head, she asked, “Why not? I know you’re not
fond of Lisa, but it’d be easier, Mason.”

Easier? For
who? Her? Incredulous, he whipped around, the question on the tip of his
tongue. It died at her crestfallen expression, her bowed head, and the defeated
slump to her shoulders.

The only
thing he knew to say burst free. “I love you, Kirstin.” So much so, that this
was tearing him to pieces.

When she
lifted her head, the light caught pooled moisture in the corners of her eyes.
Mason’s heart clanged into his ribs. She
did
care. If she didn’t, she
wouldn’t be on the verge of tears. When Kirstin shut down, it was as if she
flipped a switch. Nothing got through the shell she erected to keep it out.

As she stood,
he caught her by the wrist. His gaze searched hers, words lodging in the back
of his throat once more. He needed to say something. What, however, eluded him.
But when that gathered moisture trickled down her cheeks, one thought rose
above the cacophony of noise and managed to work its way out of his throat in a
hoarse whisper. “You love me too.”

She nodded as
she brushed the tears from her cheeks.

“Come home,
Kirstin.”

“I can’t.”
Twisting out of his reach, she crossed her arms over her chest and huddled into
them. “It’s not enough. I’ll always love you, but I want more. From you. From
us.”

More? Hell,
he’d give her the damned city of Atlanta if he could find a means of doing so.
She knew that—
didn’t she?
She had at one time. For the life of him, he
couldn’t think of anything he’d done to give her the opposite impression.

Well, except
ask her to marry him. But he’d been working on that. Now he didn’t care so much
about marriage—he had to convince her to come home first.

When she
started for the door, he took one long stride and captured her elbow, dragging
her around to face him. Instinct took over. Drowned out the nonsensical chatter
in his head. He cupped her chin between thumb and forefinger, tipped her head
up, and softly touched his mouth to hers.

At the
gentle, welcoming clasp of her lips, everything inside him sighed in peace. She
hadn’t pulled away, hadn’t turned her head.
There was still hope.
He
didn’t know what more he could give her, what more he could do to prove how
much he needed her, but he’d figure it out. He just needed ti—

Kirstin set
her hands on his shoulders and gently pushed away from the kiss. Backing
completely out of his grasp, she whispered, “I need to go home now.”

“You need to
stay.”

She walked
through the kitchen on a path to the patio door, taking his heart with her.
“No, Mason. I’m sorry, but I can’t be alone anymore. The things I want…”
Pausing, she gave him a sad shake of her head. “I can’t change you. I don’t
want
to change you. But it’s not fair for me to have expectations you can’t meet.”

Expectations
he couldn’t—

Before Mason
could voice his confusion, she opened the door. “I’ll go with you tomorrow
night. But I don’t think we should work together tomorrow.”

The glass
panel rolled shut, stirring the scent of cinnamon through the air.

****

Once Kirstin
hit the grass between the two houses, she sprinted to the Roberts’, up the
stairs, and inside. Sam and Theresa looked up from their places in front of the
television, Theresa waved. “Hey you, there’s a great movie starting on prime
time. Grab a Coke. We’ve got popcorn.”

Unable to
work even a polite refusal through her throat, Kirstin shook her head and fled
for the basement. At the bottom of the stairs, the tears she’d barely held back
broke free. She leaned a shoulder against the wall and buried her face in her
hands, despite the darkness that surrounded her.

It had been
easy to leave Mason the first time. Sailing on anger, she didn’t have to
confront her heart. He hadn’t argued. Hadn’t asked her to reconsider. He’d been
content to let her walk out without protest. Tonight, he’d pried all the
heartache out into the open and compounded everything by forcing her to
acknowledge that even if they were completely wrong for each other, she still
loved him.

The basement
door opened. “Kirstin?” Theresa’s voice echoed into the dark.

Kirstin
sniffed, swiped the tears from her face with the back of her hands, and tried
to answer. Her response, however, clogged with emotion. It came out on a
pitiful sob.

“Hey.” The
light flipped on. Footsteps tread lightly down the stairs. “What happened?”
Theresa’s hand touched Kirstin’s shoulder and drew her into a hug.

“Mason still
loves me,” Kirstin choked out as tears started to flow once more. Under the
gentle pressure of Theresa’s guidance, she sat down on the bottom step and
leaned into her friend’s sideways embrace. “He…” She sniffed again. “Asked me
to come home.”

The whole
sordid story came out in a rush. The awkwardness of working beside him, his
sudden attunement to things she’d been absolutely convinced he couldn’t
possibly comprehend. All the way down to the kiss that had devastated her
resolve and the dinner tomorrow night that loomed over her head like a date
with the gallows.

Compassion
warmed Theresa’s brown eyes. She took hold of Kirstin’s hand and held it
loosely, a gesture that rang oddly like something Kirstin might have done when
she was in pigtails. It reminded her of skipping around the playground with her
best friend, Erin, while singing Pop Goes the Weasel.

Theresa’s
light touch helped balm the hurt.

“Maybe you
should talk to him again. Sounds to me like he might be ready to listen this
time,” she suggested.

“I can’t,”
Kirstin answered with a sigh. “I’ve told him so many times this last year. I
can’t go through it again. It’s like hitting my head on a brick wall.”

Theresa
looped an arm around Kirstin’s shoulders. “Kiddo, I don’t know everything. I
don’t have all the answers. But I’ve been married for eleven years, and let me
tell you, sometimes I’ve wanted to walk out that door and never come back.
Sam’s not perfect. Neither is Mason.”

“I know that,
Theresa.” She sat up straighter as her emotions settled, allowing her to form
logical conversation. “I don’t expect him to be perfect. But things changed
when his job took off and we bought that house. There’s too much room for him
to hide over there.”

“You could
put yourself in his path.”

She nodded.
True, she could, but that had gotten old after the first few months. “I’m tired
of reaching out, only to be left behind the next time he turns around. I hate
his job. I hate that house.”

A smile
played at Theresa’s mouth. “You don’t hate that house.”

Kirstin
grumbled and leaned against the wall. She did love the house. It just hadn’t
turned into the dream home they’d intended.

“I don’t
think you hate his job either.” She squeezed Kirstin’s hand. “I think you’re
hurting and you’re running from that pain. And Mason, in his dense but
endearing way, doesn’t have the slightest clue what he’s done.”

How could he
not know? She’d told him on numerous occasions that she was sick of being
second to his job. That she couldn’t deal with the fact he didn’t have time for
her.

“Things don’t
change because you buy a new house. I’m willing to bet Mason’s job was every
bit as demanding before you bought that place.” Theresa gave her an encouraging
smile. “And five years of commitment doesn’t just fall apart overnight. If you
were that miserable, you wouldn’t have stayed around as long as you did. Think
back. Something started this. That’s where you begin. Whatever happened—the
answer to fixing it’s there.”

Kirstin
didn’t have to think—Lisa’s project. That’s where she’d begun to shed the
blinders on her relationship with Mason. Excited about the opportunity to work
together, she’d asked for his help. He’d given it willingly at first, but when
Edge Skateboards became an ulcer, he flat-out abandoned her. That’s when she
started to notice how he was more concerned with work than their relationship.
When they stopped going to bed together. When she became aware of the way Mason
didn’t incorporate her in the things that mattered to him—like hurrying off to
meet his programming buddies and leaving her to entertain herself at launch
parties.

Their walks
around the lake lost their usual comfort as she realized she’d reached that
point where she wanted children and Mason wouldn’t be able to carve out enough
time in his schedule for fatherhood. When she’d realized their life was
routine, and the schedule worked for him, not her, and he became more and more
motivated by money and materialistic things.

Like the
Jeep—she’d loved that Jeep. He’d spoiled the gift, though, with his, “Can’t
have my girl driving that bucket of rust around town anymore.”

She could
count on one hand the number of times she’d driven the Jeep since he’d pointed
out that her Mazda embarrassed him. She’d begun to suspect then that
she
embarrassed him.

“Think on it,
Kirstin.” Theresa squeezed her hand again. “You’re right, you two don’t need to
work together tomorrow. Use that time to think. But go into tomorrow night with
fresh eyes. Mason’s complicated. You’re the only person who can know what’s in
his heart. Listen to what it might be trying to say.
”

Kirstin
sighed. She didn’t have much choice—she’d agreed to attend the launch party.
But she already knew what would happen. Just like every other time, he’d become
the center of attention and forget he left her standing in the corner.

Chapter Seven

Kirstin
awakened to the bright tones of Hakuna Matata on her cell phone and groped
across the card table that served as her nightstand. 8:15. Who in their right
mind called
her
at 8:15 in the morning?

Squinting at
the LCD, a number she didn’t recognize scrolled across the face. So that
explained the early morning call. Still half asleep, she hit the connect key.
“What?”

“Kirstin!
Good morning!”

At Lisa’s
bright peal of greeting, Kirstin held the phone away from her ear and choked
down a groan. She’d forgotten how grating the woman’s voice could be. On
realizing the call related to business, she bolted upright in bed, mortified by
her rude salutation. “I’m sorry, Lisa. I didn’t realize you had my cell phone
number. I wasn’t expecting you to call here.”

Lisa trilled
a laugh. “You sent it to me, darling.”

“I did?”
Kirstin blinked.

“Yes, when
you confirmed you received the file I sent across.”

Oh. Mason.
Yeah, he
would
route Lisa to the cell at his first opportunity. He
wouldn’t want to deal with her. Kirstin forcibly chuckled. “Ah, that’s right.
I’ve been busy with the project and forgot I replied.”

“So how is my
project coming along? You didn’t sound so certain—you must have found a
solution if you’ve been busy with it.”

As the fog of
sleep fled her brain, Kirstin steered her concentration on business. “Well,
actually, I need to speak to you about that.”

“Oh? Do you
need something more from me? I thought the prototype would be enough, but if
you need details—”

“No, it’s not
that.” Kirstin scratched the top of her head and yawned. “I have to outsource
the back end code. I’m not a developer. It will increase my cost, but as long
as that’s not an issue, I think we are on track.”