by S. J. West
I raise an eyebrow at him. “Just good? I can’t say I feel very flattered if I just make you feel good.”
Mason puts his hands on either side of my face. “You make me feel like life is worth living,” he tells me. “I feel good, happy, excited, loved. I feel everything when I’m with you. So yes, I feel good when I’m around you but that encompasses a lot more than just that one word, Jess.”
“Hmm,” I say, “I believe that deserves a kiss, Mr. Collier.”
Mason smiles and leans down. “I was hoping you would say that.”
We stand there drinking in one another until we’re rudely interrupted by the buzzing of Mason’s phone in his pant’s pocket.
“Are you just happy to be with me or is that really your phone this time?” I ask.
Mason smiles against my lips, not wanting to end what I had hoped to be a long, languid session of kissing one another.
“My phone,” he replies irritably. “But I’m always happy to be with you.”
Reluctantly, he pulls away and agitatedly grabs his phone and pulls it from his pocket.
“Yes?” he says to the poor person who chose such an inopportune moment to call. I watch as he closes his eyes and I know he’s frustrated about something. “Why do I have to have lunch with him?” Mason asks the caller. “When?” I see Mason’s eyes travel to the grandfather clock I have in the living room to check the time. “All right. I’ll be there.”
Mason ends the call and drops the phone back into his pocket.
“Who do you have to have lunch with?” I ask.
“The President,” Mason grumbles. “I don’t know why Nick makes me go see him to give him personal updates on the Tear situation.”
“Maybe he’s just scared like the rest of the world and needs you to comfort him and tell him everything will be all right.”
“Nick could do it just as well.”
“Have you met Nick?” I ask, thinking Mason has no clue how Nick rubs people the wrong way sometimes. “He doesn’t exactly exude comfort. He’s more like the interrogator and you’re the priest. Just go play nice with the President,” I tell Mason. “I need to go to the grocery store anyway. I’m completely out of food here. Oh,” I say, wrapping my arms around Mason’s waist, “and on your way back, would you be sweet enough to drop by Paris and pick me up some of those chocolate croissants?”
Mason smiles. “I would be more than happy to do that for you.”
“Bring back two boxes this time. I would like to take a box to my grandfather tonight when I see him.”
“Are you ready for that?” Mason asks me.
I shrug. “I don’t think if I had a year to prepare myself I would be ready to meet a stranger who shares a quarter of my chromosomes. I just hope we like each other. Otherwise, it’ll be a short visit.”
“Do you want me there with you or do you want to meet with him alone first?”
“Alone,” I say. “I don’t want him to feel like he’s being ambushed. Plus, he might feel more comfortable if it’s just me and him. I’m hoping he’ll tell me more about my biological father.”
The difference between the father who helped make half my body and the father who helped make half my soul was divided by one thing, love. The father I grew up with didn’t just share his soul with me, he shared his value system and love for the first seven years of my life. I knew nothing about the man who I shared DNA with and wondered what parts of me he helped create. I had to assume I had my father’s hair because my mother’s hair was blonde. What else did we have in common? I hoped to solve those mysteries tonight during my talk with my grandfather.
“I’ll call you when I’m through with the President,” Mason promises, kissing me on the lips lightly.
“Well, don’t eat too much at lunch. I’m cooking you supper before we go see my grandfather.”
“You cook?” Mason asks, sounding completely amazed by the fact.
“I might not like to cook but yes, I can cook.” I stick my tongue out at Mason for asking such a question and sounding so surprised by it.
Mason laughs. “I apologize. I didn’t mean it to come out like that. It’s just… this is the first time you’ve cooked for me.
“Well, it won’t be anything fancy,” I warn, “probably just potato and sausage soup. I make it when it’s cold out like today.”
“Sounds wonderful,” Mason says, a pleased smile on his face. I get the feeling not many people cook for him and this is a rare treat. “I’ll try to make this meeting as short as possible. But he can be a bit long winded sometimes. I hope to be back here in a couple of hours.”
“That sounds good. It’ll give me time to go shopping and start the soup.”
Mason smiles and draws me into his arms. “I almost feel like a husband going off to work with a loving wife at home cooking him supper.”
I swallow hard at the analogy and suddenly find myself hoping this isn’t a preamble to a marriage proposal. The prospect of such a question makes me instantly nervous all of a sudden. It’s only then I realize I don’t want Mason to ask me to marry him, at least not yet.
Mason seems to sense the change in my mood at his remark but doesn’t comment on it.
“You better get going,” I tell him, kissing him quickly on the lips. “You don’t want to keep the leader of the free world waiting for too long. Who knows what he might do if you make him miss his regular lunch time? Start a war? Raise taxes? I certainly don’t want to be the reason for any of that.”
“I love you,” Mason says, not being fooled by my attempt at jokes to diffuse the situation.
I smile, but it feels like a smile you give out of politeness. “I love you too. Now go.”
After Mason phases, I let out a sigh of relief.
What would I have done if he asked me to marry him? Run? Hide? Neither option seemed the mature thing to do. But the fact was, I wasn’t ready for such a formal commitment. I loved Mason beyond all reason but did that mean I had to marry him? Why couldn’t we just live out our lives loving one another? Did we really have to have the whole wedding and marriage license thing to prove our love?
But, I knew how old fashioned Mason could be. He would want the wedding, the reception, the well wishes from friends and family. He would probably be one of those men who framed their wedding vows and hung them on the wall so all the world could see just how devoted he was to me. I bury my face in my hands. Why did I have to fall in love with a gentleman?
At least there was one thing Mason didn’t seem to have a problem with, sex before marriage. He wasn’t so old fashioned that we would have to endure that silly rule. It was only me and my hang ups that were causing the problem in that area.
I sigh heavily and go change out of my t-shirt and back into the sweater I had on earlier. We weren’t in an arid climate anymore but in the cold of the Deep South. A cold that holds so much moisture in it your bones ache from its effects if you don’t bundle up.
By the time I reach our local Piggly Wiggly, I decide to definitely make the soup I told Mason about and pick up some pre-made garlic bread to eat with it. While I’m there, I pick up a few more items that my kitchen is lacking like bread, milk, eggs, bacon, you know, the basic stuff of life.
I am searching through the red delicious apples wondering if I have the culinary skills to try to make Mason an apple pie. I’ve never made a pie before but just thinking about cooking one for Mason makes me happy.
I feel the bracelet Chandler and JoJo gave me begin to warm against my skin, warning me of danger. I look up across the display of apples and see a rather handsome young man with short blonde hair and a muscular physique wearing a black crew neck sweater under a black double breasted sweater jacket and black jeans. Too bad it’s all ruined by the black aura surrounding him.
He’s smiling at me, but don’t serial killers smile at their victims just before they lure them off somewhere to kill them? That’s what I feel like he’s doing, attempting to trap me with his smile into a false sense
of security. I’m suddenly glad I thought to wear my plasma pistol on my thigh before I came to the Piggly Wiggly, but I doubt it will be enough to hurt the prince of Hell standing across from me.
“Can I help you?” I ask the stranger, putting the apple in my hand back on the pyramid of apples before me.
His smile deepens and his blue eyes glisten with humor. Two perfectly symmetrical dimples appear in his cheeks giving him that boy next door look.
“I was just admiring the display,” he says smoothly.
He’s beside me before I even realize it, picking up the same apple I just put down. He holds it up before my eyes and slowly spins it so the buffed red skin glistens under the fluorescent lights in the store.
“Now why would you put back something so succulent, so juicy you can almost taste its sweetness inside your mouth?”
I almost snatch the apple out of his hands and take a bite out of it because he makes the apple sound so good.
“Who are you?” I ask.
The man smiles. “You can call me Baal. I believe you’ve met my brothers,” he says, bringing the apple to his full lips and taking a bite out of its tender flesh. “Asmodeus and Mammon said you were pretty, and I must say I’m pleasantly surprised they were right.”
My hand instantly goes to the butt of my pistol out of habit since I know I can’t hurt him with it. I decide to see what game he’s playing before I show him my whole deck of cards and bring out the flaming sword. A girl needs a few aces up her sleeve when dealing with a prince of Hell.
“Are you stalking me for a reason or were you just hungry for an apple?” I ask.
Baal grins. “Irreverent, just like Lucifer said. I like that in my victims.”
It’s my turn to grin. “So are you pretty and stupid or just pretty stupid? Hasn’t Lucifer told you I’m off limits?”
“Yes, he made his protection of you abundantly clear to me when I got here. What he did to my brothers is not something I want to happen to me. I’m just too pretty for such torture. But, I wouldn’t count on his protection forever. His fascination with you is bound to end.” Baal folds his arms before him and stands with his legs slightly apart like he’s about to impart a fount of wisdom upon me.
“I’ve made it my mission to find out what spell you’ve cast over him.”
“It’s not like I’m a witch. I’m no one special, just a Watcher agent.”
Baal’s grin grows wider, deepening the dimples in his cheeks to craters.
“You and I both know you’re not just that. And I promise you, when I find out and tell Lucifer why he feels connected to you, he won’t like it.”
“How would you know that? Maybe he would.”
“No. He doesn’t like being played the dupe. And that’s exactly what you’re doing. No one likes looking like a fool, least of all him. Mind if I give you a bit of friendly advice?”
“I have a feeling you’re going to give it to me whether I want it or not.”
Baal smiles.
“You should be the one to tell Lucifer what you are before I figure it out. He might be willing to spare your life then. Otherwise, he’ll feel betrayed by you and that is not something you want to be on the receiving end of, I assure you.”
“I’ll take it under advisement,” I reply. “Any other words of wisdom you would like to leave me with?”
“You should use the golden delicious apples if you want to make an apple pie, not the red.”
Baal phases and I’m left standing there wondering how he knew I wanted to make a pie.
Just as I’m putting my bags of groceries on the kitchen table, I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket.
My heart jumps when I see it’s a text message from Mason.
Can I please come home now? I’m bored out of my mind here.
I smile at his use of the word ‘home’. Does he feel like my home is his home? He did take a shower in my bath this morning. But, was I ready for that type of commitment? Only two words came to my mind: hell yes.
When can you come home? And what are you doing now?
Listening to the President tell me about some sort of trouble in the Middle East. When isn’t there trouble in the Middle East? It’s been a perpetual war zone since the beginning of time.
Is he giving a speech?
To me, yes.
Alone?
Yes.
Are you telling me you are sitting with the President of the United States and texting me while he’s having a private conversation with you?
Yes. Is that bad?
I hang my head and shake it.
Yes it’s bad! Isn’t he offended your texting while he’s talking?
I don’t think so. He seems rather into what he’s saying. He’s pacing back and forth in front of his desk. I’m not sure he’s looked at me once the entire time he’s been talking.
I giggle. It was often said the President liked to hear himself speak. His speeches in front of Congress were often cited as being the longest in recorded history.
Still, it’s rude. You need to be listening to him.
What are you doing? Have you already gone grocery shopping?
Yes, I just got back. LISTEN TO THE PRESIDENT!
I can’t concentrate on what he’s saying anyway. All I can think about is kissing you.
I smile and feel all warm and fuzzy inside.
I wish you were here kissing me too.
Then, can I come home, please? I’m begging you. Give me a good excuse to come home so I can be done with this for today. I need an emergency ASAP…
I was going to make you an apple pie…
Did you set the house on fire? I’m pretty sure that would be considered an emergency…
Lol, no. The house is still standing. I was rudely interrupted while I was trying to pick out apples at the Piggly Wiggly.
What aren’t you telling me, Jess?
I take a deep breath because I know Mason is going to flip out at my answer.
Baal came to see me.
“Jess?” I hear Mason call to me from the living room.
I walk in and he has me in his arms so quickly I don’t even have a chance to blink.
Mason pulls away from me and looks me up and down but not in the way I wish he would. He’s more interested in making sure my body doesn’t have any signs of injury.
“What did he want?” Mason asks. “What did he say to you?”
I recount my conversation with Baal.
“Do you think he’s right?” I ask. “Do you think it would be better if Lucifer heard what I am from me before the others find out?”
Mason sighs and runs his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know. Maybe. But I think the timing would have to be right. He’s going to be very mad when he learns the truth.”
“But I thought he and Michael were best friends? Lucifer told me the only thing he missed from Heaven was Michael.”
Mason looks up at me sharply. “He told you that?”
I nod.
“That seems very uncharacteristic of him. He’s not normally a heart to heart type of person unless he’s ripping out a heart.”
“He’s not like that with me,” I say, almost feeling like I need to defend Lucifer. “The last time he was here I felt what he feels for me.”
I hold up my wrist so Mason pointedly sees the bracelet Chandler and JoJo made for me.
“I used this bracelet.”
Mason looks at the bracelet like it’s the first time he’s seen it. It probably is. JoJo did say only those I wanted to see it would.
“Where did you get that? What does it do?”
“I want you to know I never used it on you,” I tell him. “I don’t need to use it to know how you feel about me. But, JoJo and Chandler thought I should have it in case I needed reassurance about your feelings for me. I haven’t used it on you, but I did use it the other morning when Lucifer was here. Just before you came out onto the porch, he touched me on the cheek and I used the bracelet to find out what he feels
for me.”
“And what did you discover?” Mason asks cautiously.
“He feels confused mostly,” I say. “He wants to keep me protected, but I’m only his second priority. He desperately needs to perform whatever task he’s laid out for himself to accomplish. He wants me to get to know him better, to fully understand who he is and why he does the things he does.”
“Does he love you?”
I shake my head. “No, it’s not love. But he needs to figure me out.”
“And when he does, what do you think he will do to you?”
I shrug. “I can’t say for sure.”
“Why aren’t you more scared of him?” Mason asks. “I’ve never understood how you can be around him but not show fear.”
“Because deep down I don’t believe he would ever harm me. I honestly don’t think he’ll do it when he figures out or when I tell him what I am. I might even be safer if he knows Michael is inside me. I think Michael is the only person Lucifer ever truly thought of as a friend and loved, in his way.”
“God ordered Michael to bring Lucifer to Earth when he was exiled from Heaven. I’m not sure if Lucifer has ever forgiven him for that.”
“Do you think Lucifer saw it as a betrayal?”
“Wouldn’t you?” Mason asks.
“Maybe.”
Mason lifts the hand of the arm with the bracelet.
“So what is this thing supposed to do exactly?”
“It warns me if I’m in danger, like at the grocery store with Baal earlier. And if I ask it to it’ll let me feel what someone else is feeling.”
Mason places my hand over his heart.
“Ask it to tell you what I’m feeling.”
“No.”
Mason cocks his head at me.
“Why not? I want you to know.”
“Because I don’t need a bracelet to tell me what I already know.”
