by Emma Hart
Choke was exactly what I did. On my own damn spit.
I pushed the door shut and followed her through to the box-strewn living room. “That’s the first way anyone’s ever said hello like that.”
She stopped, looking me up and down. “Well? You did, didn’t you?”
Swallowing, I put the basket down and held out my hand. “Mason Black, ma’am. You must be Imogen’s grandmother.”
“I suppose I must be. I’m Jennifer, but you can call me Jen.” She sighed, putting her hand in mine and shaking it like she was interviewing me for a job. “And I know who you are. I read her journal.”
This was going from bad to worse. “She kept a journal?”
Jen wriggled her penciled-in eyebrows suggestively. “Do you want to read it? I know where she hid it. I stole it, actually. I’m writing an erotic novel and I’m using it for inspiration.”
I wasn’t sure how I felt about that—if it were even true. “Does Imogen know about that?”
“No. She thinks she’s a prude, but I know better.” She winked and, taking a step back, looked around. “You haven’t unpacked much.”
I had absolutely no idea how to talk to this woman. Did she have any kind of brain-to-mouth filter? Was there anything I could say that would make this conversation any kind of enjoyable?
“Can I get you a drink, Jen? Coffee? Water? Sweet tea?”
“You don’t look like the kind of man who knows how to make sweet tea correctly, sugar.”
“I have all the fixings in the kitchen. My—”
“Come,” she demanded, sweeping her black wrap around her in a majestic as fuck fashion. “I’ll make you sweet tea.”
That… was not what normal people did. Then again, she’d introduced herself by saying I’d slept with her granddaughter and invited herself in, so I’d put a hundred bucks on this woman not being normal.
Maybe a thousand. The return would probably be worth it.
I followed her into the kitchen.
“Where are your pans?”
“Uh.” I looked around the kitchen. “That box.”
“Well? Get them, boy.”
I was a twenty-eight-year-old father of one. It’d been a long time since anyone had referred to me as ‘boy.’
Still, I jumped like I’d been whipped and dug three pans out of the marked box and put them on the kitchen counter. I knew better than to argue with a Southern woman, especially an elderly one.
There was no doubt that Immy’s grandmother could kill me with one look and bury me with a single word.
I wasn’t a fan of either of those things happening.
Instead, I stepped back and let her get on with her sweet tea making escapade in my kitchen. I’d barely cooked in it yet, but this seemed a fitting way to break it in.
All right, I hadn’t cooked in it at all. I’d ordered take out every single night since I’d moved in. I wasn’t ashamed of that. Moving house was exhausting, and I sure as shit didn’t want to cook every single night.
Or at all.
I cooked when Maya was here because I was a responsible father. A responsible single man was another matter.
I was not that.
“So. You have a child. Is it my granddaughter’s?”
“I would like to think she’d know if it was, ma’am.”
Jen sniggered, stirring the tea. “Good answer. Who’d you knock up? I know you’re not married.”
“How do you know that?”
“No woman would let a man move a house without her directions,” she answered simply. “Lord knows y’all can’t find a damn thing without our help, so you’re sure as shit not puttin’ it where it needs to be in the first place.”
Well, that was logic that was hard to argue with.
“Plus, you’re not wearing a wedding ring.”
And that.
“I’m not married,” I confirmed, leaning against the island with a breakfast bar that seated two. “Never have been.”
“Knock up the mother and run?”
I almost choked on my own spit. “No, ma’am. We dated for a year, then broke up before she found out she was pregnant. We tried again then, but realized we were better off as friends.”
“Mm. I’m sure. Where’s her mother now?”
“Forgive me for saying so, but you have an awful lot of questions for someone I just met.”
Jen turned around and held up her wrinkled hands. “I’m just being neighborly.”
I stared at her.
“Also, nosy.”
I appreciated that she admitted it. “Fine. Here’s what you want to know: Francesca lives in the next town over. I requested a transfer and got offered a job here with my law firm and took it so I could be closer to her and Maya. We’ve been good friends ever since we broke up, and I get along well enough with her fiancé that we have a beer together every now and then. I have no romantic feelings toward Fran whatsoever, and no, she doesn’t give a damn if I date,” I finished dryly.
Jen nodded firmly. “You’re smart. That’s a good trait for my future grandson-in-law to have.”
“Have you spoken to Imogen about that little plan?”
“No. She’ll just growl and tell me to shut up, but she’s mad at you, so you should probably grovel some.”
Jesus Christ, this woman was a hoot. “Grovel?”
“Yes. For not calling her.” She took the pan of tea off the heat. “She’ll never marry you otherwise.”
I honestly didn’t know if she was being serious or not at this point. “I’ll keep it in mind,” I said vaguely. “What should I do with that tea?”
She was clearly happy to change the subject, and I noted the instructions in my phone and, with a promise to stop by if I got confused, I led her out of my house and walked her back to her front door.
I was two seconds away from saying goodbye when a black Mazda 3 pulled into the driveway. There was a dent on the driver’s side wheel arch that I could see from my position on the porch, and I swear to fucking God, I felt Immy’s glare the moment she realized I was here.
She killed the engine and climbed out of the car. I wasn’t sure I was quite over the sight of how fucking gorgeous she was now, even if she did have a huge streak of red down her left cheek.
Her blonde hair was pulled into a messy ponytail that swung around her shoulders as she stalked toward me, and her blue eyes darkened with every twitch of her narrowing eyelids. “Can we help you?”
“He was walking me home, you rude little hippy,” Jen said, putting her hands on her lips. “Is that how we treat people in this house?”
Immy’s nostrils flared as she shot her grandmother a dark look and turned back to me with a saccharinely sweet smile on her lips. “Hello, Mason. Thanks ever so much for walking my grandma home.”
I fought my own broad grin. “Hey, Immy. How are you?”
“I’ve been better,” she replied tightly. “Yourself?”
“Not bad. I’ve got some sweet tea from your grandma.”
“She makes the best sweet tea.” She softened ever so slightly. “Where’s your daughter?”
“With her mom. I have her this weekend.”
“He’s not married to Francesca, and she’s engaged to someone else anyway,” Jen said, stepping aside. “I’ll tell you everything else you need to know when you get in here and put my chicken in the oven.”
“Have I ever told you that you’re incredibly rude?” Immy asked.
“Yes,” her grandma replied, looking straight at her. “When have I ever responded in a way that makes you think I give a damn?”
I choked back a laugh. Living in their house must be a rollercoaster.
Immy pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’ll put the chicken in the oven if you turn it on.”
“Seems fair.” Jen turned around and reached over to pat my cheek. “Good talk, Masey baby. Let me know how that tea turns out.” She turned and tugged the front door shut behind her.
“Did she just call me ‘Masey b
aby?’” I looked at Immy.
She pushed her hair behind her ear and grimaced, staring at the front door. “Yeah. Ignore her. She’s a weirdo. Why was she at your place making tea?”
“Why? You jealous?”
“As jealous as I’d be if you’d given her the plague,” she replied wryly.
“She came by with muffins and invited herself in before taking command of my stove and making sweet tea. I didn’t really get a chance to say no.”
“Yeah, that sounds like her.” Immy sighed and ran her fingers through her hair before she realized it was in a ponytail and she couldn’t get it all the way through. “Sorry about her. She’s… well, she’s crazy.”
“She’s interesting,” I said slowly. “By the way, when she gives you a full rundown of my personal life, just know that she made me tell her.” I stepped back, holding my hands up. “Before you accuse me of something.”
Immy quirked a brow, raising it in a look that was one part amusement and, well, fifty parts derision. “Why would I accuse you of anything? I don’t care what you do with your love life, Mason.”
“I never suggested you did. I was merely saying.”
“Mm.”
“Mm? What does “mm” mean?”
“It means I’m done with this conversation. Goodbye.” She spun on the balls of her feet and stepped into the house, pausing when she crossed the threshold. She glanced back at me. “If she corrals you again, let me know. I’ll come and sort her out.”
“How can I let you know? I don’t have your number.”
“Huh. You’re right. Never mind, then.”
With a shrug, she shut the door.
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. She couldn’t make it more obvious if she tried—she wasn’t interested in so much as speaking to me, never mind anything else.
It sucked for her that her grandma apparently wanted us married.
And apparently, me, because while I figured there were worse women I could marry, Immy had me in the Devil Incarnate category of men.
I deserved it.
Kinda.
Not as much as she believed I would.
I stepped off the porch and headed back to my house, shaking my head in amusement at her. As much as I wanted to be mad at her, I couldn’t be. I did a shit thing when I didn’t call her after I’d graduated, and I could make a thousand excuses for why I didn’t, but it came down to one simple thing:
I didn’t call her.
She thought I would, and I didn’t.
We weren’t a one-time thing. We were “together” for a long time, exclusively, even if we never had an official relationship.
Her anger was completely justified.
And if I wanted to get her back on my side, to convince her that I wasn’t a young jerk caught up in his own self-importance anymore, I needed to figure out a way to do it.
Just as soon as I was done unpacking my kitchen.
CHAPTER FOUR – IMMY
Cupid Called, He Wants His Pension
“I can’t believe you did that.”
Grandma stirred her tea—hot, if you please—and peered at me through thick, black eyelashes. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Imogen.”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about. Mason. Sweet tea. A fancy walk home for the entire fifty yards between our front porches.” I shoved the fridge closed as if it was the reason for my frustration.
“Wow. What did the fridge ever do to you?”
I glared at my cousin and one of my best friends. “It was in my way.”
Hannah smirked, flicking her long, curly brown hair over her shoulder. “It was just sweet tea.”
“It was more than sweet tea. I know more about the man’s dating life than I do about my own.”
“Well, you don’t have a dating life.”
“Neither do you.”
“Girls.” Grandma shook her head, tapping her teaspoon against the side of her china cup. “You’re both shit daters. Don’t fight about it.”
“It’s so nice to have your support, Grandma. I don’t know what we’d do without it,” Hannah drawled. “Don’t you have anything to do?”
“No. It’s one of the great pleasures of being retired. I can piss you both off for as long as I like.”
“And on that note, I’m going to work.” I abandoned the coffee I was in the middle of making and shot Hannah a look that said, ‘Come with me!’
She didn’t need telling twice. She directed a weak smile at Grandma before she kissed her cheek and hurried after me outside. We both got into our own cars, and I waited a minute for her to leave so I could get out. The delay meant that my eyes collided with a shirtless Mason taking out the trash.
I swear to God, I almost crashed my freakin’ car.
Look, I was a human being. I could appreciate a good-looking man—asshole or not—and I was fully allowed to get momentarily distracted by a six-pack and grey sweatpants.
Especially the sweats.
The important thing here was that I didn’t crash my car, despite said distraction.
I swerved a little, true. I was pretty sure he noticed because I caught a glimpse of a smirk before I focused back on the road like I was supposed to.
If I didn’t know better, I’d say he did it deliberately.
In fact, I did know better, and I wouldn’t be surprised.
I didn’t believe in coincidence. That’s why I didn’t believe that he’d just happened to buy the house next to mine. Sure, there was a chance it had happened, but I just didn’t believe in it.
For an artist, I was terribly pessimistic.
It was a curse.
Or a blessing. It meant I was never disappointed when the worst happened, after all.
I pulled into the three-car parking lot behind the store and got out of the car. I’d beaten Hannah here, and I was willing to put my entire life savings—not a particularly large number, in fairness—on the fact she’d stopped to get a caffeine fix.
If she didn’t bring me a coffee, I was disowning her ass.
I unlocked the back door to the store and let myself in. By the time I was done with the morning routine of turning everything on, Hannah had shown up with two coffee cups in a holder. There were twenty minutes until opening, so we headed through to the art room and sat at a table covered with half-painted ceramics from my Saturday class.
“What is that?” Hannah asked, pointing at a neon-green penguin.
“A neon-green penguin,” I replied. “She thought black and white was boring.”
“She’s not wrong.” She sat down and looked at me. “So. Mason.”
“No, Mason,” I said immediately. “I’m not talking about him. I don’t know why he’s my new neighbor. But I don’t care. It’s all in the past.”
“Is that why you swerved your car looking at him this morning?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I swerved mine.” She smirked, lifting her coffee cup to her lips. “Immy, it’s been a long time, but you can be confused, you know. It’s a shock to see him again, and he has a daughter?”
I sighed, cupping my takeout cup and letting the warmth seep into my palms. “Grandma said he’s not married. Not even close. His ex is engaged to someone else, and it’s all very friendly and lovely and the kind of shit you see on that patronizing social media pages where everyone’s life is perfect.”
“Wow. Tell me how you really feel.”
“Shut up.”
“Is it so hard to be nice to him? I know how he hurt you. We were roommates in college, remember?” She raised her eyebrows. “I spent a lot more time studying that you did.”
I flipped her the bird. I was an art major with a minor in biology; I was studying the human body four evenings a week. It just happened to be a live body with a great penis and a mouth that could make a pornstar cry.
I shook my head before the memories took hold. “Han, I just don’t think I have it in me to be nice to him. Everyone has
their limit, and Mason Black is mine.”
“I think you’re a salty bitch.”
“I think you’re running your mouth a lot for someone training for a half marathon.”
“Thank God it’s a marathon where my feet run and not one for talking shit, because you’d already have me beat.”
I rolled my eyes and sipped from my coffee. “Whatever. I’m sure I’ll be fine in a week or so when I’m used to it.”
“You’ll be under his sheets, you mean.”
“I am not sleeping with Mason again.”
“I beg to differ. I’d sleep with that man if it meant sleeping on the roof.”
“You’ve got issues.”
“Coming from the person who can’t get over someone who hurt her years ago?”
“There was nothing to get over. The only feelings were physical.”
“You cried when he didn’t call you!”
“Out of sexual frustration!” I banged my fist against the table. I would argue that until I was blue in the face and ignore the little bitch inside who told me otherwise. I knew I’d had feelings for Mason back in college, and yes, I was hurt, but I’d be damned if I’d ever admit it to anyone else.
Much less my cousin, who had a terrible habit of always being right.
If I kept enabling that shit, she’d never get her ego through the door.
In fact, that might work in my favor…
“The lady doth protest too much,” Hannah said after a moment’s silence. “I just don’t think you should close the door.”
“I didn’t.” I finished my coffee and slammed the cup down. “He closed the door the day he promised to call and never did. He doesn’t matter anymore, Hannah. He’s just a guy I used to know. That’s it.”
I turned and left the art room, leaving her staring after me with wide eyes.
I didn’t care that it felt as though my heart skipped a beat every single time I lay eyes on him. It was just getting used to him again, the same way the human body acclimatized to a temperature change.
Except Mason Black coming back into my life was an Arctic winter in the middle of an Australian summer.
Sudden. Unexpected. And absolutely, completely, perfectly impossible.
Yet here he was, impossibly in my life, living right next door to me.
