They sat down and began to eat. “Wow, this is outstanding. I don’t think I ever had oatmeal that didn’t come from a paper packet.” Sean seemed awfully chatty. Liberty didn’t feel like chatting, but mumbled a thank you.
“Liberty,” Mason said and waited for her to look at him. When she met his gaze he continued. “In about an hour I have to—”
“I know what your schedule is, Mason.” He raised his brow at her clipped tone, but she didn’t care. “And I suppose you’ll be leaving as well, Sean?”
Sean, caught off guard, paused before shoveling a large bite of oatmeal into his mouth and looked over to Mason.
Mason said, “Sean’s decided to stay with us up until the Sunday following this one. Isn’t that great, Lib?”
She looked at her husband and back to Sean. “I thought you wanted to leave.”
“Only if you want me to go, Liberty. What would you prefer?”
“Stay.” She looked over to Mason and saw that he still agreed. “You should stay for a proper visit. Mason and I would enjoy that.”
“Then that’s what I’ll do.”
“Sean has some stuff he needs to take care of for about an hour. I told him to make himself at home and assured him he wouldn’t be disturbed in my office while he makes his calls. That’ll give you enough time to do the floor without worrying about tracks being left on it, won’t it?”
“That would work.” It was practically immoral how much joy she felt at knowing she would be able to do the floors before lunch. They always were done before breakfast, but if she did them late it would be best to do them before lunch.
Mason’s hand settled over hers, stilling her fingers and she realized she’d been unconsciously folding her napkin only to unfold it and refold it again. Her hands clasped on her lap so she would stop fidgeting. “And I noticed that some of the DVDs are out of order in the entertainment room. Do you think you could straighten that out for me?” he asked softly.
“Sure.”
They finished eating and Liberty stood to clear the dishes and take them into the kitchen. She immediately set out to wash them, and as she reached for the faucet she paused.
Don’t.
The sound of the kitchen door swinging open startled her and she quickly turned on the water at the coldest setting possible.
“Thanks for breakfast, Lib. It was spectacular, as everything else you cook,” Sean said as he tentatively placed his arm around her shoulders. Her mind retreated as her body craved the blanketing weight of his heavy arm. He leaned close, the scent of his clothing filling her senses, and whispered, “Are you sure you’re okay with me staying?”
He’d never touched her. He smelled nice. Right. The way Sean should smell. She nodded tightly and reached for one of the bowls from breakfast.
“One of these times I’m going to do the dishes for you. Give you a chance to take a break and relax for a change.”
No. She should tell him that wouldn’t work, but he was just trying to be nice. But he couldn’t do the dishes, because he might not move the sponge in clockwise motions and the—Stop it! She slammed down another bowl and Sean jumped and pulled his arm off of her.
Just then Mason walked into the kitchen. “What’s going on?”
Sean stepped back. “Nothing. I just told Libby one of these days I would do the dishes for her so she could relax. I only meant it as a thank you for all her delicious cooking.”
“Lib?” Mason walked over to where she stood with her palms braced on the lip of the counter as the water rushed from the faucet. He reached over and shut off the valve, but before he did he slipped a finger under the flow to test the temperature. “Do you want me to call out, Liberty?”
“No.”
“What would make this better? Tell me and I’ll do it.”
She looked at the dishes still needing to be done and then at the time. Mason had thirty minutes before he had to leave. He needed a lunch. Banana, sliced in half and then thirds per half forming six pieces. One cup of Greek yogurt. Thirty-six clusters of granola for topping. Two egg salad sandwiches made from three eggs and three teaspoons of mayonnaise. Six… Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…she tried not to think it. Tried to leave it at five fucks.
Fuck!
“I have to make your lunch.” She pushed past them and left the dishes undone. She found her small pot and at the sink filled it with six cups of water. Then she turned the dial on the stove to six, knowing she needed it to be on high for the eggs to boil, but needing it set at six for six minutes before she did that. Fifteen minutes to hard boil an egg. Twenty-eight minutes until Mason had to leave. Six minutes to start the pot. That left only seven minutes to cool them and make the egg salad and the rest of his lunch. Seven minutes wouldn’t work.