Not long before he left, we talked about kids, about how many we wanted—three for me, four for him—and when we might be able to start a family. We agreed we should wait until Mason was finished with his residency, but that if a baby surprised us a little earlier, well…that wouldn’t be the end of the world, either.
We were so in love, a baby had seemed like the natural next step, even though I was only twenty-one and Mason twenty-five.
When he left, I mourned the death of more than our relationship. I mourned the babies we would never have, and all the other dreams we’d dreamed together that would never come true.
But now…
Now…
I fall onto my double bed with the frilly white comforter with a giddy sigh. My hope is still so new that it makes my heart beat faster every time I think about it.
Mason and I are going to give this a shot. A real shot. A shot that might very well end in the resurrection of every buried dream, the fulfillment of every deferred hope.
It is…a heady thought.
So heady, I don’t know how I’ll be able to fall asleep, not with tomorrow and the day after and the day after rolling out before me like a rainbow leading to treasure.
But eventually I do sleep, and dream of a big wedding of my own, one with lots of friends and family and flowers, and Mason waiting for me at the end of the aisle.
Chapter 14
Mason
Date Four
“Pancakes, or waffles?” Lark scrunches her nose and puckers her lips, making her thinking face.
“Or maybe we should order two of each to share?” she muses. “Or maybe two pancakes, and one waffle, since waffles are bigger? What do you think? And where do we stand on side dishes today? Sausage is a yes, obviously, but maybe we need grits, too? With cheese on top?” She shoots me a serious look over the edge of her menu that makes me laugh.
“What? Don’t laugh,” she says, grinning. “This is a serious decision!”
“Sorry, I’m just…” I trail off with a smile, admiring the way the morning light streaming through the diner window makes her hair glow a soft gold, the way her smile lights up the restaurant, drawing people’s attention as they drift by our booth in search of a table.
“Just what?” she asks, her eyes shining.
“I’m happy. So happy. Thank you.”
“You don’t have to thank me,” she says, taking a slow sip of her coffee, watching me over the rim the entire time, making my pulse leap. And then she murmurs, “It’s my pleasure,” and it starts to pound.
“I really like the way you say that word.”
“What word?” she asks. “It’s?”
I shake my head.
“My?” she teases. I narrow my eyes and she grins before adding in a husky voice. “Oh, you mean…pleasure.”
“Or we could get breakfast to go,” I say, making her laugh.
“Of course not. Eating in is part of the fun. You can’t get endless coffee refills at home, and we have many adventures to adventure today before we rest.” Lark sets her cup back onto its saucer. “So seriously, it’s time to get serious.”
“Seriously serious?”
She nods. “Yes. I need your feedback to select the perfect breakfast.”
“Let’s order one of everything and eat until our stomachs explode.” I push my menu to the edge of the table. “Happiness makes me hungry.”
“Happiness makes me hungry, too, but there will be no exploding stomachs. We’ll stop just shy of that point,” she says, setting her menu on top of mine. “I need your stomach intact for the next phase of my plan to make you even happier than you are already.”
“Oh?” I lift an eyebrow.
“Aria’s going to pick up some flank steak at the store today for—”
“Flank steak with avocado sauce,” I finish, with a foodie groan of anticipation. It’s Lark’s first original recipe and was my favorite back when we were dating. “You’re a unicorn princess. Or something even better. A unicorn princess goddess of flame-kissed meat.”
She beams. “I figured we could have a cookout at my parents’ house tonight, and give Melody and Aria a chance to get to know you again. We can play badminton in the backyard, let Felicity crawl around in the grass and be adorable, that sort of thing.”
My enthusiasm level drops a degree or two. The thought of spending the evening with Aria glaring at me across the picnic table in the March’s backyard isn’t the most appealing thing I’ve imagined today. She was civil this morning, but it’s obvious she still isn’t a fan.
“Aria will be nice, I promise,” she says, reading my thoughts. “We had a long talk last night.”
“A long talk about what?” I ask as the waitress stops next to our table, her pad and pen in hand.
“Y’all decided?” she asks in a chipper voice.