CHAPTER ELEVEN

Ally

Not ten minutes after I send the text to Mason, there's a knock at the door. My hand trembled as I hit send, and I threw my phone screen down on the couch as soon as I did. Mason Landry makes me feel like I'm in high school again, and he's the cool, detached, popular guy that I'm terrified to talk to. He's the guy that I would be convinced has no idea I even exist.

But here he is at my house, standing outside with an axe in hand in his plaid button-down and jeans. His hair is a bit mussed, but his waves are soft, and I have a strange urge to run my fingers through them. It's been difficult to maintain my cool around Mason since our heated interaction in the clinic. I should be angrier about it, having my hand slapped like a child. But all I can think about is feeling his breath on my neck.

Asking Mason to come to chop my firewood was not my first choice; it is in my best interest to avoid Mason outside of work altogether, but there's no other option. Fall is settling into the mountains now, and even on the warmest days of summer, the temperature drops rapidly after the sun sets. I was not prepared for the drastic change in temperature, and I'm still shivering in my long knit cardigan, sweatpants, and plush socks.

"I'll be out back chopping wood for a bit." Mason's voice is gruff and clipped. After his outburst at work, he's been more restrained around me. I should be grateful for it, but I'm not. I just want Mason to be himself, to let me see him for who he is.

"Okay." I feel exposed standing at the door in my sweats, so I tug the cardigan around me and cross my arms. "I can come out and get it when you're done," I say, offering to be of some help. But Mason is already halfway down the steps and walking around to the pile of wood leaning against the side of the cabin.

I close the door and wander back inside. My energy is jittery, and I don't quite know what to do with myself while I wait for Mason to finish, so I pace around in search of something that will pass the time. I need to do something that makes me seem indifferent to Mason's presence and like I haven't just been sitting around waiting for him to get back.

I sit on the couch and pick up my book from the coffee table. Reading a book would say casual-indifference-to-your-grumpy-but-super-attractive-boss, right? I stare at the page of the romance novel I was getting into for a few seconds.

Cock in hand, he strokes up and down his long pulsing shaft as he stares at her.

Nope. I slam the book shut. Thinking about cocks and shafts is the last thing I need.

I jump up from the couch and glance around the small living room before remembering that I have some dry goods in the pantry. I have enough that I could start some baking. Baking is not sexy. Baking does not turn me on. There's flour, cocoa, and sugar in the pantry, and I just loaded up the fridge with eggs and milk. I could make some brownies, and the heat from the oven warming would take the chill off the cabin.

The oven is preheating when I hear Mason's footsteps on the porch. He opens the door with one arm, a few pieces of firewood in the other.

"I can get it from the back. I don't want to take any more of your time," I offer.

Mason sets the firewood down next to the hearth. He stands up and looks at me, making my skin prickle with heat that isn't from the oven warming.

"Not a chance on that ankle of yours. Do you even know how to make a fire?" Mason runs his hand through his thick curls, just like I would have liked to do.

"That's rude to assume," I snap back. "I'm sure I can figure it out myself."

"So that's a no. I'm not trying to be insulting; you just don't seem like the kind of girl that would know how to build a fire."

"And what kind of girl would I be, exactly?" I unfold my arms from across my chest, letting Mason get a look at me before he makes his sure-to-be snappy and unfair judgment.

"You just seem a little …" Mason hesitates, looking for the right words. "High maintenance." I scoff. High maintenance?

"Why, because I went on reality TV and now own several floor-length gowns, that makes me high maintenance?" I ask, laughing at myself.

"Well, yeah. Kind of." Mason shrugs. "You're more high maintenance than anyone else in this town." I can't argue. I do come across that way, even if that persona isn't me.

"You hardly know me, Mason Landry." I'm not about to admit to him that I can see his point.

"I know enough about you to bet that you'll let me stay and build you a fire." The corner of Mason's mouth lifts into a smirk, and I can't help but think it's the sexiest thing I have seen. I can't entertain that thought longer than I already have. Mason Landry is my boss . Never mind that he's also my fake boyfriend, the key word being fake . I clear my throat, readying myself to change the subject to distract myself from Mason's half-smile.

"Fine. If you insist. You can build me a fire." I turn on my heel and wander back into the kitchen, taking ginger steps on my still-sore ankle.

The silence between us is deafening, and I can't help but try to fill it. I hate small talk, but I hate awkward silence even more.

"So, what were you up to tonight that you could drop it and come over?" My question is intended innocently, but I realize what I have implied. That Mason would drop whatever he's doing to see me.

"I didn't drop everything to come over," Mason corrects me, as expected. "I was at Winnie's. My brothers and I have always gone over for Friday night dinner and a movie. This is the first time in a while that we've all been together for it."

"And you just got up and left? I could have managed over here. I've got extra blankets," I say. I hadn't realized that Mason and Winnie were so close, but it makes sense given that she has been working at the clinic for almost her entire career, which is longer than Mason has been alive. I don't bother asking why Winnie is filling in for his actual mother, making the boys dinner on Friday nights. I'm confident that he won't tell me, anyway. And now the gnawing guilt that Mason left in the middle of their movie night eats at me.

Mason continues stacking the logs in the fireplace and crumpling paper to place around them.

"They picked a movie I don't like."

Mason stands from the fire. It's roaring to life in the hearth behind him. I don't understand how he made it so quickly. There's a lot that I don't understand about Mason Landry. Here is this man who wields his power over me at work, but who drops what he's doing at a moment's notice to come and chop my firewood. I don't press him further; clearly, Mason Landry doesn't like to be put in a box.

"In that case, do you want to stay for some brownies? I just started making them," I ask without thinking. Something about Mason being here in the cabin with me makes me wish he wouldn't leave. Not yet at least.

It's been lonely since I arrived in Heartwood. Living alone isn't something I'm used to. I've always lived either with my parents, with Nate, or, for a brief time, with Spencer. I hadn't realized how much I wanted another person around until now. The fact that it's Mason, that he probably wants nothing to do with me, doesn't matter. I just want someone to talk to for a little while longer.

He eyes the baking supplies I've pulled from the pantry and glances between me and the door, contemplating whether he has a better place to be.

"Sure."

"Wait, really?" My jaw drops in disbelief. I hadn't expected him to want to stay, and now I'm having a moment of panic realizing that I have to make more awkward conversation.

"Yeah. I've nothing going on. Besides, who's going to keep your fire going and make sure you don't freeze to death?"

"Uh, okay, great. They won't take long." I'm hoping that the careful measurement of each ingredient will be enough to keep my mind off Mason's butt in his jeans as he crouches low, stacking the logs in the fire.

I finish the batter, pour it into the pan that I place in the oven, and set the timer before limping back over to the couch, the fire warming the entire space.

"Your ankle is still bothering you." Mason points out.

"Thanks, Captain Obvious. It's only been a day since I, quote, ‘ate shit.'" I wince as I take a seat on the couch and lift my leg up to rest it on the cushion. It's not as bad as it was when it first happened, but it's still sore when I've been on it for any length of time.

"Have you been staying off of it today?" he asks. He sounds as if he cares for a moment.

"Why, are you concerned I won't be at work on Monday?" Okay, that was a little snarky.

"Well, yeah. But I also care about my patients."

I wrinkle my nose at him and notice the corner of his mouth twitch. "I'm not your patient."

"You came to the clinic for an assessment yesterday, and you live in Heartwood, so yeah. That makes you my patient. Whether you like it or not, Honeybee." He comes over to take the seat next to me on the couch. "Can I look at it?"

I stare at him for a moment, weighing all the awkward scenarios that could come of having Mason Landry touching my feet.

"What? Do you have a foot fetish or something?" He gives me a withering stare. "Fine. If you must, you can look at my foot."

I lift my foot up onto the couch, and he gestures for me to place it in his lap, which I do. His hands are gentle as he peels my sock back, exposing my bare toes. This feels uncomfortably vulnerable. Somehow, having a man take off my socks is more intimate than having them take off my panties. His eyes widen as he sees the purple bruise that has formed under the knob of my ankle bone.

"This looks painful," he states. I shrug.

"It's not so bad. It looks worse than it is."

"You need to stay off of it."

"You need to stop telling me what to do," I snap back, but the grin on my face is giving me away. I'm not as feisty as my words would let on. Although, Mason makes me brazen somehow. It's a new sensation for me, and I don't quite know what to do with it.

"Doctor's orders." His eyes bore a hole through me as he gently moves my ankle to check my range of motion. I don't respond. Instead, we sit in silence while he continues rubbing a hand over my ankle, his soft yet calloused fingers sending goosebumps up my leg. I'm no doctor or physiotherapist, but as a nurse, I am almost certain that this is much longer than necessary for a standard musculoskeletal exam.

I am the first to break the silence, hoping that any conversation will make me feel less awkward. The shock of hearing my voice for the first time in a few seconds causes Mason to remove his hand from my foot. Which is what I thought I wanted, but somehow feels wrong. My foot is cold without the warmth of his hand.

"You said that Winnie is like a second mom to you. What's your family like?" As much as I hate small talk, I figure I may as well try to get to know this puzzling man. The man who keeps himself so closed off and guarded at work, but came running over at a moment's notice to chop my firewood, and caressed my foot in a way that made my insides melt. If we're going to work together for the foreseeable future, getting to know him may just help to ease whatever tension has been between us since I arrived.

"Neither of my parents are around anymore," Mason says, staring into the flames licking the logs in the hearth. "My mom passed when I was young, and my dad died just over a year ago."

"I'm sorry," I start, but I don't make eye contact for fear of ruining whatever it is causing Mason to open up to me.

"Don't be. They're old wounds now." He's cracking open the door, but the wall between us is very much still there. "To be honest, I resent my dad more than anything."

"Dr. Jack Landry, right?" Winnie had mentioned the late Dr. Landry a few times as she oriented me to the office. The town revered Jack; no one ever had anything negative to say about him. Whatever he did to cause such resentment in Mason must have been significant, but I don't pry.

"You got it. The great Dr. Landry."

"And now you're trying to fill his shoes." I'm piecing it all together. The reason that Mason walks around the clinic with a clenched jaw. He's trying to live up to the legacy that his father left.

"Mmhmm. Lucky for me, he left me an impossible task." His lips form a tight line. I'm well aware that the clinic is busier than ever, but I wouldn't describe the situation as impossible.

"How so?" I test the waters, seeing how much more Mason will indulge.

"You've seen it," Mason grumbles. "So many people have moved to Heartwood in the last year; I don't know how I'm supposed to maintain the quality of care that my dad provided, that people around here expect."

The egg timer on top of the stove buzzes, and at the same moment, there's a hard knock on the door. I get up and walk over to the kitchen to take out the brownies before they burn. Mason, thankfully, gets up to answer the door.

"Hey, man," a familiar voice says as Mason opens it. The words are friendly, but the tone is not. I just about drop the pan of brownies on the floor.

"You shouldn't be here," Mason snaps. I'm taken aback by the sharpness in his voice, as if he's just as angry as I am that Nate has shown up here, at the cabin, my safe space. For a fake boyfriend, Mason's reaction is shockingly believable. Nate doesn't respond; he peers over Mason's shoulder toward me, approaching from the kitchen.

"I see you still haven't given up your little game, Ally." He sneers at Mason.

"It's not a game, Nate. Not everything in life is a game to be played." I saunter over to the door, attempting to come across as casually as possible, but my insides are a quivering mess. I cross my arms as I approach the doorway. Mason is standing next to me, propping it open. He doesn't back up to a friendly distance when I get close to him, and the knot in my stomach loosens a little. Our proximity tells a more convincing story of intimacy. We look like a couple. The warmth of his body so close to mine is oddly comforting and protective.

"I'm not playing, Ally. I just wanted to check in and see if you've decided to come home with me yet." The word ‘yet' makes me cringe, as if the fuckface is so positive that the day is coming when I'll just drop everything and go back to him. It isn't even a question in his mind.

"I told you, I'm happy. I'm making a life for myself here." Mason's warm hand lands on the small of my back, and a tingle ripples all the way through me. The grounding feeling of it somehow makes me brave. "I think you should go."

It isn't the defiant clapback that I would have liked to say, but I hold my ground, and that's what matters. It's more than I would have said to him last week, and I have Mason to thank for that. Nate stands in the doorway in stunned silence. It's the most that I've ever spoken back to him. Throughout our entire relationship, which hasn't been that long in the grand scheme of things, it's always been Nate's way.

"You heard her, man. Ally's mine now." Mason's hand creeps up from my lower back to wrap around me. A flutter ripples through my abdomen and all the way into my chest. Those words coming from Mason make me feel more than I should allow. I can't help but notice Nate's eyes dart to where Mason's hand is resting on my hip, a flush of anger colouring his cheeks.

"Suit yourself. But if you change your mind, you know where to find me." Nate has informed me that he's staying in the only motel in town, as if he has anywhere else to say. His multiple unanswered text messages leave no question. "I'll be here for as long as it takes."

I swear there's a hint of a threat in his voice. Nate used to terrify me. After the show, I realized that beneath his doting, caring facade was something more sinister. He has money, he has resources, and he knows people in many places. He somehow tracked me down here in Heartwood. He's slimy and sneaky, and I realize at this moment that I don't trust him.

Mason keeps his arm wrapped around me as we stand on the porch, watching Nate stalk back to his black Tesla sedan parked in the driveway. I want to make sure that I see him leave. Nate looks back at us for a moment before getting into the car, and as he does, Mason turns and places a soft, comforting kiss on my temple, holding his lips there for a long and drawn-out moment. The warmth of his breath on my skin turns my insides to molten lava, bubbling to the surface and turning my cheeks a deep shade of pink.

I look up at Mason as the car bumps down the gravel drive.

"I thought your week as my boyfriend was up," I point out. Not that Mason has ever really committed to the part in the first place. I don't want to force him into it for any longer than he agreed to. Mason waves my comment out of the air.

"There's no harm in it; there was no one else around to see. Besides, I've known the guy for all of a week and have only encountered him twice, but I already hate his guts."

"Join the club." I roll my eyes and head back over to the couch.

"What made you stay with him, anyway? He doesn't seem like your type. I thought you didn't go for pompous assholes. Your words, not mine."

The question makes my heart pick up its pace. Mason and I have only just started to come to decent terms with each other, and I would rather not discuss Nate, the show, or any of my past that brought me here. He makes it glaringly obvious that he doesn't respect the fact that I quit my job for a reality show.

"Since you've got me pegged, tell me, what is my type?" I give him a quizzical look, dodging his original question. Mason likes to think that he already knows everything about me. "You?" The question is daring. I'm dipping my toe into waters that I shouldn't be going anywhere near. Mason stares at me dead in the eyes but doesn't say a word. "I think I'm ready for brownies." I clear my throat, changing the subject.

I hop up off the couch, as quickly as my ankle will allow, and I distract myself by cutting the brownies into even squares. Mason follows and accepts the brownie I'm holding out to him on a plate. His eyes roll back as he tastes it. I'd like to see his eyes roll back for a different reason.

"Perfection. Ten out of ten," Mason says, his mouth still full. "But you never answered my question. I don't know if you've ever been in a fake relationship, but in all the fake relationships I've been in, they're built on honesty and transparency."

He's joking. Mason doesn't let anyone close enough to even pretend, but his expression is sincere. He has a point. He opened up and shared aspects of his life he reserves for a select number of individuals. The least I can do is explain why I roped him into this whole scheme in the first place.

"Nate wasn't that bad at first. Have you seen the show I was on?" I figure Mason isn't a reality TV-watching type of guy, but who knows? Judging by his blank stare, I assume I'm right. "Never mind. Just don't watch it, please. It's kind of cringey. Anyway, Nate went all out on the show to woo me. It was called Stolen Love , and you had to compete with other contestants to win over the person you wanted to date. You could plan elaborate dates and whatnot. I guess I just fell for him because of the atmosphere, but it wasn't real life."

"And what about now? What happened that brought you all the way here?"

"Why I'm here is a whole other issue. That has less to do with Nate and more to do with me being a bit of a baby with confrontation." I laugh in a self-deprecating my life is a complete mess, so if I don't laugh, I'm going to cry kind of way. "Nate was just using me. He's not the most wholesome person. His job requires him to be liked, and that's difficult for him. I think he thought if he was with a nurse it would make him look better. I learned that I would never be important to him for any other reason. He was always occupied with work, and only wanted me when he had some client he wanted to impress." Mason nods as if he understands, but he still has confusion written on his face.

"So you came to Heartwood, of all places?"

"Like I said, a whole can of worms." I don't feel like delving into my own flaws. I have a strong aversion to confrontation, which leads me to go to great lengths to please others and make decisions based on their opinions. I could bitch about Nate all day, but revealing my own shortcomings is a little too vulnerable for our budding friendship.