Chapter 35

The familiar scent of lemon cleaner filled the room. With each swipe of the cloth, I tried to keep the rising tide of anxiety that threatened to consume me at bay. But no matter how hard I scrubbed, the nagging doubts that plagued my mind couldn't be erased.

The more I considered Mason's past, the more I realized how much it didn't matter. The past was the past. He didn't owe me, or anyone else, an explanation.

And I regretted not telling him as much when I saw him on the beach. He didn't deserve my harsh words regarding our time together. I knew we were more than some measly one-night stand and regretted suggesting otherwise.

There was an unbreakable bond between us that I was confident would not falter, no matter what obstacles lay ahead of us.

No force in the universe could alter my feelings towards him.

My thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a knock at my door. It was past nine o'clock, and I never had unexpected visitors.

My feet lightly tapped against the cool wood as I made my way over to the door. Standing on my tiptoes, I cautiously peered through the tiny peephole in my door.

My heart fluttered at the sight of a familiar mop of dark curly hair.

I swung my door open, and Mason's lips were on mine before I could greet him.

"I'm falling in love with you," he told me. "Hell, I've already fallen."

"And I'm right behind you," I whispered into his lips.

"You make me want a house with a picket fence and a family and all kinds of things I've never wanted," he admitted. "You make me want to write poetry."

I giggled, "I like poetry."

"Okay, here goes nothing," he said. "I'll tell you straight, my words are few. I made a mistake, and I should have told you."

It was a creative apology, I had to give him that.

"I'm sorry I wasn't upfront with you," he continued. "I was going to tell you about everything in my own time, but I didn't want to ruin anything. I'm not proud of my past, Kenna. I'm not proud of being charged with a felony. I don't wear it as a badge of honor. I'm ashamed of my mistakes. You deserve the best version of me, and that's all I want to show you."

"I believe you were going to tell me," I said. "And I can understand why you didn't disclose that information just yet. But you being honest with me about your past wouldn't ruin anything."

"Maybe," he looked at his feet.

"Let me be the light that illuminates your darkness," I told him. "Let me show you that I'll love you, no matter what secrets you have hidden in your past."

When his piercing blue eyes bore into mine, it was evident his mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, a storm raging within him.

"I've never been enough," Mason admitted. "For anyone or anything. I don't know how I could ever be enough for someone as wonderful as you."

"What do you mean?" I asked. "Of course, you're enough. You're more than enough. You have the kindest heart of anyone I've ever met, even if it's buried under the outer layer of a grumpy skateboarder. You are funny without trying to be. You try to understand others without passing judgment. You have a beautiful soul, Mason Drury."

His features were drawn tight, revealing a depth of emotion that I hadn't realized he was capable of.

"I've spent my whole life trying to be enough, and somehow, I always fall short," he explained. "I always fuck things up. I don't want to disappoint you, and I'm scared shitless that I will."

"You've done nothing but surprise and delight me since the moment I met you," I told him. "Stop thinking you're going to mess up before you even do. Don't jinx yourself."

Mason's gaze was serious and intense as he continued, "My past isn't perfect, Kenna."

"My only concern is the future," I said. "What happened in the past is in the past. You don't have to share that part of you with me until you're ready."

"So, you wouldn't feel ashamed to be dating a drug dealer whose past is riddled with mistakes?" Mason asked.

"Don't call yourself that," I scolded him. "I would not feel ashamed to be dating a sexy skateboarder who occasionally enjoys smoking weed, though."

"Touché," he laughed. "Does that mean you'll be my girlfriend?"

"If you'll be my boyfriend," I said.

"It would be my honor," Mason said as he pulled me into him.

I buried my face in his chest, letting the familiar scent of his musky cologne wash over me like a comforting wave.

"You're the first man who has made me feel comfortable being me," I said.

His eyes locked onto mine as I began to speak.

"Not a watered down or muted version of me," I continued, "but who I truly am at my core. You don't make me feel like I'm too much. You make me love being me."

"There's no such thing as too much," he said. "The idea was created by men with fragile egos whose only joy in life is making women feel inferior to them. Wearing a cute dress and having an opinion isn't the crime you think it is."

"Maybe you're right, but you're not even a little worried that we're too different?" I asked. "I mean, look at us. We're total opposites."

I gestured between us, motioning to the stark contrast of our outfits. My pink satin top and matching shorts. His all-black attire. We couldn't have appeared more different if we tried.

"We can get naked if it would help," he smirked at me.

"But don't you want a girl who skateboards and can chill with the boys?" I asked. "I'm too girly for you."

He cackled at my question. "No, Kenna. That's not what I want."

When I didn't respond, he continued, "I want you, Kenna—all of you. I love your girly clothes, lip gloss that smells like cherries, and hair that always looks perfect. I love your big, round, animated eyes. I love how you clap your hands for tacos or anything else that excites you. I love how talkative you are. I love how warm you are to others. I love how motivated you are to be successful. I love you, Kenna Porter. I love every fucking ounce of you, and I wouldn't change a thing."

My eyes teared up at his words, and he took my face into his hands. He peppered my nose with kisses before he repeated, "I love you."

"I love you," I said back.

Mason's hand lightly grasped my throat, pulling me to him and sealing our words with a kiss.

"My raggedy skateboard shoes included?" he asked, his lips still hovering close to mine.

I glanced down at the gum-soled shoes I had come to love. "Especially your raggedy skateboard shoes."

His blue eyes sparkled like sunlight on the ocean, and I knew we saw the same unwavering certainty reflected in the other's gaze.

We were meant to find each other.