Chapter Thirty-One
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
THE GRAND GESTURE – Go big or go home, baby!
M ason ran a hand through his hair. He still wasn’t used to having it Dr. Santiago short, filming due to start on Monday. Scrolling through his phone, he tried to decide what to order for dinner. He scratched absently at his stomach under the hem of his shirt. He wasn’t hungry, but he knew he should eat, and he was too drained to cook.
He’d spent the afternoon cleaning his apartment, banishing everything of Sawyer’s into a small drawer. She hadn’t left much behind, save for the gold dress, the jewelry, and a few dozen bobby pins he was still somehow finding everywhere. He knew he should throw it all in one of the many moving boxes now scattered around his apartment and send it back to her, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it just yet. It didn’t seem right that he could feel so much for a person and have it all amount to nothing. He’d overnighted his letter to her two weeks ago, but even with her radio silence, he wasn’t quite ready to let go.
He froze mid-scroll as the sound of drums reached him. The walls here were fairly well insulated, so he rarely heard his neighbors. Someone must be really rocking out. Though it was more like a slow jam. Was that… was that Peter Gabriel ? Mason’s attention drifted slowly toward the door.
The corner of his mouth twitched, and he tossed his phone onto the counter, all thoughts of dinner forgotten as he crossed over to the door in a few long strides, cautious hope blooming in his chest. Without bothering to check to see who it was—he knew who it was—he opened the door.
Sawyer stood across the hall, hastily shooing one of his neighbors back inside. Catching sight of him, she froze, breath visibly hitching. She straightened, and Mason leaned his shoulder against the doorjamb, taking her in.
She wore a tattered green army jacket with a plaid flannel and black T-shirt underneath. Her faded jeans were loose and ripped, combat boots peeking out beneath the frayed hem. He could only assume this was her approximation of Eighties Rom-Com Male Love Interest Chic. A massive boom box sat at her feet. Where had she found a vintage boom box—and how long had she been planning this?
He was too shocked to do or say anything. She picked up a stack of cards, and his lips twitched upward as he realized what was about to happen. Sawyer Greene was making a grand gesture. Hell must be freezing over.
As she propped the stack of white posters against her chest, he tore his attention away from her wide green eyes to her slightly trembling hands to the first card, undulating with her shaky breaths.
HI.
“Hello, Sawyer,” he said quietly.
She smiled slightly, removing the first card and propping it against her shin.
He dragged his attention back to the cards.
I’M SORRY.
Next card.
I WAS SCARED.
Next card.
I’M STILL SCARED.
Next card.
BUT I WANT TO TRY WITH YOU.
Next card.
SO HERE I AM, UNROMANCING YOU.
Next card.
ONLY, UNLIKE ANDREW LINCOLN, I’M HERE WITH HOPE AND AN AGENDA.
Next card.
THOUGH, I’M NOT VERY GOOD AT EXPRESSING MYSELF.
Next card.
I HOPED THIS WOULD ENSURE THE WORDS CAME OUT RIGHT.
Next card.
SO:
Next card.
MASON ALEXANDER
Next card.
áLVAREZ-WEST*
Next card.
*ACTUALLY REAL NAME
Mason laughed through his nose, watching as Sawyer’s nervous smile faltered as she revealed the last card.
I LOVE YOU.
He could tell she’d spent extra time on this one. On the others, her messy scrawl was off-center and lopsided. But this one was perfect. The placement of the letters intentional, knowing the weight of the words they would come together to form. He stared at it for a long time, trying to keep a lid on the hope welling in his chest.
“This isn’t—” he said hoarsely, clearing his throat. He needed to be sure. “This isn’t for the list, right?”
She shook her head. “No, this is for me. For us, hopefully.”
“Because… you love me.”
She nodded. “Because I love you,” she said softly.
He pushed off the doorway to scoop her into his arms, but she held up her hands. He froze.
“Wait, I—I’m not done, and if you kiss me now, I’m going to forget, because those sweatpants and that haircut are really doing it for me.”
He smiled, resuming his lean against the doorframe. “By all means, gesture away, but I thought you said the note card scene was creepy.”
“Well, yeah,” she said hesitantly, propping the last card against her knees so it was still facing him, like a reminder. That she loved him. That was real. “That was his best friend’s wife—wait, you don’t have a wife in there, do you? Am I too late?!”
“No,” he said around a grin. “You’re right on time.”
“Thank God.” Her shoulders sagged visibly with relief. “Mason, I’m so sorry. I’ve spent so long trying to keep people at arm’s length so I couldn’t get hurt again, but somehow you snuck in there, and I cared about you a scary amount. I was so terrified that I would let you in and then you’d move and I’d be left a mess and everything was happening so fast and you told me you loved me in the middle of an argument and—” She took a shaky breath. “I wasn’t ready to hear it then, but I get it now. We don’t get to choose who we fall for or when. Sometimes it’s a random girl in an elevator or a guy you were supposed to have a one-night stand with, but you do get to choose who you stay with.”
He waited only half a beat to make sure she was done talking before crossing the hallway in a single stride. Pausing Peter Gabriel, he pulled her into the circle of his arms, pressing his forehead against hers. “I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have pushed you so much. I cannot believe I Moira-ed you. You don’t know how much I’ve kicked myself for that. Or for rushing this thing between us. I knew you needed to go slow, but it was like once we started I got completely swept up and not that that’s an excuse—”
She placed a finger over his lips. “I know. I felt the same way, and it scared me. I told myself I had to focus on salvaging my career, then I’d worry about—” She gestured vaguely. “Everything else. But I was so focused, I cut myself off from living at all. You taught me how to fall in love with life again. Sharing this with you has been the best thing to happen to me in years. I haven’t had someone in my corner—haven’t let someone be in my corner,” she corrected herself. “But I want you there. I want to be with someone who’s going to push me. I want to be with someone who loves me not only for who I am now, but also for who they know I want to be. But—” she said with a small smile. “If we’re going to make it work, I need you to talk to me, even if we don’t have the perfect words yet, and I promise to do the same, because—” She took a deep breath, and Mason held his. “I love you.”
His hand was in her hair in an instant, tilting her face back so he could capture her mouth with his, her lips that had just uttered the most perfect words, ones he never dared to imagine hearing. He wanted to drown in the sound and feel of it. He knew they had more to talk about, but right now all he could think about was how they’d have time to do it later. They had a later . That thought alone was making him lightheaded. Well, that and the fact that he’d barely breathed, so intent on pouring everything they hadn’t said into his kisses, their lips conveying the breadth of feeling that words couldn’t encompass.
Sawyer pulled back first, inhaling shakily. “Well, I never want to fight like that again, but, um, making up isn’t exactly awful.”
“For the record,” he said, brushing his lips across hers. “When we inevitably do fight again, all of this was a nice touch, but not necessary. All I wanted was for you to come back.”
She smiled. “I know. But I wanted you to know how serious I was, that I was all in. I couldn’t expect my characters to make a grand gesture, and then cower on my couch because I was scared.”
Mason straightened, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You finished your book?”
Sawyer nodded, smiling bashfully, and he pulled her in for a hug so fierce her feet left the ground. He spun her in a circle before letting her back down. “I am so fucking proud of you.”
“Well, I have you to thank.”
He raised his brows in question.
“I was so mad about Liatiago breaking up that I needed a happy ending, so I wrote one.”
Mason’s lips parted in surprise. “You watched my show?”
She shrugged like it was nothing. “I missed you, okay? I was in a bad way.”
His shoulders shook with laughter, and she held up her finger, fixing him with a death glare. “I’m still behind a season, so if you spoil it for me, I swear we’re fighting again.”
He mimed zipping his lips.
“So, anyway,” she began with a sigh. He didn’t need to hear any more explanations, any more apologies, but he was also dead curious how she’d ended up here, on his doorstep with a boom box and giant poster boards. “You’d already shown up at my door once and written me my first love letter, so it was my turn to make a grand gesture. And while I still don’t know if I believe in happily ever after, I’ve never been as happy as I was with you, and I’m not ready to let that go—not now and maybe not for a long while, if that’s okay with you.”
“It’s more than okay with me.” He grinned down at her, thumb stroking across her cheek. He still couldn’t believe she was here. “Maybe we should go inside?”
Biting her lip, she nodded.
Scooping up the cards and the boom box, he dropped the latter on the kitchen counter. He carried the cards over to a safe spot in the corner. He was going to frame the last one, without a doubt. He straightened as “In Your Eyes” began again. Turning around, he watched as Sawyer mimed playing air drums.
“Y’know, I always thought this song was kinda lame, but—” She began a slow shimmy of her shoulders. “I gotta admit, once it gets going, it goes pretty hard.”
The tempo picked up, and Mason extended his hand to her.
She eyed it warily before slipping her hand into his. “Are we really dancing in the kitchen?” she asked when he twirled her into him.
“Shh, embrace the cliché, Sawyer.” Leaning down, his lips brushed against the shell of her ear as he whispered, “I think you secretly like it.”
She laughed loudly. “I know you said it’s not necessary, but I think grand gestures may suit my natural dramatic flair.”
“I love your dramatic flair. You’ve ruined romance for me in the best possible way.” He tucked her hair behind her ear, frowning. “Have I not told you I love you yet?”
She shook her head slowly.
“Allow me to correct that immediately.” He squeezed her closer. “I love you, Sawyer Greene.”
She sank against him, resting her chin on his chest. “And I love you.”
He swayed them in time to the beat, and she burrowed deeper into his chest as they danced in the kitchen to Peter Gabriel. It was cliché, and it suited them just fine.