“No problem, ma’am,” the guy responded and then asked Mason to hold on for a couple of minutes while he retrieved the bill.
Mason and Daisy stood waiting without speaking, the ease of the last few minutes suddenly replaced by a weird tension and awkwardness that told him she was as uncertain about this so-called date thing as he was. Mason was thinking of ways to back out gracefully when Daisy, with the forthrightness that he was beginning to recognize was stock in trade for her, just came out and said exactly what he’d been thinking.
“This probably isn’t a good idea. I won’t hold you to it,” she said with a rueful smile, and he noticed her dimples for the first time. They were cute as hell.
“What do you mean?” he asked perversely, despite knowing exactly what she’d meant.
“I mean going to MJ’s with you is a dumb idea; we should both just head home.”
“I don’t think it’s a dumb idea, and you’re not getting out of it that easily.” Mason was aghast to hear the words cross his lips, and he wondered why the hell he had uttered them when he basically agreed with everything she had just said.
“I’m just saying that we’ve probably exhausted all topics of—” He interrupted her before she could finish her sentence.
“Nonsense. We’re going to MJ’s.”
“Anybody ever tell you that you’re incredibly bossy?” she asked, not doing anything to disguise the irritation in her voice, and he grinned.
“All the time.”
“Fine, but I’m calling it now, this is probably the worst idea in the history of the world.”
“Anybody ever tell you that you have a tendency to exaggerate?” he fired back at her, and she shoved her dark-rimmed glasses back up her nose and rolled her eyes.
“About a billion times a day.” He grinned at her response. The waiter returned with his bill, and Daisy excused herself to go to the powder room.
“Hey, Daisy,” he called as she turned away from him. She stopped and glanced back over her shoulder. “No ducking out the bathroom window.”
She snorted and waved her hand dismissively before walking away.
“I’ll wait outside,” he said as she headed toward the back of the pub. She held one thumb up to signal that she’d heard him but didn’t look at him again.
Mason settled his bill, leaving a hefty tip for the grateful waiter, and grabbed up his leather jacket before heading out the door. He stood just outside the pub, facing the empty street as he listened to the muffled sounds of laughter and music coming from inside. Riversend had a population of only about three thousand permanent residents. It was very much a summer tourist destination, and the quiet little town went into hibernation during winter. There was no nightlife to speak of, and most people commuted to the larger outlying towns for work every day. Mason appreciated the tranquility of the place so much more now than when he was a restless, borderline-delinquent kid. And even though the years away had defined his character and broadened his worldview considerably, it was good to be home. Back when he was a kid, he had felt trapped, but now—knowing that he could leave any time he wanted to—he felt a sense of belonging.
Aside from the bustling pub behind him and the bright light coming from the always-busy MJ’s farther down the street, the tiny town’s main road was quiet. Riversend was sleepy and peaceful and—after years of violence and craziness—exactly what Mason needed.
It was a brisk late May evening, and he could see his breath misting in front of his face. The cloud of steam was reminiscent of smoke and made him yearn for one of the cigarettes he had given up more than a year ago. He shoved his hands into his jean pockets and swayed back and forth on his heels as he continued to wait.
The music and chatter increased in volume as the doors swung open behind him, and he turned with an expectant smile on his face, which faded somewhat when he saw his brother’s large frame silhouetted in the doorway.
“Hey, where are you off to?” Spencer asked, stepping out on the sidewalk with Mason; the door didn’t swing all the way shut behind him, and the noise bled out into the peaceful night.
“Heading over to MJ’s with Daisy,” Mason replied.
“Seriously?” Spencer asked with a slightly incredulous laugh.
“I’m hungry.”
“Mase, I appreciate you coming out here tonight, but you don’t have to do that.”
“Do what?” Mason asked with a frown, confused.
“You know what.” Spencer grunted, closing the gap between them slightly as he stepped closer. “I know I asked you to keep the other one distracted . . .”
“Her name’s Daisy,” Mason corrected irritably.
“Yeah.” Spencer waved the correction aside impatiently. “Whatever. Look, I know I asked you to keep her distracted, but taking her out? That’s going above and beyond, Mase. I don’t think Daff’s that interested, so you don’t have to do this. Go home and catch that movie; I know that’s what you’d prefer doing anyway. You’re probably bored out of your skull by now. Sorry about this, man. But like I said, I had to try, you know? It’s just a shame you had to waste your time with the other one while I did so.”
It was a shitty thing to say, and Mason was about to tell Spencer exactly that when he noticed a pair of earnest eyes behind a pair of unflattering dark-framed glasses peeking up at him from behind his brother’s broad shoulder.
Fuck.