The Suite Spot (Beck Sisters #2)(35)

Someone like Mason.

Maybe I’m making too much out of a really good conversation. Maybe it’s been so long since I’ve felt a connection with anyone that I’m creating one that doesn’t exist. Maybe living in his house makes his distance feel near. I’m operating on autopilot as I take my seat, vaguely aware of everyone else at the table. Mom has commandeered my child, so I don’t have to worry about Maisie, and it leaves too much space in my head for thoughts I shouldn’t be having. I pick up my phone, toying with the idea of texting him.

“Rachel.” Mom’s voice penetrates my bubble. “Do you know what you want to drink?”

“Oh, um—a margarita, please, on the rocks with salt,” I say, putting down the phone and pushing away thoughts of Mason Brown.

I tune back into my family for the rest of the meal, catching up on Anna and Keane’s adventures in the tropics and Mom’s plans for her new condo. After dinner, Mom takes Maisie home so the rest of us can hang out. We move to seats at the bar, where we order another round of drinks. Keane, I notice, is drinking Coke.

“Designated driver,” he says.

“And…” Anna prompts.

“I have a murderous hangover.” He aims his thumb at her. “This one introduced me to Carla last night at Waxy’s Pub.”

I let out a laugh because I know Anna’s best friend and I’ve been to that pub. Both are dangerous and almost impossible to experience in moderation.

“In the thirty years I’ve inhabited this planet, I have never met anyone who could consume more Guinness than I and live to tell the tale,” Keane continues. “Carla’s ability to hold her drink is … supernatural. I’m not fully convinced she’s even human. She’s good fun, though.”

As he takes a sip of soda, Anna leans toward me. “Okay, so spill the beans on your boss.”

“I … he…” I stop, not knowing where to begin.

“That bad, is it?” Keane says.

“Yes.”

I tell them everything I know about Mason. His wife. Piper’s death. The unfinished hotel. The nonstop fixation on beer. The plates of food in the oven. The green tea on the kitchen island. Miss Havisham.

“Stall the ball a minute,” Keane says, reaching for Anna’s margarita.

As he downs it like a man who’s been living on a desert island for years, she shakes her head. “I have no idea what’s going to come out of his mouth next, so … be ready for anything.”

“The green tea is a dead giveaway,” Keane says. “But yer man’s not going to make a move while he’s all tangled up. He’s grieving a child. He probably has lingering regrets over his divorce. And now he’s caught feelings for someone who works for him, and it’s likely he feels guilty for wanting to be happy. He has no idea what to do with any of that information, so he’s a right fucking mess.”

Anna blinks a couple of times. “He’s … actually correct.”

“Actually?” He slaps a hand to his chest like he’s been wounded. “Of course I’m correct. Rachel, you need to understand that, at present, Mason might not have anything to give. When I met your sister, I was fully prepared to be nothing more to her than a friend, because that’s what she needed. I mean, she was also a pretty shite sailor.”

“Hey!” she protests.

Keane laughs and kisses her cheek. “I love you to the rings of Saturn and back, but you were very … not good.”

Anna may as well melt right there.

“I hate you both so much,” I say, laughing.

“Listen,” Keane says. “Mason is not so much sending signals as he is lighting flares. But he doesn’t know he’s doing it, so you have to be patient.”

“Thank you.”

He gives me a little salute. “Always happy to help.”

While Anna and Keane fall into a personal conversation about checking up on their dog—they left Queenie with friends in Montserrat—I send a quick text to Mason.

Arrived safely. Packing underway. See you in four days.



The reply bubbles appear on the screen, then disappear. They reappear and disappear again. I hold my breath, waiting for his response. Wondering what he’s typing and erasing. Finally Mason’s message pops up on the screen.

If I don’t starve to death first. There’s no dinner in the oven.



His words are followed by a wink-face emoji. It’s not a lot to hold on to, but I grab it all the same.





CHAPTER 13



Tampó

Filipino

“when a person withdraws his or her affection or cheerfulness toward someone who has hurt them”



The next day is a continuation of the first as we finish sorting, packing, and making donation runs. When the movers come, we leave them to pack the truck, and head to Mom’s new condo, taking her most personal possessions with us. The condo is larger than it looked in the online listing, and because it’s on the third floor, the cathedral ceilings make it feel more spacious. There’s also a generous lanai that could be used as an extra room.

“You’re going to have incredible sunrises,” Anna says, opening the sliding door. We all crowd out onto the lanai, which overlooks a wide canal lined with powerboats and sailboats of various sizes. The complex grounds are neatly landscaped with yellow hibiscus shrubs and palm trees. “And you’ll never have to mow the grass or pull weeds again.”