The Suite Spot (Beck Sisters #2)(49)

“We did this.”

Mason opens the door for me and switches on the light. The chandelier illuminates, casting sparkles on the sloped ceiling. The leather couches have been arranged into a lounge area, with the kilim-style rug creating a kind of boundary. There’s a wooden coffee table and a pair of end tables accented with the stained-glass lamps. Hanging on the wall over one of the couches is the old-fashioned Kelleys Island map.

“That looks so welcoming,” I say. “I love it.”

He grins as he gestures toward the bar. “There’s more.”

Attached to the wall behind the bar is the black menu board. Mason fishes his phone from the back pocket of his shorts and touches the screen a couple of times. Suddenly the menu board begins to move, shuffling the letters into place—like an old-fashioned departures board in a train station—until the names and prices of the beers are spelled out. Little Fish Lager. Sunshine Ale. Old Stone IPA. Porch Swing Kölsch. Stargazer Berliner Weisse.

“That is amazing, but—Wait. How did I not know about the Berliner?”

“Damn it.” He runs his hand up through his hair. “You weren’t supposed to see that. Can you pretend you didn’t see that?”

“Did you—You made a beer for me?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s the flavor?”

He goes behind the bar, takes down a glass, and fills it from one of the taps. The beer that pours out is slightly pink. I lift myself onto a barstool as he slides the glass to me. “It’s hibiscus.”

“Really?”

The flavor of hibiscus is reminiscent of cranberry, both tart and sweet, followed by the puckery tang of the Weisse beer. Mason worries his lower lip between his teeth as he watches me. “Do you hate it?”

“I love it.”

“I struggled to find the right flavor.” He reaches beneath the bar and hands me a bottle with the label. In the center of the oval is a night sky with the familiar Y-shaped constellation of Cancer. My constellation. My sign. “Eventually I figured out that I needed something more unique. More … Floridian.”

An ache blooms in my chest. Not painful, but warm and deep and possibly life-changing. “You did?”

“I do.”

“Are you sure?”

He nods, his eyes locked on mine. “Absolutely.”

I stand on the rung of the stool and lean across the bar. Mason leans from the opposite direction. But there’s too much real estate between us. Our lips barely touch, and the edge of the bar is practically cutting me in half. We both burst out laughing.

“Worst first kiss ever.”

“Definitely a contender,” he says. “Should we give it another shot?”

“I think we should.”

Mason comes out from behind the bar and stops in front of my barstool. With no preamble, he takes my face gently in his hands and the feel of his fingers on my skin sends a cascade of shivers down my spine. He grins, pleased with the effect he has on me, and leans in. This time, our mouths come together perfectly.

One kiss leads to another and another, each one hungrier than the last. Now that we’ve had a taste, neither of us can get enough. The back of his shirt is bunched in my fists as I pull him closer. He shifts me forward on the stool and I wrap my legs around his thighs. Even with our bodies touching in so many places, I want more of him. All of him. On the floor. On one of the new leather couches. On the bar. Anywhere. Everywhere.

Mason pulls back suddenly, his breathing ragged. “We forgot about Maisie.”

“Oh God,” I groan. “I’m a terrible parent.”

He leans forward and kisses me softly. “Not even close.”

“Do we have to go?”

“Okay, now you’re a terrible parent.”

I fake-punch him on the shoulder as I lower myself off the barstool. “I was going to invite you to my room after I put Maisie to bed, but now…”

Mason kisses me so thoroughly, my knees wobble. “Invite me.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m not in love with Jess anymore, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he says, pausing to switch off the lights and lock the door as we leave the taproom. “I don’t think I’ll ever get over losing Piper, but you’ve pulled me out of a rut, so—”

“I don’t want gratitude sex, Mason.”

“Oh shit. No. I don’t mean it like that,” he says, taking my hand. “You’ve turned my life upside down in the best way, and I want you to stay for … as long as you want.”

For a second it almost seemed like he was going to say forever.

We walk in silence until we reach the house. On the porch, right before he opens the door, I stop him. Kiss him. “To be continued.”

“Count on it.”

Inside, we find that Maisie has built a pillow fort with the couch cushions—thanks, Daniel—and she’s lying inside with Yōkai, the two watching Moana together. Mason sighs, and it’s impossible to miss the sadness in his eyes, the way his shoulders sag.

“I know this is hard for you,” I say. “I’m sorry.”

“No. It’s okay. Obviously, I didn’t really consider what I was opening myself up to when I said you could live here,” he says. “But getting the wind knocked out of me occasionally when Maisie does something that reminds me of Piper is all on me. It’s not Maisie’s fault. It’s not your fault.”