The Suite Spot (Beck Sisters #2)(55)

“Family,” Mason says. “I’d like you to meet Rachel Beck. She started here back in April as the manager for the hotel project, but we’re kind of … together now.”

His parents share a quick glance, as if this is new information, and then his mother looks at me. Sizes me up. She doesn’t offer a toothy smile, but the corner of her mouth hitches up in a startlingly familiar way.

“Rachel, these are my parents, David and Yōko Brown.” Mason reaches for my hand, pulling me over and resting his arm around my waist.

His dad looks to be in his late sixties or early seventies. He’s imposingly tall, with silver hair and the same chiseled jawline as his younger son. There’s a green tattoo on the back of his forearm. Maybe something military, but time has faded it too much to tell.

Mason’s mom is about the same age as her husband, with a gorgeous streak of white in her otherwise chin-length black hair and almost no wrinkles. She’s wearing a blue skirt that falls to her ankles with a white tunic top and a sheer red infinity scarf. Very chic.

“Hi,” I say, shaking hands with them both. “It’s so nice to meet you.”

“Mason has told us a lot about you,” his dad says. “Just not this part.”

“Well, it’s a little new to all of us.”

“And who is this sweetie?” his mother asks as Maisie creeps around the corner of the kitchen island and flattens herself shyly against my thigh.

“This is my daughter, Maisie.” I crouch down to Maisie’s level. “This is Mason’s mama and daddy, and the rest of his family.”

She stares wide-eyed at his parents, not saying anything as she tries to parse the relationships.

“That’s my sister, Laurel, and her husband, Mike,” Mason says, gesturing toward a woman whose features more closely resemble their dad. Her nose is more prominent, her eyes less angular. Laurel’s husband is a handsome Black man, with dreadlocks bound in a bundle at the nape of his neck, and their three children are a beautiful blend of the two of them. “And that’s John, James, and Lillie.”

We exchange hellos as Mason points at the other group.

“That’s my brother, Owen, and his wife, Didie.”

Of the Brown siblings, Owen is the one who looks the most like their mom. His wife is also Asian, but with a rounder face, wider nose, and darker skin tone. I can’t identify her specific ethnicity, but she is gorgeous and extra curvy, and I love that their family is so large, beautiful, and inclusive.

“And their kids are Keo and Mali,” Mason continues.

Another round of hellos and welcomes, and finally we’ve all met.

“Mom and Dad, the guest room upstairs is for you,” he says. “And the first cabin has a standard bed and a sleeper sofa. Daniel and Avery Rose have offered a room at their house if you don’t want to share the cabin, so feel free to flip a coin or rock-paper-scissors your way to figuring out who gets what.”

“There’s plenty of space for kids in sleeping bags in Maisie’s room too,” I add.

Mason’s nieces and nephews are all older than Maisie, but the youngest, Lillie, looks like she’s only a couple of years older. She approaches Maisie. “Do you want to play Barbies?”

Maisie nods. “Do you want to see my room?”

The two of them drag Lillie’s suitcase, bumping up the back steps, as the rest of Mason’s family scatters. Mason, Owen, Didie, Laurel, and Mike go out to see the cabin, while the older kids find bikes in the shed and disappear down the driveway toward Division Street. Mason’s dad follows the little girls, carrying suitcases up to the spare room, leaving me alone with Mason’s mom.

“Has Mason asked you about getting some old family photos for the taproom walls?” I ask before she has a chance to bring up my relationship with her son.

“He must have forgotten,” she says. “But that boy has been scatterbrained his whole life.”

“That sounds about right.”

She laughs. “How many photos do you need?”

“Can I show you the taproom?”

“I’d love to see it.”

We walk slowly along the path to the brewhouse, newly bordered by sunny marigolds and velvety red geraniums, with solar lights scattered between the flowers. Mason’s mom takes it all in. “I haven’t been here since last fall. This whole area was a tangle of grass.”

“It was the same when I arrived in April.”

“Did you do all of this?”

“Yes and no,” I say. “I think Mason knew he needed a push, but when he hired me, he had no way of knowing I would actually push him. I took some of the weight off his shoulders.”

She’s quiet for a moment, then nods. “Yes, I can see that.”

We reach the front door. I hold it open for her and switch on the lights. Overhead, the chandelier sparkles and the stained-glass lamps spill blue patterns across the floor. Yōko’s eyes wander over the room.

“I had the beer labels enlarged and framed, but there’s a lot of leftover space,” I say. “I thought that since Mason has a really rich family history, old photos—especially ones that are more candid, less posed—would look cool. And not just the Browns, but your family as well.”

“We have an attic full of old photos,” she says. “Come to Cleveland one day. We’ll go through the boxes together and you can choose the ones you like best.”