Resolution (Mason Family 5)

I lean against my desk and suck in a deep lungful of air. The scent of coconuts only intensifies my frustration.

I open a window and then sit down.

“Busy men always go through the motions and never have time to be creative. I’m not sure that fits my needs.”

What the hell?

Relational intimacy.

Loads of rubbish, just as it was ten years ago.

Instead of listening to spoiled, silver spoon-fed women who want their ridiculous projects handled, I have real work to do.

My heart pumps from the interaction with Dara, and I find myself replaying much of our conversation. It’s not until I get to relational intimacy do I realize how much time I’ve wasted—and am still wasting.

I put my phone on Do Not Disturb and get back to the only thing I ever want to know intimately—my work.

TWO

DARA

“And that’s why I’m never, ever having kids.”

My off-the-cuff statement causes my best friend, Rusti Jameson, to laugh. Her shoulder bumps mine as we sit side by side on my couch and share a pint of ice cream.

“I mean it,” I say, thinking my new kid-free stance all the way through. “They’re so much work. Complicated. And gross.”

“You can’t rule out having children because one kid puked in your mouth.”

I dig my spoon into the chocolate chip mint container and free a chunk of chocolate. “Actually, I can. You would too if you tasted sweet potatoes two weeks later at the most unsuspecting times because some little cherub baby projectile vomited practically down your throat.”

Rusti gags. “Stop it. Stop it right now.”

I laugh and shove the spoon in my mouth.

“Maybe the problem is your subjects,” Rusti offers, shaking her head as if the imagery I painted is still in her brain. “Maybe you should stop taking pictures of babies and focus on … firefighters.” Her eyes light up as she tosses a thick black braid over her shoulder. “Think about it. Less drool, more body oil. Makes sense to me.”

I toss her a weighted look. “That’s great in theory. But have you ever seen a firefighter in real life—like, you’ve personally laid eyes on him—who’s nearly as hot as the ones on the calendars?” I scoop my spoon in the ice cream again. “The answer is no. No, you have not.”

Rusti flops back against my sequined throw pillows with her spoon hanging out of her mouth.

“They don’t exist,” I say. “Think about it. They can’t exist. It would be a public hazard. There would be women all over the world setting fires just to have a big red truck show up with muscle-bound hotties and their big hoses.”

I wiggle my brows, making my friend laugh again.

“What about men who chop wood?” she asks.

“Lumberjacks?”

She shrugs. “I think. I mean, lumberjack doesn’t sound sexy, but have you seen those guys on TikTok? Hello.”

With a giggle, I fall back next to her, squishing the pillows underneath me.

“Lumberjacks have modernized,” Rusti says, running the spoon along her bottom lip. “They’re not all red-and-black-plaid flannel with Paul Bunyan vibes. Could be a new niche.”

“We’d have to find out where the lumberjacks hang out, and I’m not tromping around the woodlands.”

“Eh. Good point. Maybe you should stick to babies and weddings.”

I hum in agreement because she’s right. That’s where the money is. That’s not where my heart is, but my heart doesn’t pay the bills.

Rusti leans her head on my shoulder and yawns. “I’m never going to be able to stay awake tonight, and I don’t get off work until eleven.”

“If you get too sleepy, call me, and I’ll come in and chill at the bar and throw ice at you.”

She snorts. “That’s so nice of you.”

We sit quietly with the ice cream slowly melting between us. I should feel more compelled to take it to the kitchen than I do. I’ll blame that on Wade Mason.

What the hell happened today?

I bite my lip and try not to smile as I think back on the time we spent together.

And his grumpiness.

And his lips.

And the way he tried to get me to crumple under his stare and wither against his words.

Damn.

It’s only when Rusti jabs me in the side with her elbow do I realize that she’s raised her head and is looking at me.

“What?” I ask, my cheeks flushing at having been caught thinking about the handsome architect.

“Don’t what me, Dara.”

Suddenly, the ice cream getting moved to the kitchen is of the utmost importance. I grab it and climb to my feet.

“Don’t walk away from me,” Rusti says, following me into the kitchen. “Now, I really want to know.”

It’s my fault she’s so curious. I didn’t play this off very well, and I always tell her everything that’s going on in my life. We’ve been best friends for six years. That’s how it works. She’s seen me through some great times … and some very hard ones too.