Dress pants and a button-down tonight, I noted. No doubt tailored to fit his body.
“You don’t call, you don’t write?” I beamed at him and snuck in for a hug.
He chuckled and gave me a tight squeeze.
Man, he smelled good. If I were to look up the word masculine in the dictionary, there would be a picture of Mason Calvert.
“Maybe I wanted to surprise you.” Then there was his voice. His rich, warm, whiskey voice.
Whew.
“I’m trying to be patient and let William handle the communication between you two, but you both kinda suck at relaying information to me.” I released him and glanced up at him with a smirk. “How are you doing, hon? You look great. How long are you in town for? And when did you get here?”
He took my firing squad approach in stride and ticked off each answer with mirth in his eyes. “I’m doing much better. So do you. I’m here to stay. I got here last night.”
“You found a house already?” That was a surprise.
“Well, no.” He cleared his throat and chuckled a little. “I’m staying at Cedar Inn for a while. Tomorrow I have a few places I’m gonna look at.”
Made much more sense. “I hope you’ll buy the house on my street,” I told him. “Rumor has it you’re about to be a grandfather, and I like babies.”
He grinned, all sexy laugh lines and warmth. He made forty-seven look so fucking fine. “Be careful what you wish for. I’ve already been warned about the fact that I’ll be the grandparent closest to Tristan and Katie. Her folks are in Toronto.”
Oh, but that made me happy! It meant Mason would be babysitting more often. “I’ll dust off Brady’s and Aurora’s baby things that I haven’t been able to throw away,” I promised with a wink.
Mason laughed under his breath and touched my cheek briefly. “It’s good to see you, Lis.”
“You too.” I smiled, feeling some heat rise to my skin. It was what Mason did. He unnerved me. He did it to all women. “Did you know I would be here tonight?”
He nodded toward my table. “Your friend tagged you in a picture on Facebook and said you were on your way here. So I thought I’d crash the party for a little while and buy you ladies a drink or two.”
Well, that was mildly embarrassing. It hadn’t been the most flattering photo. We’d been in the back of Sharon’s husband’s car, me reapplying my lipstick and Sharon feeling like the world should know about it.
“You should see her Instagram,” I huffed. “Every time we’re out, she posts a photo of me with the all-caps caption, ‘SHE’S SINGLE.’”
Mason let out a laugh and grabbed his beer from the bar top. “That’s a reason to get Instagram if I ever heard one.”
“Oh, you.” I was ready to dare any woman alive to resist this man’s charm. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to Sharon.” I linked my arm with his and guided him away from the bar. “I should warn you. She finds it hysterical to people watch and guess who’s divorced.”
He didn’t miss a beat. “We all need hobbies,” he responded amiably. “I’m happy to contribute to the statistics.”
I couldn’t help but ask. “Are you?” I hoped he didn’t find my question too intrusive, but I was so curious. “When we had dinner in Phoenix, you didn’t say a word about splitting up with Meghan.”
Mason grinned wryly to himself and took a swig from his beer. “I was saving that story for the next time you and I have dinner. Think you can last that long?”
“Only if we have dinner soon,” I joked. “No, but of course. I’m sorry if I got too nosy.”
“You didn’t.” He sent me a quick, reassuring smile right before we reached our booth.
I slid in first and went through introductions, and Mason shook hands with Sharon before he took a seat next to me.
The music faded as the cover band began their soundcheck, and Sharon excitedly informed us that she’d left song requests on the band’s Facebook page. While she adored country music, I tolerated it. A few songs were good. Otherwise, I preferred mainstream and rock.
“But this is rock too,” Sharon insisted. “It’s country rock.”
“It’s the twang,” I said with a shudder. “It’s just awful.”
“Hmpf.” Sharon raised a brow expectantly at Mason. “What about you, Mason? Do you like country?”
“It works.” Mason inclined his head and shrugged slightly. “If the mood strikes, I’ll listen to it when I work in the garage.”
I sighed internally, remembering the one and only time I’d seen him in his garage. We’d visited in Phoenix when he was with his first wife—otherwise known as Tristan’s useless mother—and Mason had been working on a rocking chair.
“He makes the most beautiful furniture,” I explained to Sharon. “But he refuses to take commissions. He says it ruins everything.”