Moments with Mason (A Red Maple Falls Novel, #3) Read online

  “Wow. This place is great. Look at the craftsmanship of these tables and benches.”

  “Earl does great work. He runs Red Maple Falls Wood Studios.”

  She dragged her finger across a tabletop as she walked toward the bar. “Five Leaf Brewery,” she said. “I like it.”

  “Thanks.”

  “What does it mean?”

  “I have two brothers and three sisters. The five points make the leaf whole.” He shrugged. “I wouldn’t be who I am today without them.”

  “That’s really sweet.” Realization settled on her face. “Wait. You own this place?”

  He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the bar, a sense of pride swelling inside of him. “I do.” It was hard not to keep the smile off his face as he looked around at all that he had accomplished.

  “Why didn’t you just interview me in the truck then?” Cassie asked, shrugging out of her dripping wet leather jacket and hanging it on a chair. He reached for a rag behind the bar and handed it to her to wipe her jacket dry. She took the rag without hesitation and pulled it down each sleeve then peered back up at him, her eyebrows pulling tight above the bridge of her nose. “Why bring me back here?”

  “I wanted to get you out of the rain.”

  “Afraid I was going to melt?” she said with a laugh, and it surprised him how much he liked the sound. It was light and sweet, and he had a feeling it wasn’t something she let flow freely too often.

  “I was raised to help those in need.”

  Her body stiffened, her golden eyes darkened like a storm was brewing within her and not just outside. “I’m not a charity case.”

  “Never said you were.”

  “I didn’t need your help, you know.”

  Her sudden defense mode made him curious. Anybody else would have brushed the comment off, possibly even admired his chivalrous side. Though, he had always been good at reading people, and he could tell that she wasn’t just anybody. He wanted to know who the girl beneath the leather coat and golden eyes really was.

  His lip quirked at the corner when he replied, “A simple thank you would suffice.”

  Chapter 2

  Cassie didn’t mean to jump down the guy’s throat. Hell, she was actually grateful to get out of the rain for a little while. She really hadn’t been looking forward to crawling back into her pathetic little tent, soaking wet, to wait for the storm to pass, and she definitely didn’t feel like seeing Marty, the campgrounds caretaker, and telling him about her epic fail of a day.

  Being inside was a blessing—something that seemed to be few and far between these days. The fact that he was also offering her an interview for a job, she felt like she should be thanking her lucky stars for finally showing up. She looked up for a moment, wondering if Mason was right. Maybe finding each other when they did was a miracle.

  Francine, she thought. If this is your miracle then let me tell you, nice packaging.

  Mason had a pretty face, strong and defined with perfectly chiseled features like he was carved out of the finest marble. She imagined most girls would be intimidated by his looks or fawn all over him in a pathetic attempt to get him to notice them. Luckily, or maybe not so lucky for her, with what Dylan put her through, she was immune to the opposite sex. Desire was a risk that wasn’t worth taking.

  She took a deep, calming breath, reminding herself that he was just trying to help. Not everybody was like her ex, and she needed to learn to be a little less defensive.

  “Thank you,” she finally said, letting the sincere gratitude she felt, fill her tone. “Now about that interview.”

  “When can you start?”

  “Start?” She stared at Mason. “As soon as possible.”

  “We open in a week, but I’d like to get you familiar with the brewing process so you can answer questions comfortably. I’d also like you to familiarize yourself with all of our beers. So can you start now?”

  There was no way it would be this easy. Not after everything she went through today. She was expecting to jump through hoops to secure this job, and she was willing to do whatever it took. She was desperate, but she also knew she would be the perfect candidate and was ready to prove her worth. “That’s it? No questions? No background check? No references? Job history.”

  The questions she was prepared for, but the other stuff? Not so much. And she silently cursed herself for bringing it up. She was fired from her last job after Dylan threatened one of her customers. It didn’t matter that she was on time every day, picked up extra shifts with no questions asked, and took on more tables than any other person on the wait staff. Because of Dylan they looked at her as a threat to the business, and let her go.

  That bastard had taken so much from her already, and she refused to let him take this opportunity away from her, too. She was ready to wow Mason with her knowledge of beer, her many stories as a waitress that shined a bright complimenting light on her, but apparently, it wasn’t necessary.

  “You need a job,” Mason said. “And I need someone to tend the bar. I don’t question faith. If you want we can make it a trial run. If after a week, I don’t think you have what it takes, then we go our separate ways no bad blood. What do you say?”

  This was almost too good to be true, and as someone who had been burned time and time again, she wasn’t willing to accept so easily. “What’s the catch?”

  “There is no catch,” he said without an ounce of emotion on his face, which somehow made him even more attractive. There was a moment of hesitation creeping under her skin; she had a bad habit of falling for men based on looks alone, and if she wasn’t careful, she could see herself falling down that rabbit hole again.

  She needed a job, though. She needed this job. If she accepted his offer, he would be her boss, and that practically sealed the deal; no matter how good-looking he was, he was completely off-limits. That alone was enough to convince her that this was a good idea. Besides, this place was her miracle. It had to be.

  “If there’s no catch then let’s get started.”

  “Perfect.” He disappeared behind the bar then nodded in her direction. “Why don’t you take your shirt off?”

  Oh come on! Just when she thought things were looking up the guy turned out to be a pervert. He didn’t even wait two seconds before he showed his true colors.

  She wrapped her arms around her waist and stepped back. “I don’t know what you expected to happen, but I am not that kind of girl.”

  His eyebrow arched, and that ridiculously charming smirk tugged at the edge of his mouth. He placed a t-shirt with the brewery’s logo on top of the bar. “If you’d let me finish… I was going to say, it’s wet. Put this on instead, and we can toss your shirt in the dryer that I have in the back.”

  “Oh,” she said, letting her hands fall back to her sides. “I just…” Heat spread up her neck and across her cheek as embarrassment consumed her. She didn’t mean to expect the worst in people; it was just an unfortunate side effect of what she had gone through. She had been working on it, but she realized now whatever effort she had been putting forth wasn’t enough. Marty was great, and she was comfortable with him, but she needed to venture out more and meet other people or she’d never get over her past. This job would immerse her back into the world, force her to be social, and as someone who once thrived on human interaction, she would be lying if she said she wasn’t excited.

  “We cool?” Mason asked.

  “Yes. Sorry.” She hurried over to the bar and grabbed the shirt, but as she took the t-shirt, Mason’s hand rested on top of hers. It was big and strong, but his touch was gentle and assuring—something she wasn’t used to, but something she could grow accustomed to if she allowed it.

  “Let’s get one thing straight,” he said. “Whatever type of guy you think I am, I’m not.”

  A chill ran up her spine. She had nothing against him. How could she? They just met, and he’d been nothing but kind and a real gentleman, but honestly, he could’ve been deem
ed a saint and she would still have reservations. It was her damn past that she couldn’t seem to leave where it belonged.

  She’d been wronged so many times in her life by men who started out just like Mason appeared to be. A man’s charm could hide a slew of demons, and by the time he showed who he really was, it was too late; she was already in too deep.

  But for some strange reason, she trusted Mason, and maybe it would bite her in the ass in the future, but looking into those dark green eyes, intense yet kind, she hoped with all her heart that it wouldn’t.

  “Okay,” she said then thought to herself, Francine, if I’m not making the right choice please strike lightning down on me now. She waited as if a bolt would crash through the ceiling and strike in front of her. When that didn’t happen she asked, “Where’s the bathroom?”

  “Bathroom is over there.” He pointed to a door at the far corner. The wood matched the tables and had a lighter wood plaque with an image of three Storm Troopers, one in pants, one in a dress and one in a wheelchair burned into the grain. He lifted his other hand from hers, and she immediately felt his warmth vanish.

  “Thanks.” She took the shirt and went to the bathroom. It wasn’t until she was locked inside that she let out a long-extended breath. She thought for sure that her life was over when she left Main Street only a short time ago, and now it seemed things might actually work out.

  She didn’t want to get her hopes up. She’d been there one too many times. It was better to be grateful, but to always expect the other shoe to drop because it usually would. Though, she hoped like hell it wouldn’t. She had a week to prove herself, and she was more determined than ever to show Mason the hardworking, devoted employee she was.

  She pulled her soaking wet shirt over her head and dropped it onto the sink. Her eyes caught the ugly jagged scars on her arm and shoulder, the faint one on her chest that probably wasn’t visible to most, but she knew it was there. Even when it fully healed and faded with age, she would always know where it was, remember the feel of the glass cutting into her skin, the blood dripping down her body. She closed her eyes trying not to let the visions of that day consume her.

  After a few steady breaths, she opened her eyes again. The visions were still there, just like the scars, but at least she was able to push them to the back of her mind for now.

  She looked in the mirror again. Many people wore scars as a badge of honor. Cassie however, felt like they were more of a badge of shame, like a big scarlet ‘A’ sewn upon her bosom.

  Disgusted at the marks, she yanked the new t-shirt over her head and thrust her arms through the sleeves.

  “Much better,” she said to herself, looking straight in the mirror and at her face for the first time since that morning. She nearly stumbled back at the horror that was staring back at her. She was lucky Mason didn’t confuse her for a wild animal.

  Her hair was matted to her face, a wind-blown disaster in the back. Her eyes were not only red, but puffy from crying in a moment of pure weakness, and even worse, she had streaks of black makeup running down her cheeks. She looked like she’d stepped out of a horror movie. She was lucky Mason didn’t hit the gas and leave her on the side of the road.

  Cassie grabbed a wad of toilet paper and rubbed harshly at the makeup, but all it was doing was leaving angry red blotches. She unzipped her backpack and pulled out her facial wash.

  She scrubbed her cheeks and then moved to her hair. The bright red of the shirt actually brought out her natural red highlights, and she imagined when her hair was dry it would be a nice compliment.

  Fifteen minutes later, she walked out of the bathroom and spotted Mason behind the bar, a row of tasting glasses in front of him. He had removed his hoodie and was down to a t-shirt that clung nicely to his arms.

  “Everything okay? You were in there for a…” His words broke off when his eyes met hers. He stared at her with red hot intensity, causing her to awkwardly shift from one foot to the other. Maybe she was better off looking like a deranged clown. She bit her bottom lip, trying to think of a witty comeback. Something. Anything. Once upon a time she was witty and quick with her words, but years of being silenced took away not only her wit but her confidence.

  “Sorry I took so long,” she finally said. “I wanted to freshen up a bit.”

  He shook his head like he was shaking himself out of a trance. “Don’t apologize. Come sit.” He motioned toward the wooden stool on the opposite side of the bar from where he stood.

  She took the seat and let her backpack fall down her shoulder then rested it in her lap.

  “Let me put that over here,” he said, and she involuntarily hugged the bag closer to her chest. Everything she owned was tucked behind the worn material and well-used zipper. It wasn’t much—some clothes, toiletries, a few keepsakes. Junk to most people, but it was all she had.

  “I won’t steal it. Promise,” he said and there was an innocence about him that calmed her wariness.

  With a deep breath, she held the bag out to him. He took it with one hand, his muscles tightening beneath his shirt as he held his other arm out at his side. “I’m going to put it right here,” he said, making a show of placing the bag on the far side of the counter then releasing it and walking back toward her.

  Relieved he didn’t mention the weight or question her about what was inside, the tension that began to pull at the back of her neck eased. He didn’t even make her feel like she was crazy for being so protective over a backpack. It was silly, but that alone made her think Mason was a good person. She only wished that she was right, and the Mason she met today would be the same man a few months down the road.

  “Ready to get started?” he asked, and she nodded. “I currently have five beers on tap. A wheat, a pale ale, an IPA, a brown ale, and a porter.” He pointed to each tasting glass as he counted them off.

  She didn’t want to interrupt him, but she probably could have guessed without him telling her. Each type of beer had a specific shade and scent that she had always been good at detecting.

  “The rotation will change seasonally, but the IPA, Hippity Hop, will be a staple.”

  “I like the name. Any reason why you chose the IPA?” she asked, feeling comfortable enough now to speak freely.

  That dangerously attractive smirk appeared. There was a gleam in his eyes that caused the dark green to lighten. “First beer I ever made. I’ve perfected the recipe over the years, but...”

  “It has nostalgia,” she said when he shrugged off the rest of the sentence. She noticed he did that—shrugged instead of finishing his thoughts. It amazed her that she knew already what he was about to say.

  “Exactly,” he said then pushed the first glass toward her. “This is a blueberry wheat.”

  She picked the glass up and sniffed it, definitely catching a strong scent of blueberries. She wondered if it the taste would be strong up front or become more noticeable on the backend. She took a sip and was surprised at how good it was. She was an IPA girl, but this beer was made well. The blueberries didn’t overpower and left a nice subtle taste on the tongue, making her want to go in for another sip.

  “This is dangerous,” she said. “One of those beers that tastes so good you don’t realize there’s alcohol in it.” She could see the pride overtaking his features. “What else do I need to know about it?” She took another sip then put it down, knowing she had four others to taste and not wanting to get tipsy. She needed to remain professional.

  “The blueberries I picked myself at my parents’ farm. I try to use all locally grown ingredients.”

  “Your parents’ farm is just an added bonus then.”

  He nodded. “Definitely doesn’t hurt.”

  “You’re close with them?”

  “I am.”

  A sad smile formed on her face while envy rushed through her. She always wondered what it would be like to grow up in a big family—to have a built-in support team of people who were always there for you. Growing up in foster care she never st
ayed in a place long enough to get the chance. That was until Francine took her in. But even then, it was just the two of them. Now with Francine gone she was back to dreaming about a big family she would never have.

  “Are you not close to your family?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the old antique tub that sat below the taps.

  She stared at the beer in front of her, debating on making up a lie like she usually did or to come out with the truth. In the end, she decided on the truth, she was sick of hiding behind lies.

  “I never met my parents. I was put up for adoption, but for some reason no one wanted me, so I got stuck in the system. Bounced around to a few foster homes. Finally, when I was fourteen, I got placed in a good one. But my foster mom died a few years back.”

  “So you’re completely alone in the world?” he blurted, and she almost winced at the straightforwardness, but she didn’t and she was proud of herself for that.

  “I have myself. Some days it’s enough.”

  “And the other days?”

  She shrugged while she ran her finger around the bottom of the glass stem. “Lonely,” she finally said, but added with a reassuring smile, “But those days always pass.”

  “You picked the right town then,” he said with a smile.

  “Excuse me?” What did the town have to do with anything?

  “Let’s just say it’s impossible to be lonely in Red Maple Falls.”

  Chapter 3

  Cassie was running low on all the basic toiletries and needed to make a stop at the local store to restock. She’d hoped she’d be able to hold out until she received her first paycheck, but unfortunately, she couldn’t wait any longer.

  It was only a couple of days until she would get paid anyway. Then she would be able to replace the money she used today. She hated cutting it so close, and had been doing fine up until this point, but her funds were seriously dwindling after four months. She was down to her last few dollars and really needed to hold onto it for food.