I’m starting a new event on Tuesdays – Teaser Tuesday. For the most part, it will be excerpted bits from my novels. But now and then I’ll change things up just to keep it interesting.
And, since Misunderstanding Mason has been received so well, I thought I’d start there.
Misunderstanding Mason ExcerptAt ten fifteen the next morning, Kirstin stumbled through the damp grass to her—make that to Mason’s—back patio door. It stood open, the heavy scent of bacon grease and fried eggs wafting out to blend with the lingering chill that drifted off the nearby lake. Her stomach rumbled.
She pushed the door open and fled the cool morning air. The last thing she expected to see, however, was Mason still at the skillet, dressed in only his boxer-briefs, his hair as disheveled as if he’d just rolled out of bed. For him, ten-fifteen was going on lunchtime. He was up and moving like clockwork, at five, even on the weekends. By the time she found the ability to confront morning, he’d taken a run around the lake, showered, and managed to crank out three good hours of design.
He glanced over his shoulder at the same time he flipped an egg. “Morning.” He gestured at the coffee pot with his head. “It’s fresh.”
Doing her best to ignore the broad expanse of his muscular shoulders and the way jersey cotton
hugged his tight butt, Kirstin trudged to the coffeepot. She plucked a mug off the cup-tree in the
corner and filled it to the brim. Slowly, she turned around, sipping the piping hot brew as she leaned against the countertop. Her gaze traveled over Mason’s backside, untamed butterflies stirring in her stomach.
The last time she’d been up for his definition of breakfast had been in that tiny apartment. She’d
forgotten how simply amazing he looked in the morning. How incredibly nice it was to wake up to the flutter of her heart when she realized she’d succeeded where no other woman had. She won Mason. Without even really trying. They’d met through a friend, and from the night he phoned to ask her out a week later, they’d fallen into each other naturally. Yet, it had never failed to make her pulse skip when she stopped to acknowledge plenty of other women had flitted through his life, bending over backwards to convince him to stick around.
She’d been lucky. He stuck for five years. Five incredible, frustrating years.
Realizing she was staring, and he couldn’t possibly be ignorant to that fact, she cleared the
cobwebs of sleep from her throat. “You’re quiet.”
He tossed her a lazy grin and gestured at her coffee cup with the spatula. “How many is that this
morning?”
Her brow furrowed. “My first. Why?”
“Your inner bear doesn’t sleep until after two.”
Was she really that bad in the mornings? She’d never enjoyed getting up, true. But by the time she had coffee in-hand, she was usually sociable as long as it wasn’t some ungodly hour of morning.
“I’m fine,” she mumbled as she took another sip.
“You’re better after two.” Turning, he passed her a plate filled with two eggs, wheat toast, and three slices of bacon. “And even better with something in your stomach.”
Kirstin blinked. Uncertain what to make of that remark, she accepted his offered breakfast and moved to sit at the small table near the wide bay window. Did it really take two cups of coffee to shed her morning grumpiness? How could Mason know that, if she’d never stopped to count?
Keeping with his conviction of silence, he joined her at the table and took the seat across. As he dunked one corner of his toast in his coffee, he used his free hand to spread open the morning paper.
While he read, absorbed in the business headlines, she picked up her fork and stabbed into her eggs. Gooey yolk spread over her plate—heaven. Three bites and the cramping in her stomach eased enough she didn’t feel the need to shovel in food. She looked up through her eyelashes and studied the lines in Mason’s face.
Fine wrinkles set in around his eyes, the only hint he’d turn thirty-five this year. Grey hadn’t set into his dark hair, and though stubble shadowed his chin, his face still held boyish youth. He looked tired.
Probably up late working on some new game.
Typical Mason.
With a soft sigh, she scooped up another bite. This time, when the flavor soaked into her tongue, she stopped chewing at the subtle taste of garlic. Her mouth watered in an instant. Eggs without garlic just weren’t eggs. They were poor substitutes, flat and otherwise unexciting.
That Mason still knew how she preferred her eggs despite the fact they hadn’t shared breakfast in years, wasn’t lost on her. The discovery ranked right up there with his comment about the recliner—and caused the same uncomfortable tightness around her lungs. In one hasty gulp, she downed the rest of her coffee and scooted out of the chair to refill her mug.
Mason didn’t notice when she bought new clothes, but he remembered how she liked eggs. Weird. Too weird.
“Mason?”
The paper rustled. “Hmm?”
“What’s my favorite color?”
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