Page 42 of Unromance

“Pleasure to meet you,” she said congenially, her expression sharpening as it landed on Mason. “Though we’ve heard nothing about you because my son prefers I learn about his love life from the tabloids.”

“Mom,” Mason groaned. “I told you. Sawyer’s a friend. Retract the claws.”

Moira pursed her lips, swirling her goblet of white wine slowly. “Very well. But you’re not getting any younger, and I want grandbabies.”

To Moira’s left, Margot made a choking noise. “Mom, you have two already.” She gestured emphatically to the tortilla chip–covered child in her lap.

“Yes, and I love my Milo,” Moira said affectionately, brushing a crumb from the boy’s cheek. “And my Max!” She called to the house at large, an ominous giggle resounding somewhere to Sawyer’s right that she couldn’t place. “But we need someone to carry on the West name.”

“My name isn’t West. Mom,younamed me,” Mason pointed out. From the stove, Mason’s dad cackled. “And you know I don’t want kids.”

Moira bristled, taking a prim sip of her wine. “Yes, well, you also didn’t want to take theDiagnosticsgig—” Addressing the room at large, she continued, “But I told him to just take the meeting.” Then, back to Mason: “And look how happy you are now.”

Silence fell for a moment before Mason started laughing. Sawyer wondered if anyone else picked up on the slight strain to his laugh. “Anyway,” he said tightly. “Margot, you’ve met—” His sister gave a small wave before hastily stopping the child in her lap from upending the plate in front of him. “And Milo. My mom’s best friend, Lynn.” The older woman next to Margot waved, her many, many bracelets twinkling. “Her daughter, Bex.” By comparison, Bex was considerably less adorned, but striking all the same with her large hazel eyes and honey-brown curls. “My father, Antonio, and Luis you know,” Mason finished.

Sawyer took a deep breath. “Moira, Margot, Milo, Max—” Another giggle, the boy’s hiding spot still a mystery. “Lynn, Bex, Antonio, and Luis. Got it.”

“And I’m Mason,” he added.

She rolled her eyes, and he grinned down at her, giving her a gentle nudge toward the empty chair next to Bex. The kitchen island was laden with appetizers—most notably, a massive cheese board that had her humming the Hilary Duff classic “What Dreams Are Made Of” under her breath.

Rejoining his father at the stove, Mason rolled up the sleeves of his button-down, toned forearms on full display. Sawyer started sweating in a place that wasn’t her underarms.

The arms, the snug fit of his pants, the goddamn apron… It was all really doing it for her. She was tempted to sneak a picture and send it to Lily, captioned with fire and eggplant emojis, but she knew exactly what Lily would say in response. While Sawyer wasnormally immune to Lily’s goading and prodding, tonight it might be the straw that broke the camel’s back. Or the final drop in the bucket that broke the dam she’d built to contain her (purely physical) attraction to Mason. And maybe Lilywasright. The fact that she was here, introduced to his family like it’s no big deal—because it was no big deal to him—was proof enough that he wasn’t falling for her. Maybe they could sleep together and still do their mission. Maybe just once, to dispel this persistent tension between them, to get it out of their systems.

“So, Sawyer,” Lynn called, leaning around her daughter. Judging by the knowing smirk she wore, she had definitely seen Sawyer ogling Mason withfuck meeyes. “What do you do?”

Sawyer was so grateful for the interruption to her lust-laden thoughts she almost kissed the woman, momentarily forgetting she hated this question, simply for the follow-up questions it necessitated.

She traced the pattern of the cut-crystal tumbler to avoid making eye contact, forcing lightness into her tone as she answered. “I’m a writer.”

“She’s aNew York Timesbestselling author,” Mason supplied.

Her gaze snapped to him, where he watched her with crossed arms, wooden spoon in one hand andthose goddamn forearms. As the women at the island beside her cooed in excitement for her, he winked before turning back to the stove.

The conversation played out exactly like it always did. “Anything I would know?” followed by “Oh, I loved that movie!” followed by Sawyer choking out a thank-you despite the fact that she felt no ownership of it. She wasn’t the only author to have their work bastardized in an adaptation, but that didn’t make it sting any less. Accepting praise for it felt like reopening a half-healed wound every time.

“The book’s better,” Mason supplied. Sawyer felt a rush of affection for him so strong that she was grateful she was already sitting down.

“Well, of course,” Moira agreed. “I’ve always said writers don’t get enough credit. We actors interpret, yes, but there’s not much you can do if the source material is bad.” The approving look Moira gave Sawyer made her chest feel tight. Though Mason’s mother was on her eye level, Moira seemed larger than life from her perch at the other end of the island. It wasn’t hard to imagine how that presence translated on-screen. It was like sitting across the table from Meryl Streep and Meryl Streep had just paid you a compliment. But she could also easily see how that presence could be stifling.

“Like your role onIn the Hills?” Lynn nagged.

Everyone erupted into hoots and howls.

“We don’t talk about that project in this house!” Moira declared, feigning upset.

Sawyer smiled behind her drink, watching as they fell into what was clearly a running joke among them. She caught Luis’s attention, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

Bex turned to her, shaking her head in disbelief. “They bring it up every year without fail. After a few years, you know the whole routine.”

The kitchen was an absolute cacophony as everyone talked over each other, but Sawyer couldn’t help but think it was a right sight better than the oppressive silence that had been her family dinners. From the raucous laughter to the mash-up of cultures represented in the dishes on the kitchen island—this felt more like the Queermas dinners she’d spent with Sadie and their friends. She didn’t realize how much she’d missed it, how lonely she’d been, until now.

“So what do you do, Bex?” Anything to keep herself from going down that mental rabbit hole.

“Oh.” Bex blushed. “I’m an intimacy coordinator.”

Sawyer sat up straighter. “That’s awesome.”

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