Page 62 of Unromance

He nodded numbly. “I’m sorry.”

She laughed. “Mason, I’m not mad. You’re the only ex I still consider a friend. We were just better as friends. You’re gonna find someone you can be your whole self with, and she’s going to be so fucking lucky to be with someone who has such a big heart and wants to go above and beyond. But… don’t rush it. Give her time before dropping the L-word,” she laughed. “Happily ever after is a journey, not a destination.”

He laughed with her, but it was forced. He was fairly certain he’d already found that person.

They chatted a bit more, but as they talked, Mason could feel how he was holding back. And yes, maybe it was because this was the first time they’d really talked since breaking up (again), so he had no business diving deep right now. But now that she’d pointed it out, he realized it was true. He’d grown up under the thumb of Moira West, who coached him how to navigate the public eye, how to be genuine while also maintaining a level of privacy. Had he let that infiltrate his private life? He always blamed his transient lifestyle for the end of most of his relationships, but maybe there was more to it than that. Maybe he was so easy to leave because he’d never let them in in the first place.

He thought he’d been doing all the right things, anything to make them happy. He hadn’t wanted to burden anyone with his problems. He didn’t realize that in doing so, he was hurting not only himself,but their relationship. But the more he thought about it, his thoughts inevitably drifted back to Sawyer.

Sawyer, whom he’d let in more than anyone else, because they were never supposed to be anything more than friends. And yet, he’d fallen for her in a way he’d never expected, felt more than he had with anyone before, because he’d let her all the way in. And the irony was, she might actually—finally—hold up her end of their bargain, and ruin him.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

RACE ACROSS TOWN– Wherein the hero has to catch their love interest before they get on a train or plane or walk down the aisle to someone decidedly Not Them.

Sawyer awoke to the sound of knocking on her door.

Loud, insistent knocking.

“Miss Greene?”

She blinked awake blearily, staring up at the ceiling. Her neck protested at the odd angle she’d slept in. On the couch. Again. Because she’d stayed up too late trying and failing to write, not because shewantedto sleep on her couch because it smelled like Mason and she hadn’t heard from him since their fight and she was up in arms about it. Because she wasn’t. She was fine.

“Miss Greene?”

More knocking.

Sawyer jolted up, moving her laptop out of her lap and onto the coffee table before heading for the door. She avoided looking in any reflective surfaces, only bothering to wipe the crust of sleep from her eyes because her right one was half sealed shut.

Opening the door, she jumped back at the stranger awaiting her.She wasn’t sure whom she expected—certainly no one who knew her had any misconceptions about her being a “miss.”

To his credit, the teenager on her doorstep barely reacted to her very high level of disheveled, keeping his attention respectfully locked on her face after a quick assessment. “Your dress, ma’am.”

He extended a massive garment bag to her, and she took it automatically, her tongue in knots. She recognized the soft cursive logo of Celia’s boutique on the upper right corner of the bag. Fuck. Was today New Year’s Eve?

She couldn’t accept this dress, not now. Mason was done with her. Done with their list, done putting up with her shit—as she knew he inevitably would be.

“Ms. Celia also sent you this.”

She blinked up at the young boy, taking the small black bag with black-and-white-striped tissue paper.

“Have a good day, Miss Greene.”

He was three steps away before her tongue unstuck.

“I can’t accept this,” she blurted.

He turned, seeming to curl in on himself. “I just get paid to deliver things, ma’am. I don’t handle returns.”

His posture alone told her that he’d had to deal with more than his fair share of awful customers, so she simply nodded and thanked him before closing the door. She’d figure out what to do with the dress later, hanging it carefully in her front closet. The tiny gift bag hung from her finger, and she made to loop it over the hanger, when curiosity got the best of her.

As she tugged the tissue paper free, a small card fell out. Retrieving it from the floor, she slid her finger under the seal to open it, her hands shaking, though she wasn’t sure why. Shehadfelt mildly sick the past two days.

Dear Sawyer,

This came into the store yesterday, and I couldn’t think of a more perfect match for it than your dress.

Give Mason my love,

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