Page 141 of Stuck with my Mechanic Daddies

Hank was gone.

He was really, truly gone.

The threat that had been looming over my head, the constant fear of losing Page Turners, the endless fight just to hold onto what little I had left—it wasn’t my burden anymore.

I sucked in a shaky breath. “Oh my God.”

Mason’s expression softened as he closed the distance between us. “Yeah.”

For a second, I didn’t know what to do.

My thoughts were a tangled mess, flipping between shock, disbelief, and something so overwhelming I didn’t dare name it.

And then I moved.

Before I could think twice, I launched myself at him.

Mason caught me instantly, his arms wrapping around me like he’d been waiting for this exact moment.

I felt the solid press of his chest, the steady thud of his heartbeat under my cheek, the way his breath hitched when I clung to him just a little tighter.

His voice was rough when he murmured, “Told you I wouldn’t let him win.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, letting myself sink into him for just a second longer. “I know.”

Mason pulled back slightly, just enough to look down at me.

His fingers brushed the side of my face, his thumb skimming my cheekbone like he was memorizing the way I felt under his touch.

There was something unspoken in his gaze, something heavy and undeniable.

I felt it too. But I wasn’t ready to name it.

Not yet.

Instead, I let out a breathless laugh, shaking my head. “You're lucky I don’t make you pay me back for all the coffee I stress-drank because of this.”

Mason smirked. “I’d consider it a fair trade for single-handedly saving your bookstore.”

I arched a brow. “Single-handedly?”

He grinned. “Okay, fine. Maybe Davis and Hall helped a little. And Ethan and Owen. And the rest of the town.” I laughed, the sound freer than it had been in weeks.

Mason’s smirk lingered, but his eyes darkened.

Something that sent a slow, delicious warmth curling through my stomach.

His hand was still on my cheek, his thumb tracing a lazy pattern against my skin.

I felt the calluses on his fingers, the roughness of a man who built and fixed things with his own two hands.

And then his gaze flicked to my lips.

Everything else in the world—the bookstore, the stress, even the shock of Hank’s arrest—faded into the background.

I barely had time to take a breath before Mason closed the space between us.

His lips met mine in a way that stole the air right from my lungs.

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