Page 33 of Hypnotized By Love

I hated Mason Beckett. Why did I have to keep reminding myself of that fact?

“And, Savannah, did you know that Mason is involved with several different charities in New York that focus on childhood literacy? He’s been quietly fundraising for them and getting his dad to make big financial contributions for years.”

It probably shouldn’t have surprised me, given that he was a writer and how devoted both of our mothers were to the cause of childhoodreading, but it did. I was a bit shocked that he would do something selfless.

“How do you know that?” Mason asked, looking as surprised as I felt.

“Oh, I do my research.”

“Nobody knows about that besides my parents.”

Bridget made an apologetic face. “Your mother came into the flower shop today after the false alarm and was very chatty. She also mentioned that Mason takes his little half brothers on boys-only trips to New York, and they go to the zoo and FAO Schwarz, and they both adore him.”

If I’d been surprised before, I was stunned now. He had been really angry with his father after the divorce, and I figured he couldn’t have been happy when his dad remarried a woman only a few years older than Mason and then had two more kids.

But it sounded like he was a good big brother, and it was endearingly, confusingly sweet, and it melted away another part of my defenses, even though I was trying desperately to hold on to my anger.

“And, Mason, you probably didn’t know this either,” Bridget went on, like she was reading from cue cards or something, “but Savannah goes by Mrs. Rosner’s house every Sunday to visit and have lunch with her.”

“Our old English teacher?” he asked.

Bridget nodded. “She’s retired and doesn’t have any family.”

What was happening? Bridget sounded like a deranged game-show host introducing us to an invisible audience.

I stood up suddenly and announced, “I’m going to the bathroom, and you’re coming with me.”

“I am?” Mason asked, and I glared at him.

“She meant me,” Bridget said with a self-satisfied smile. “Could you keep an eye on Lulabelle until we get back?”

“Are you sure she won’t die while you’re gone? Or go into cardiac arrest?”

“She’s fine,” Bridget said as I grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her away from the table and into the bathroom.

We were alone, and I was glad. I slammed my purse down on the counter and asked, “What are you doing? It sounds like you’re writing dating-app profiles for us but out loud.”

She slowly opened her clutch, pulled out a lipstick tube, and faced the mirror, leaning forward while she carefully added another layer. She smacked her lips together and then announced, “I think I’m being your wingwoman.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“My what?” I asked.

“Your wingwoman.” Bridget dropped her lipstick back into her clutch. “I’ve never done it before, so I don’t know if I’m doing it right, but that’s what I was aiming for.”

My mouth hung open for a moment because I couldn’t process what she was telling me. “Why?”

“I just think the two of you should know nice things about each other because you are both nice people.”

That made the rage fire in my gut flare to life. “I’m a nice person. He’s Mason Beckett.”

“And he’s a nice person. I think you should remember that and talk things out with him.”

I couldn’t keep having this conversation. It was making me bonkers. Like he’d cast a spell over the entire town and I was the only one who could see through it.

Correction, the spell was working on me, too. Because I was finding myself being more interested in how attractive he was than actively calling up my hatred for him.

I didn’t know how or why that had changed, and I didn’t like it. Bridget certainly wasn’t helping with herMason-secretly-volunteers-for-charity-and-hangs-out-with-his-younger-brothers-and-isn’t-he-the-cutest-for-it? thing she was doing. It went completely against the kind of life I imagined him having in New York, one that involved a lot of wanton and selfish behavior.

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