Page 77 of Between Regrets and Promises

“Fine.” I groan. “But nothing fancy. Super cheap. We’ll go to a thrift store or something.”

The coffee maker beeps as he closes the gap between us, then kisses my forehead. I allow my eyes to close for the briefest moment as I lean into his touch. Then he drops our hands, which I immediately miss.

“Sure, Soph. Cheap,” he deadpans. “Then we’ll get you some sheets, blankets, a lamp, and some décor. You can set it up however you want. Just please, no pictures of babies in flowerpots.”

I snort and laugh. “No babies? Afraid they’ll give you nightmares or something?” I tease.

“It’s not because of me,” he says with a knowing smirk. “Liam.”

This makes me laugh harder. “Why? He thinks it’ll be contagious, and he’ll suddenly have one of his own?”

His smirk deepens. “Exactly. His biggest fear is commitment, and babies have commitment writtenallover them.”

“Bless the woman who manages to tame him one day,” I tease.

Smiling, he nods while pouring coffee into our mugs, then adds cream and sugar into mine. Butterflies swarm in mystomach because he knows how I like it. I’ve only been here for six days, but it already feels like home.

Masonis home.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

MASON

Beingthis close to Sophie is dangerous.

I know it, but now that she’s here, in my house, drinking my coffee and sitting on my couch, I don’t want her to leave. There’s been a huge shift in our friendship over the past year when she first started dating Weston, and this is another one—one I’m growing damn fond of.

Although we don’t do anything when we hang out, I look forward to it every day when I wake up. Given the shitstorm that is now my life, Sophie is safe, and that bastard will never hurt her again.

The fact that I’m not working pisses me off, but I know the reasons behind it, so although I worked my ass off to get where I am, I can’t fight it. That promotion to be a forensic investigator, even though it’s a rookie position, is mine, and I’m not going to let it slip between my fingers after being at the grunt level for years. If it wasn’t for Sophie being here with me, I’d probably be drinking way too many beers and self-destructing as I replay the memory of that gun being pointed at me and my friends.

But truthfully, I don’t regret a damn thing. I’d follow him out of that reception hall again and again if it meant makingsure he’d leave Sophie alone for good. The fact he acted like he was cracked out on coke and clearly drunk wasn’t something I anticipated. He should’ve gone down the first time I decked him, and we would’ve all walked away.

Blinking, I clear that night out of my head. It’s been on repeat since the moment it happened although I’ve been trying to push out the thoughts, memories, and horrific aftermath.

Waking up to Sophie in my house for the past several days has shifted my mood when the demons threatened to pull me under. This nightmare feels like a repeat of what I went through years ago, and although the circumstances are different, the anxiety is the same.

Spending time with Sophie keeps me preoccupied, and I’ll forever be grateful for her company. But now that she’s here and staying, she deserves more than a shitty couch to sleep on.

“Mason, it’s too much,” Sophie repeats for the third time.

I saw the way her eyes lit up at the upholstered bedframe with built-in storage underneath. She rushed over to touch the dark gray pattern. Then her eyes bugged out as soon as she found the price tag.

“Let’s find you a mattress set now. What size do you want? Queen?” I walk toward them when Sophie’s hand brushes mine.

“Wait.” She attempts to pull me back, but instead, I thread my fingers through hers and pull her with me. “Mason…a full would be fine.”

I drink her in, noticing the sparkle she had pre-Weston is coming back. Her long brown hair is pulled up into a half ponytail with waves flowing down her back. Though she wears a touch of makeup to cover her bruised eye, she doesn’t need it either way. Sophie always looks stunning.

“A queen for a queen.” I wink, but my attempt to reassure her that she deserves this bed doesn’t work. She groans, knowing damn well she won’t win this argument.

After I’ve tracked down the salesman, ordered the frame and mattresses, and paid an assload for same-day delivery, I drive us to the next store.

“Really?” she asks, laughing. “You want to shop here?”

I park my truck and kill the engine. “Sure, why not? Is it for a secret society only or something?”

“Okay. It’s your funeral.” She shrugs.

---