Page 8 of Take Me
“Ooof.”A pothole pulls my attention back to the road.Off to the right, I spot Mason’s truck in a puddly parking lot.Curious about the new kombucha place, I make a split-second decision to stop.It’s bustling and bright for a Sunday evening, the pink and orange paint a cheery contrast to Spencer-King Auto just up the road.
There’s Mason, alone at the bar.As I peer through the tasting room window, I spot his niece and her pals sitting and laughing at something a teenage boy pantomimes with goofy gestures and a napkin.Mason’s got one eye on Harper, attention trained on his niece as she punches the boy’s arm in awkward flirtation.
Maybe I’m projecting.Punching’s more my form of flirting.
I slide out of my truck and jog through the rain to the front of the shop.A jingle of bells jerks Mason’s attention to the door as I shake rain from my hair like a dog.
“Hey!”He looks happy to see me as I pick my way through the tables to the bar.
“Hey yourself.”I sling myself onto a cheery yellow stool beside him.“You’re still here, huh?”
“Yeah.”He glances at Harper, who looks up and waves when she spots me.
“Hey, Erika.”She’s such a polite kid.“I like your shirt.”
“Thanks, Harps.”I look down at my purple tee that readsRadicalized by basic decency.“I like yours, too.”
“Thank you.”Hers is hand-painted with bright, swirly brush strokes that I heard her tell Lucy weretitty twisters.I know she said it to get a rise from her mom, and to Lucy’s credit, she smiled calmly and told her daughter she loved the colors.
As Harper’s attention swings back to her friends, Mason lowers his voice.“Apparently fourteen-year-old boys are way more exciting than thirty-three-year-old uncles, even with kombucha to sweeten the pot.”
“Don’t take it personally.”I don’t get the sense that he is, though it’s tough to tell with Mason.“As a former fourteen-year-old girl, I can tell you right now that cute dimples trump even the coolest uncle.”
One edge of his mouth quirks, popping the dimple in his right cheek.“As a former fourteen-year-old boy, I can tell you we don’t confine our interest to dimples.”His grin gets wider, the cheek dent deepening to a crater.“Cute kneecaps.Nice toes.Even a shapely elbow would’ve caught my eye.”
I anchor my non-shapely elbows on the bar and survey the space.It’s modern and bright, filled with potted plants and driftwood-inspired décor.“How’s the kombucha?”
“Great!Try some.”He nudges the teal wooden taster tray toward me, rattling the half-empty glasses resting in round holes.“We already did a full flight of their flagship flavors.These are some of the experimental ones they’re letting me try.”
I pick up a glass, swirling some cloudy pink liquid.“Which flavor is this?”
“Huckleberry vanilla, I think.”
“Hmm.”I set it back in the tray and reach for the tower of plastic cups stacked by a water cooler.I fill one to the brim as Mason watches.
“You don’t want to try the kombucha?”
“I’m good with water for now.”I sip from my glass as I study the snack menu.Cheese sticks sound good.
“I don’t have cooties.”Mason looks bemused, resting his arm on the bar beside me.“As my hot fake girlfriend, you probably shouldn’t look like you’re grossed out by the thought of sipping from the same glass.”
I laugh as my ego perks up.Hotfake girlfriend?“It’s not that,” I assure him.“Just not sure I’m a fan of kombucha.”
He gasps in feigned shock.“How can you not like kombucha?It’s fermented like beer, but it’s packed with probiotics and antioxidants.”He plucks the pinkish one from the tray again and chugs it down.Smacking his lips, he puts it back in the hole.“It’s also delicious.”
“Guess it’s not really my thing.”I do admire his passion, though.“I mean, admittedly, I’ve never tried it?—”
“Seriously?”He snatches a glass from the end and hands it to me.“Mango passionfruit.Try this one.”
Ugh.“You know I hate trying new things.”
“I’m aware.”He waves it under my nose like a jackass until I give up and grab it.
“Fine.”Knocking it back like a shot, I sputter and set the empty glass on the bar.“That tastes like feet.”
Mason’s mouth quirks.“You’re in the habit of sucking on toes?”
“Gross.”I stick the empty glass back in the tray, grateful Bethany Lopez is off at the other end of the bar.I don’t want the new owner hearing me badmouth her concoction.
