When the burgers were browned to perfection, he plated two each on homemade sourdough buns and topped them with diced tomatoes, olives, a few leaves of fresh basil and parsley, a dash of dried oregano, pink Himalayan salt, and a sprinkle of feta cheese. The act helped him reel his emotions back in and gain a modicum of control so he could think clearly.
He grabbed a bowl of corn, avocado, and tomato salad he’d made before he’d started the burgers and dished them into two side bowls.
Mason placed the two side dishes on the table first and then their burgers. Colt eyed his as though he expected it to jump off the plate and start dancing.
“Go on, try it.” Mason grinned as he sat down. “It won’t bite back.”
Colt shot a quick glare at him but picked up the burger, held it in front of his face, and studied it for a couple of seconds before tentatively taking a bite. He chewed slowly, and then his eyes met Mason’s—a bright blue so intense that it punched Mason in the gut. If he hadn’t already been sitting down, he’d surely have fallen over.
One side of Colt’s mouth tipped up into an infectious grin. He chewed faster.
“This is amazing,” Colt raved and took another bite. “I don’t even mind that it’s not beef.”
Mason rolled his eyes at Colt talking with his mouth full but was silently pleased that he liked the burger.
“Thanks,” Mason said. “We’ll make a vegetarian out of you yet.”
“Doubtful,” Colt quipped, his eyes bright with mirth, and Mason found himself breathing easier for the first time that day.
He cast covert looks at Colt as they ate their meals in surprisingly comfortable silence. He’d been the taller of them when they were young, but now Colt had a good inch on him. Where Mason was still lean, Colt had filled out into a solid wall of a man. Not football player solid, but his muscles were well-defined and dense. Mason dropped his gaze to Colt’s muscular forearms. Tanned skin exposed by shirtsleeves that had been rolled up to the elbows. Skin that looked silken and lightly furred, and Mason wanted to know how it would feel under his palms. Colt’s biceps bulged beneath the fabric of his shirt and led to strong shoulders. Mason watched Colt’s Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallowed. Mesmerized.
Why did Colt have to grow up to be so gorgeous? Why did he have to be here at all?
Mason couldn’t deny how much he was still attracted to Colt, but Colt would be leaving as soon as they caught the person behind the threats—and now an attempt on Mason’s life. There was no place for their childhood dreams now. Too much time had passed. Too much water under the bridge.
And too many questions unasked because Mason was afraid of the answers.
Colt licked burger sauce from the corner of his lower lip, and Mason’s gaze locked on like a moth to flame. He lifted his eyes, and his breath caught. Colt was staring back at him, sky-blue eyes intense and heated, and time stuttered to a brief stop.
Whatever had once been between them still simmered below the surface. Waiting. All Mason had to do was reach out and touch the skin that called to him like a siren song. He’d never been able to resist Colt, and the magnetic attraction that had drawn him in twenty years ago was as strong as it had ever been. Maybe stronger, even.
His heart pounded hard in his chest, so loud he was certain Colt could hear it.
Colt’s cell phone rang and broke the moment. Colt put his food down, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and rose to grab his phone from the island counter.
“Colt here.” His voice sounded gruff.
Mason cleared his throat and stood to remove his dishes from the table. He tuned Colt’s voice out, needing a moment to get himself back under control, and placed the dishes into the sink. He would not cloud the situation any more than it already was. He would not let his heart, or especially his body, take over rational thinking and reminded himself that Colt had ghosted him all those years ago for a reason, and he’d be leaving again soon. It had taken Mason a good decade to get over Colt the first time. He didn’t think he’d be able to handle another decade pining for a man who’d never given him a chance to make amends.
“Let me do these.”
Mason jumped at Colt’s voice right beside him. He’d been so zoned out he hadn’t realized Colt’s call was over and that Colt had approached.
“No, I—”
“You made dinner. It’s the least I can do.” Colt dropped his dishes and silverware into the sink and made ashoomotion with his hand.
Mason stood back and took a deep breath but exhaled quickly when Colt’s warm, woodsy scent threatened to undo his resolve.
Get over it, Hayes. Nothing to see here.
“Thanks,” he mumbled.
Colt was quiet as he began the task of washing their dishes, but Mason got the feeling he was considering his next words carefully. A sense of anticipation surrounded him. Finally, Colt put the last clean plate in the dish rack, dried his hands, and turned around. He leaned against the counter, folded his arms over his chest, and studied Mason for a long few seconds.
“That was Nick,” Colt said, his tone giving nothing away. After another long and assessing pause, he added, “The brakes on your truck were tampered with. The accident was deliberate.”
For the third time that day, Colt watched Mason’s complexion slide from healthy pink to deathly white. Mason reached out to put a hand on the counter for support but missed. Twice. His mouth was open, but no sound came out of it. His eyes were large, and Colt fought yet another unbidden urge to be the support Mason needed.
