“Meet in an hour? I’ll send you the address.”
“I’ll be there.”
Gemma was out her door forty-five minutes later. She checked the address on her GPS. She thought she knew all the local cafés, but she wasn’t familiar with this one. It was within easy walking distance, though, which was a bonus.
Or itwouldbe within easy walking distance, if she wasn’t wearing the boots she’d bought for the morning-show interview, along with the cashmere sweater and her favorite jeans, which she’d deemed too snug for TV. Not too snug for breakfast with Mason, apparently. She wasn’t going to overthink it. Not today.
She’d barely reached the corner before a car pulled up at the curb. As the driver’s window went down, Gemma realized it was the same guy who picked her up for her date with Mason.
“Ms. Stanton?” he asked. “Mr. Moretti asked me to give you a ride.”
She opened her mouth to say she was fine, and then said, “Screw it.” These bootsweren’tmade for walking.
“Thank you,” she said as he hopped out and opened the door.
As she climbed in, she asked the driver how he was doing, and they chatted briefly about last night’s game. Then, as she settled in, she saw the two coffees and a box of pastries in the back seat and realized why she’d never noticed a café at the address Mason had given. Because there wasn’t one. Meeting for breakfast had just been an excuse to get her out of the apartment, where she could be scooped up and whisked off to some new surprise.
She relaxed in the leather seats. “Are we picking Mason up?”
“Nope, meeting him there. The snacks are all yours.”
She read the cups. “Do you prefer cappuccino or hot chocolate?”
He smiled at her through the mirror. “Cappuccino.”
She handed it to him along with the open box for him to select a pastry. As she sipped her hot chocolate, she smiled. She’d told Alan that Mason was fun. That’d been a bit of irresistible needling but it was true, too. Even when a date with Mason went horribly awry, it was still interesting, still memorable, still—dare she say it?—fun. The impromptu motorcycle trip. The VIP hockey seats. She needed a lot more of that in her life.
She took the quiet time to answer a few emails while resisting the urge to peer out the tinted windows and guess where they were headed. When the car finally slowed, it was to pull into a small regional airport. Huh.
As they drove in, Mason appeared from the shadows, sporting a cat-with-canary grin. The man was far too pleased with himself. Luckily,shewas far too chill today to call him out on it. It was, she hated to admit it, part of his charm. Not the showing off, per se, but the childlike delight he took in it.
He was opening her door before she could.
“Hey,” she said. “This doesnotlook like a coffee shop.” She smiled as she spoke so he wouldn’t think she was annoyed by the change in plans.
“There is coffee inside.” He leaned in and lowered his voice. “But I wouldn’t recommend it. Did you bring your…? Oh, good. I’ll take that.”
“No one touches my laptop, Moretti,” she said, clutching the bag with a mock glare as she got out of the car. “You can carry the pastries, though. You can even have one.”
A light flashed, and she looked over just as someone ducked out of sight.
“There’s no official media,” Mason said, lowering his voice, “but Terrance made sure word got out.”
“Oh, uh, okay. So, are you going to tell me why I’m here?”
He spread his arms. “Welcome to your secret getaway.”
“My what?”
“Our getaway.” He grinned that too-pleased grin. “I know we were supposed to leave tomorrow, but I wanted to get in as much time as possible. So I caught the red-eye back after the game.”
“I… what? Wait. We’re leaving… now?”
He waved toward a private charter on the airfield. “As soon as we’re on the plane.”
“I didn’t pack anything, Mason. All I have is my laptop.”
“Which is why I made sure you brought it. Everything else?” He grinned. “Supplied.”
