Savvy
You once started a craft supply war with Ivy over glitter allocation priorities.
Me
That was different. Glitter is serious business.
Savvy
Everything okay though? Really?
I glance through the open doorway. From here, I can barely make out the edge of the loft where Mason's laptop glows and his files are lined up in neat, lawyerly rows. Below it, part of my world peeks through. Stacks of supplies, the edge of a centerpiece box, a stray sprig of eucalyptus clinging to the floor like it refuses to accept the event is over.
Days ago, I would've said sharing this space was impossible.
Now, somehow, it feels almost ... natural.
Me
Everything's fine. Better than fine. He's not as uptight as I thought.
Savvy
High praise from you. Don't do anything I wouldn't do.
Me
You're going to have to narrow that down.
Savvy
Interpret that however gets you into the most trouble. Love you. TTYL.
I pocket my phone and return to frosting prep, aware of Mason watching, his gaze unblinking.
"Your friends check on you often," he says.
"Occupational hazard of caring about people." I open the sprinkle container and scatter pastel sprinkles across the cake, letting them fall like tiny confetti bombs. "Savvy and Ivy have been watching out for me since forever. Old habits."
He studies the cake like it reveals a personal secret. "And you watch out for them."
"Of course I do." I flick a stray sprinkle off the counter. "That's what we do. We show up for each other. When life gets messy. Especially then. That's how friendship works. Mutual protection, shared victories, and emergency wine delivery."
I pause mid-frosting. "What about you? Who watches out for Mason Kincaid?"
"Henry, mostly. He's the closest thing I have to family now that I've severed ties with Richard Kingston's empire." Mason'sexpression darkens. "It's a smaller support network than most people have."
"Quality over quantity," I suggest, though I suspect the isolation goes deeper than he's admitting. "Henry is good people."
"The best. He's the sort of person who makes you want to be better than you are." Mason glances up toward the loft where documents await. "Working with him on the Morrison Center has been … redemptive, I suppose. A chance to build a project that matters."
"Okay," I announce, stepping back to admire our strategically-imperfect cake. "Time for your final exam in potluck presentation."
Mason eyes the cake. "What happens at a River Bend potluck?"
"Food, conversation, and bonding through shared carbohydrates." I start cleaning up, already sorting through the logistics in my head. "Mrs. Patterson will interrogate you, Mr. Thompson will try to recruit you for the volunteer fire department, and at least three people will try setting you up with their single relatives."
"You're kidding, right?"
