Chapter 11: Chapter 11

JAMIE

The drone of the jet engines was a constant, filling the cabin and providing a soundtrack to my restless thoughts. I stole a glance at Penelope, her petite body curled up in her seat, a gentle snore slipping past her lips.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” I asked softly.

Jake’s laughter echoed through the phone, his familiar voice slicing through the silence.

“Go! Enjoy yourself! The old man will be just fine. A little scotch will do the trick.”

I let out a groan, rolling my eyes. “Jake…,” I implored. “Promise me you’re not going to get him drunk every night. I don’t want to return and find myself taking him to AA meetings every week.”

Mason, seated across from me, lifted an eyebrow.

“Chill,” he said. “I’m just messing with you. Sort of. I’ll look after him, we’ll have some quality father-son time. I don’t want you fretting over him, just try to have a good time. If you remember how to do that.”

His playful jab made me smile despite myself.

“Whatever. I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Sure, but if I don’t pick up, it’s because we’re at the strip club,” he said. His laughter rang through the phone. “Relax, it’s all good. I’ll catch you later.”

With a final, weary sigh, I ended the call. I found myself staring out the window again, watching as our private jet readied for takeoff.

“You doing okay over there?” Mason asked.

I turned to him, managing a smile. “I’m fine.”

Of course, I was lying. I couldn’t shake off the nagging feeling of unease. Part of me was anxious about leaving my father, especially knowing how fragile he was at the moment.

My mother’s death had hit him hard, and I knew he needed stability. But I also knew that Mason and I needed this break. Penelope and I needed it too.

A week away from the constant stress and worry would do us all a world of good. Besides, I found myself grinning at the thought of my father’s reaction if I were to turn down this opportunity and return just to look after him.

He’d probably be livid. He’d always pushed us to seize life’s little luxuries, to travel and explore new experiences. And this trip, more than anything, was a chance for me to reconnect with Mason and our daughter.

Before long, our SUV pulled up outside Barbara and Sid’s vineyard in Napa. The sun was starting to set, casting a warm, golden light over the rolling hills and lush vineyards.

As I looked out the window, I found myself smiling. The beauty of the landscape was stunning, a stark contrast to the hustle and bustle of New York city life.

Ezra, Mason’s ever-reliable personal security, opened the car doors for us. I looked up to see Barbara standing on the porch, a broad grin on her face. She waved enthusiastically, her warm smile instantly making me feel at ease.

“You’re here!” Barbara squealed, her voice brimming with excitement. She rushed toward us, her arms wide open.

“I’m so glad you decided to come and stay with us,” she said.

“Us too. Thank you for having us,” I replied, a grateful smile spreading across my face. “Penelope, jump out and say hi!”

I nudged Mason, who gently lifted our daughter from the car seat. Penelope, still a bit groggy, shyly waved at Barbara.

“Hi,” she mumbled.

“Oh, someone’s a little shy,” Barbara cooed. “That’s okay. I think Sid is cooking on the barbecue in the garden. Do you want to come with me and say hello?”

Penelope nodded, taking Barbara’s hand. As they walked away, I turned to Mason, who was busy unloading our luggage. He seemed to be in high spirits.

I was concerned that he might be holding on to too much hope that my memories would return while we were here.

“Let’s get settled in,” Mason suggested, extending his hand to guide me toward my chair.

Ezra carried our bags to our rooms, and Mason and I trailed behind him. Mason pushed me down the hallway, each step echoing softly in the quiet house.

There were two doors at the end of the corridor. He stopped at the first one. A charming little room with a single bed, a dresser, and a small TV were the only furnishings.

“This is Penelope’s room,” he announced, a soft smile gracing his lips.

He then guided me to the second door, nudging me gently inside. The room was noticeably larger, with a double bed taking center stage.

Our suitcases were neatly arranged at the foot of the bed—his and mine. Suddenly, it hit me. We were meant to share this room.

I hadn’t given a second thought to sleeping arrangements before we arrived. It hadn’t even crossed my mind. But now, standing here, I realized my oversight.

“I’m sorry about this,” he apologized. “You can have the room. I can sleep on the living room couch.”

I hesitated, not wanting to cause any discomfort. “No, it’s okay. This is your aunt’s house. I don’t want to make things awkward by having you sleep on the couch. They’ll ask questions.”

I didn’t want the questions, and I certainly didn’t want to share a bed. I was worried about what Barb and Sid would think of me, still unable to share a space with Mason after all these months.

Would they think I was being unreasonable? Or should I even care?

“I can handle them,” Mason assured me. “I just want you to be comfortable here.”

He picked up his bag from the floor and started toward the bedroom door. I watched him leave, mulling over my options.

It was sweet of him to consider my feelings, offering to sleep on the couch so I could have my own space. Plus, I had seen how uncomfortable that couch looked when we walked in.

“You can sleep on the floor,” I suggested, my voice wavering slightly. The words were out now, and there was no taking them back. “I mean, it might be uncomfortable, but it’s up to you. I, um…I don’t mind.”

Mason paused, his gaze sweeping over me.

“Okay,” he agreed, setting his bags back down at the foot of the bed.

A wave of nervousness washed over me as I watched him unpack. I wasn’t ready to share a room with Mason, but the situation was unavoidable.

Besides, what’s the worst that could happen?

That evening, we sat in the garden, enjoying a leisurely meal on the back patio. The sun had set, but the garden lights provided enough illumination for a relaxing atmosphere as we chatted over wine.

“Dinner was amazing. I don’t think I’ve ever had a veggie burger that good,” I complimented, a smile tugging at my lips.

Barbara chuckled. “That’s all Sid. He loves to barbecue…” She paused, a playful glint in her eye. “There’s some dessert in the kitchen that I can take full credit for. I hope everyone likes banoffee pie.”

“Oh, what do you think about that, Penelope?” I asked her, hope flickering in my eyes.

She nodded enthusiastically, a wide grin spreading across her face.

Then, like a bucket of ice water, Mason’s voice cut through the air. “She can’t have that, Jamie. Penelope is allergic to caramel.”

My heart sank and I felt my face blanch. I can’t believe I forgot. The words echoed in my mind, a relentless mantra: ~Oh my God! You forgot that your daughter has allergies. How stupid are you?~

I imagined the silent judgment, the unspoken thoughts that must be swirling in their minds. Mason, Sid, Barb—they must be appalled. I had forgotten, a careless oversight that could have had devastating consequences. I could have killed her.

Shame washed over me, a tidal wave of guilt and embarrassment. My throat tightened, the delicious taste of the veggie burger turning bitter and metallic.

Penelope’s excited face, her anticipation of dessert, flashed before my eyes, replaced by a horrifying image of an allergic reaction, all because of my forgetfulness.

“Oh… I forgot,” I managed to stammer, my cheeks burning with shame.

Barb, ever the savior, stepped in. “How about some ice cream instead? I have plenty in the freezer. Do you want to come with me and take a look?”

Penelope’s face lit up again, and she eagerly followed Barb inside.

A heavy, oppressive silence fell over the table. Sid and Mason picked up their conversation again, their voices a distant murmur. I was stuck in my own head, replaying the day’s near-disaster on a loop.

~What if?~ I thought. ~What if I hadn’t remembered in time?~ The thought gave me chills.

***

I untied the silk bow of my wrap top and let it slide off my shoulder. The day’s events had left me feeling drained, guilt-ridden over my mistake, and unworthy. I felt like I would never be the mother Penelope deserved.

The sound of the bedroom door opening startled me, and I whipped my head around in surprise. I was topless, and in someone else’s house, no less.

My cheeks heated up, even though I was wearing a bra. But he’d seen all of me before, hadn’t he? Even if those memories were frustratingly locked away.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize you would be changing,” Mason said. He shut the door behind him and moved toward his suitcase.

His movements were quick and efficient as he unpacked, but his eyes kept darting my way. The tension between us was palpable, filled with unspoken words. Then, his gaze landed on my back, lingering on the jagged scars there, a permanent reminder of the accident. My stomach twisted, knowing exactly what he was seeing.

“You haven’t seen them?” I asked, my voice rough.

Mason paused, his gaze meeting mine. “It’s been a while,” he admitted in a low rumble.

“It’s ugly, isn’t it?” I asked, not sure if I wanted an answer. I didn’t want him to confirm my worst fears, to tell me that I was irrevocably marked. And I didn’t want his pitying lies either.

The wheelchair is temporary. I have control over that. I can work hard, and if I’m determined enough, I’ll be out of the chair soon. I can walk again. But these scars on my body… I’m stuck with them.

I pulled on a T-shirt, trying to shield myself from his gaze. “I was thinking about getting a tattoo to cover them up. Maybe something tribal or something cute like a butterfly. I haven’t decided yet.”

Mason unbuttoned his shirt, his movements slow and deliberate. “You don’t need a tattoo,” he said gently. “Your scars are part of you now. You should embrace them, not hide them in disgust.”

A wave of discomfort washed over me as the sound of fabric rustling filled the air. I turned my head away, trying to fight the blush creeping up my neck.

A chuckle, laced with amusement, drifted across the room from Mason. “We’re going to be sharing this space for the foreseeable future, Jamie,” he said, his voice tinged with a hint of humor that I rarely heard from him. “You might as well get used to seeing more of me.”

Humor wasn’t something I often saw in Mason, unless he was around Penelope. Things had been tense between us since our fight, but we were both trying.

~Why the good mood now?~ I wondered. ~Maybe he’s excited about being here. He has me here, just like he wanted.~

“As long as the trousers stay on,” I retorted, trying for a lighthearted response. My voice betrayed a nervousness I couldn’t quite shake. “We should be fine.”

It had been a while since I’d seen a man…like that. I didn’t remember dating much before starting my assistant job. That being said… His body wasn’t like one of those “dad bods” that women use to describe a husband or partner who had let themselves go since becoming a parent.

Mason was always handsome, that much was undeniable. But now, there was a layer of maturity etched on his face, adding a rugged appeal.

However, it was always his personality that gave me pause. The bad boy persona, the reckless tendencies—these were not qualities that typically attracted me. I guess I fell for it in the end… I mean, we were here, weren’t we?

With a sigh, I reached for the jar of moisturizer beside my bed, a nightly ritual to keep my skin soft. I pulled the covers down and straightened my legs, the cool air providing a momentary distraction.

As I massaged the cream into my muscles, hoping to lull them into relaxation and grant me a peaceful night’s sleep, my mind wandered. Sleep, when it did come, was often filled with strange, disjointed dreams that felt alien to my own experiences.

Mason’s voice sliced through my thoughts, his rough tone oddly soothing in this strange situation. “What’s on your mind?” he asked, halting his movements to look at me.

I faltered, struggling to put my whirlwind of emotions into words. “Nothing,” I lied. I continued to rub the cream into my skin, a mindless task that did little to calm my troubled thoughts.

The silence hung between us, thick and suffocating. Eventually, I couldn’t stand it anymore.

“I can’t stop replaying earlier… The pie,” I admitted. “I can’t believe I forgot.”

A sigh slipped from Mason’s lips.

“It happens,” he said, brushing it off. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

But it wasn’t just a minor error. It was a serious oversight, a lapse in judgment that could have had disastrous results.

How could I not berate myself for making a mistake like that?

“How can I not be hard on myself over something like that?” I retorted, my voice rising slightly. “I almost gave her something she’s allergic to. If you hadn’t been there…” I trailed off, the horrifying reality hanging heavy in the air.

“What if she had a reaction?” I asked. “What if I couldn’t reach my phone because I’m stuck in this chair, and I couldn’t help her?”

Mason’s voice was steady and comforting, slicing through my self-loathing.

“I wouldn’t let that happen,” he declared. “You won’t be in this chair forever.”

“I just feel like I should be able to protect her,” I said. “I’m supposed to be her mom.”

“You are her mom, Jamie,” he said gently. “It’s going to be a process, an adjustment for all of us. But for now, if you’re worried, write things down, put them in your phone. If you’re unsure, you can check it. You’re not alone in this.”

I nodded silently, but my heart was heavy with a complicated mix of emotions.

While his words provided a temporary relief, the internal battle continued.

The truth, the undeniable truth, was that I didn’t feel like a mom in the traditional sense.

My connection with Penelope was undeniable, a bond formed through recent shared experiences, but the gap in time, the missing years, created a chasm that felt impossible to bridge.

As Mason started to set up his makeshift bed on the floor, a wave of guilt washed over me.

“Are you going to be okay down there?” I asked. “I feel a bit guilty now.”

He laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down my spine.

“Is that an invitation?” he asked, amused. The tension in the room was tangible, a strange blend of awkwardness and something more.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” I stuttered, my face turning red with embarrassment.

“Relax, Jamie,” he said, his voice softening. “I’ve slept in worse places. Besides, I wouldn’t want to make you even more uncomfortable than you already are.”

As I watched him finish setting up his makeshift bed, a part of me wished I could turn back time, to erase the accident that had taken so much from me.

I wanted to remember Mason. I wanted to remember the moments we shared together and not feel like I was sharing a room with a stranger.

I wanted life to be simple.

With a sigh, I pulled the covers up to my chin.

Sleep, however, seemed like a far-off dream.

The night stretched out before me, filled with the echoes of the past few months, the uncertain promise of the future, all tangled up with the ever-present dilemma of Mason Knight.