Noah’s property was, if Matt remembered correctly, the cornerstone of a very upmarket, expensive golfing community north of Boston. It was a generous offer and Matt appreciated it. “Thank you. That would be great.”
“It was Jules’s idea. That way she can keep an eye on you.” Noah smiled. “And you do know that our house is directly opposite where Darby, DJ and Levi Brogan live? The same Levi Brogan who is superprotective and has no idea that you’ve been sleeping with the woman he loves like a sister for the last five-plus years?”
Oh, crap.
“It’s going to be fun watching you tap-dance around him,” Noah said before he clapped Matt on the shoulder and walked out of the bar.
Matt looked down at his phone and automatically stabbed his finger on the gallery icon. He flicked through the images of Dylan-Jane, memories sliding over him, and stopped when he came to a topless photo he’d snapped of her lying on the sand on a private beach in St. Barts. She was facing the sea but had turned her head back to look at him and the camera, her sable hair skimming the sand. She was all golden gorgeousness—flashing dark eyes, flushed cheeks, rosy nipples on her perky, tanned breasts.
Unable to resist her, he’d picked her up and carried her to the water, where they’d had amazing sea sex.
He had lots of great memories of DJ but, hell, making love to her in the sea and later on the sand was one of his favorites.
He desperately wanted to make more memories...
Shaking his head, Matt pulled up his last chat with DJ and quickly skimmed over the words they’d exchanged over the past week. He’d told her that he’d be in Boston the following week and asked if they could meet. DJ had sent him a surprised-face emoji as a reply...
Matt frowned. A surprised face wasn’t a yes...
Neither was it a no...
What it was, was a strange way for DJ to respond.
She’d always been up-front and honest about telling him her plans, whether she could meet him or not. They didn’t play games, didn’t lie. They either wanted to be together, for a day or three or four, or they didn’t. They could either make time for each other, or they couldn’t. This year they hadn’t managed to meet and that was just the way life went. He presumed she was busy managing her rapidly expanding design firm and he’d had his all-consuming work and the additional personal dramas to deal with...
But could she be dating someone else?
Matt’s stomach tightened and he told himself to get a grip. He had no right to be jealous. They’d both agreed they couldn’t expect to be monogamous when they were so far apart. He had been for the past year but that was more through circumstances than choice. They’d agreed to be honest with each other, to tell each other if someone else was on the scene. He hadn’t had a text or phone call or email from DJ saying that. In fact, since late March, she hadn’t reached out to him once. Previously, he’d received the odd email from her, funny memes that made him laugh, silly selfies she took.
Matt frowned, remembering that her friends were worried about her, that they thought something was wrong. Was she sick? Busy? Annoyed?
Or, worse, done with him, with what they had?
His phone beeped again and this time it was a text message. The distinct tone told him who it was from.
Hi. I’m not ready. Can I take some more time?
Sure, he replied. No pressure. I’m in town until after Christmas, unless something urgent comes up.
Right, he had no choice now but to wait until the daughter Gemma had never told him about decided to contact him again. And he wasn’t visiting his grandfather until tomorrow.
So, what could he do with the rest of his day?
Mmm, maybe he could drop in to see Dylan-Jane. See whether there was a chance of them taking up where they’d last left off...
And, he admitted, he could see for himself whether she was happy or not.
* * *
In the coffee shop on the Lockwood Estate, Mason James delivered an espresso to the student sitting at the table in the corner and glanced at the complex math equation the kid was solving.
Because math had once been his thing, Mason scanned the guy’s rough notes and immediately saw where he’d gone wrong. Mason opened his mouth to point out the mistake before pulling back.
Three years ago, complex situations and equations, troubleshooting and problem-solving, was what he’d done for a living and he’d made a stupid amount of money from it. The responsibility of the problems he’d been given to solve—some of them with life-and-death outcomes—had generated enough stress to elevate his blood pressure to dangerous levels and burn a hole in his stomach. It had also ended his marriage and threatened his relationships with his sons.
So Mason got out of the think-tank business, buying a chic coffee shop to keep himself busy. He attended his boys’ ice hockey and baseball games, played video games with them and helped them with their homework. He delivered coffee, muffins and pastries and told himself it was good to be bored.
Boredom didn’t place a strain on his heart, or burn that hole deeper into his stomach.
Mason turned away and then heard the low curse. He looked around to see the student putting his head in his hands, tugging his hair in obvious frustration. It was, for him, simple math. What harm could it do to help?
Mason turned back, scanned the equation and tapped a line. “Rework this line.”
Blue eyes flew up to meet his and Mason saw the doubt.
“With respect, I’m in the doctorate program at MIT...”
Mason shrugged and waited him out. He didn’t bother to tell the guy that he’d been through that program and many more. He just tapped the line again until the kid finally turned his attention back to the equation. His brow furrowed and then he released a long sigh. Yep, the light had dawned.
“Hey, thanks so much.”
Mason smiled briefly before retracing his steps back to his small kitchen. Before he reached his destination, he heard the muted ping that indicated he had a customer. He didn’t need to see who was pulling the door open—his heart was way ahead of his eyes and it was already picking up speed.
Mason leaned his shoulder onto the nearest wall and watched his current obsession walk into his coffee shop, followed by a brunette clutching a stack of bridal magazines. The older of Callie’s twin daughters, he remembered—Jules. Callie had her arm around Jules’s waist and love for her child on her face.
Callie Brogan was a beautiful mom.
Mason ran his hand over his face. The last thing he was looking for when he opened Coffee Connection was to be attracted to a stunning, ebullient, charming widow. Yeah, she was older than him but who the hell cared? He could date younger woman, had dated many of them, and none of them captured his interest like Callie Brogan did. It was unexplainable and not something he could wish away.
God knew
