Her Sweetest Fortune. Stella Bagwell

he thought sickly. “Well, I’ve been very busy today. I’m still doing last-minute tests on the sports app. And then there’s a new project.”

      “You’re so incredibly smart, Mason. I doubt you ever worry about the work you produce. In fact, I’ve heard Wes bragging on you before. You’re one of his favorites,” she added, then gave him a coy wink. “But don’t let him know I told you so.”

      At least there was one Fortune Robinson who appreciated him, Mason thought dryly.

      “I wouldn’t think of repeating that little tidbit,” he assured her.

      For some reason he felt compelled at the moment to grab the bull by the horn, as the saying went. Raking a hand through his hair, he asked her, “Uh, seeing as how you’re leaving, too, would you like to grab a cup of coffee?”

      For one split second she appeared surprised by his invitation and then a bright smile lifted the corners of her lips. “Sure. I’d love a cup.”

      Feeling as though the floor beneath his feet had just turned to air, he reached for the coat she was carrying. “Better let me help you with this,” he said. “I hear there’s bad weather coming tonight.”

      Standing behind her, he held the coat so that she could slip her arms into it and Mason was immediately struck by her petite stature and the grace with which she moved. As always, she smelled like a cloud of sunny flowers and he longed to drop his face to the crown of her hair and draw in the subtle scent.

      “Thanks,” she told him as she buttoned the coat and wrapped a dark purple scarf around her neck. “I hate being cold. I’ll be happy when three-digit temperatures get here.”

      He chuckled. “Don’t worry. Summer will be here before you can say the rat ran over the cheese barrel.”

      She shot him a quizzical look. “‘The rat ran over the cheese barrel.’ Where did you get that phrase?”

      He grinned. “I made it up.”

      She laughed then, and looped her arm through his. “You’re so funny, Mason. Thank you for making me laugh.”

      Funny. How was he supposed to get any kind of serious swagger going when Sophie viewed him as some sort of standup comedian?

      He didn’t know, but he had to get his new and improved Mason going soon or Thom Nichols was going to snare this sweet Fortune on his arm.

Chapter Four

      Bernie’s was five doors down from the Robinson Tech offices in an old building that had once been a pharmacy with a soda fountain. Down through the years, the medicinal side of the business had fallen by the wayside and the remaining space turned into a casual diner that catered to nearby office workers.

      Sophie had always adored the place because of its homey, nostalgic feel and simple food that could be eaten with your fingers. Something their mother had never allowed her and her siblings to do while growing up on the Robinson estate.

      “Where would you like to sit? The counter or a table?” Mason asked as they entered the eating establishment.

      Sophie glanced from the Formica and chrome tables to the long wooden counter with red stools.

      “Hmm. Let’s sit at the counter. I’m still a kid at heart. I like to swivel around. Don’t you?”

      “Merry-go-rounds make me nauseous and bar stools make me even more drunk,” he joked.

      She laughed. “I think that’s a result of the drink sitting in front of you rather than the swiveling bar stool.”

      He grinned. “You might be right.”

      He reached for her hand and as he led her around a group of tables to reach the counter, Sophie couldn’t help thinking how nice his hand felt against hers and how completely natural it was to be in his company. With Mason she didn’t have to worry about how she looked or the things she said. She didn’t have to work at impressing him. He liked her as she was and that was the reason she’d been so happy to see him a few minutes ago in the corridor outside her office. Talking with Mason always made her feel better.

      After taking seats at one end of the counter, they removed their coats and draped them across their laps. Then a barrel-chested man wearing a white apron came over to take their orders.

      “Good evening, Miss Sophie,” he greeted her with a toothy grin. “How are you tonight?”

      “I’m fine, Leo. Thank you for asking. And you?”

      “I’m cold,” he complained as he rubbed a hand over his bald head. “I want the sun to come out. The birds to sing. The bluebonnets to bloom.”

      “From your lips to God’s ears, Leo,” she said. “I’m cold, too. So give me a cup of the strongest, hottest coffee you have. And do you have something good for dessert this evening?”

      “Bread pudding with raisins and rum sauce.”

      “I’ll take a dish.” She looked over at Mason to see he was arching a brow at her. “What? Is something wrong?”

      “I didn’t know women ate rich desserts. I mean, women that look like you.”

      Leo chortled and Sophie found herself blushing. She’d not ever thought about Mason looking at her figure in any form or fashion. But she needed to remember he was a man and a very nice looking one to boot. Something she’d not really noticed until recently.

      “Well, I make sure I work off the calories. Every little bite of something sweet is worth the pain to me.”

      Clearing his throat, he looked at Leo. “Give me what she’s getting.”

      Leo glanced curiously from Mason to Sophie before he ambled off. “Coming right up.”

      Sophie cleared her throat. “I suppose you want to hear about my date with Thom.”

      Behind the bar, a small radio was tuned to a blues station, while above their heads a flat screen TV was silently broadcasting an NBA game. Mason appeared to have his attention focused on the basketball game, but Sophie got the feeling that he was waiting intently for her to continue.

      “That’s right,” he said off-handedly, “you and Thom did have a date last night. I’d almost forgotten.”

      Had he really forgotten or was he just teasing, Sophie wondered. With Mason it was hard to tell. Frankly, Sophie was relieved he wasn’t making a big issue of asking her about the date. Not after the way it had bombed so miserably.

      “Well, you do have more to think about than me,” she said, while wishing Leo would hurry up with their order. She needed to do something with her hands. For some strange reason she kept wanting to reach over and rest one on Mason’s arm or knee. What was the matter with her anyway? It wasn’t like her to touch any man. Even Thom. A point that had been all too evident last night.

      He turned his head and Sophie found herself looking into his brown eyes. They were very dark with a few lighter flecks radiating out from the pupils and at the moment they appeared to be zeroing in on her lips. Which gave her the ridiculous urge to flick her tongue out and lick away the tingling sensation.

      “So how was your date? Have a good time?” he asked.

      The need to clear her throat hit her once again, but Sophie resisted. Not for anything did she want Mason to think she was hemming and hawing about her date with Thom. Especially one that she’d announced to him with such fanfare.

      “It was nice,” she said simply.

      “Nice? I figured you were going to tell me it was spectacular, stupendous, and a bunch of other S words.”

      How about silly or slow, Sophie thought, then quickly scolded herself for such negative notions. Maybe her date hadn’t been half of what she’d wanted or expected from Thom. That didn’t mean he