Chapter 2: Confessions, Cheese, and a Proposal

Mason took me to a touristy city for the business trip. The next day, while he worked with his team, I wandered around solo.

The city was buzzing with summer energy—street musicians playing "Sweet Caroline," food trucks selling maple bacon donuts, couples holding hands along the riverfront. I snapped photos, bought a ridiculous souvenir mug, and tried a local donut shop Mason had raved about (Boston cream, of course).

The day flew by. That night, he called to ask if I wanted dinner. I rushed over, hoping for a free meal.

I changed into a sundress, spritzed on some perfume, and practically skipped down the hotel hallway. Free food always tasted better.

I expected another group dinner, but it was just him, at a fancy steakhouse—wood-paneled walls, leather booths, and the smell of sizzling ribeye in the air.

The white tablecloths and candlelight made me feel underdressed. I slid into the booth, wondering what was up.

I looked around. "Where’s your team? Not eating with us?"

I scanned the room, half-expecting to see the thick-glasses guy waving from the bar.

He said lightly, "Sent them off."

He didn’t elaborate, just took a sip of water, calm as ever.

"Huh?"

I raised an eyebrow, waiting for the punchline.

"They’d eat me out of house and home." He sounded dead serious, but a playful glint sparkled in his eyes.

I almost snorted. Only Mason would say something like that with a straight face.

If I bought that, I wouldn’t be Autumn Monroe. I shot him a look. "Did you send them away so I wouldn’t spill your secrets and ruin your reputation?"

I leaned in, grinning. "Afraid I’ll tell them about your SpongeBob pajamas?"

"Yeah, that’s it." He nodded. "And I definitely won’t tell them you like SpongeBob underwear."

His eyes sparkled with mischief. I wanted to smack him and laugh at the same time.

Jerk! I glared, "Don’t you dare!"

I pointed my fork at him, half-serious.

He grinned, "I wouldn’t."

He always knew how to push my buttons and then smooth things over, lighting the fire and putting it out.

He winked, and I felt my irritation melt into something warmer.

I thought about the call that afternoon and sighed, "He called me, by the way."

My voice dropped. I picked at my napkin, not meeting his eyes.

He knew who I meant—the guy who made me the other woman. But whenever I brought him up, Mason went silent. Still, I couldn’t help but talk about it.

It was like picking at a scab—painful, but I couldn’t stop.

"He said he’s getting divorced and wants another chance."

I watched Mason’s face for any reaction, but he stayed unreadable, swirling his wine.

The city lights flickered outside. Mason slowly swirled his wine, silent for a long time. I had no idea what he was thinking.

The silence stretched. I could hear the clink of silverware from another table, the faint hum of a love song playing overhead.

After a while, he waved the waiter over. "Another bottle of cabernet, please."

He didn’t look at me, just focused on the wine. I felt a pang of something—regret, maybe.

I didn’t really want more, but since he wasn’t talking, I drank to fill the silence. The wine was good, and I accidentally drank a bit too much.

I tried to pace myself, but the tension made it too easy to keep sipping. My cheeks felt warm, and the room started to blur at the edges.

I have a flaw: when I drink, I talk. Over the years, Mason’s heard all my secrets.

He always listened, never judging, even when I rambled about things that didn’t matter.

But he doesn’t know—the real secret, I never tell, no matter how drunk I get.

That one I kept locked up tight, even from myself.

I think I cried again. Why "think"? Because I was tipsy, not sure what was real.

The wine made everything fuzzy. I remembered laughing, then crying, then laughing again. Mason just sat there, steady as a rock.

My love life’s been a mess. One ex dumped me for some rich girl, then got dumped himself. This time I was the other woman... I had plenty to complain about.

I vented about every heartbreak, every dumb decision. Mason just nodded, refilling my glass.

"I just want a normal relationship. I just want to be loved for real. Why’s it so hard... Life’s so hard! Ugh... Next life, I want to be a cat or something."

I wiped my eyes, then laughed at myself. Cats had it easy—sleep, eat, repeat.

I found a new complaint. "Why don’t you ever drink? Real friends drink together! Why do you always just watch me make a fool of myself? It’s not fair!"

I pouted, waving the bottle at him. He just smiled, shaking his head.

Maybe it was the wine, but I really did get sad.

The sadness crept in slow, like a chill under the door. I hugged my knees to my chest, staring at the empty glass.

It’s been rough, honestly. The little wine glass wasn’t enough, so I grabbed the bottle and drank straight from it.

Mason raised an eyebrow but didn’t stop me. I guess he knew better by now.

I wasn’t trying to get wasted, just felt this emptiness inside, like I had to fill it somehow.

The wine was a band-aid, not a cure, but for a while, it helped.

Eventually, everything blurred. I vaguely remember needing help to the bathroom. Sometimes, I’d dream I found the toilet, only to wake up and realize I’d peed the bed as a kid.

I mumbled something about childhood nightmares, and Mason laughed, helping me down the hallway.

"Think I’ll wake up and find I wet the bed again?" Just thinking about it made me laugh.

He shot me a look, but there was a softness there. "If you do, I’ll deal with it."

Some memories are like dreams—unreal, but so vivid. All those times I gave my all, all those tangled feelings...

I, Autumn Monroe, am a grown woman pushing thirty.

I reminded myself, trying to shake off the self-pity. I was tougher than this—most days.

It’s just a hangover, just a dream. I’m totally fine!

I told myself that as I drifted off, the room spinning gently.

I opened my eyes—wine gone, bathroom gone. I was in a hotel bed, soft comforter wrapped around me... Naked? I was instantly wide awake.

My head throbbed, and the sheets felt unfamiliar. I sat up, clutching the comforter to my chest.

"Awake?" Mason’s low, gravelly voice came from beside me, and I tensed.

He was lying on his back, arm behind his head, looking entirely too comfortable for someone who might be naked next to me.

...I took a deep breath. That whole "not afraid" thing? Total lie. I was mortified!

I squeezed my eyes shut, praying for a time machine.

I didn’t dare turn around, not sure if it was fear or something else... especially since Mason might also be naked...

I peeked over, heart pounding. Yep, definitely shirtless. I pulled the comforter tighter.

"Well, well, Miss Monroe, are you secretly a wild child...?"

He smirked, his voice teasing. I wanted to throw something at him.

Mocking me? I couldn’t take it anymore. I spun around and glared at him: "You’re full of crap—"

The words caught in my throat. He looked good—annoyingly good. His hair was tousled, and that lazy smile made me want to scream.

But my words caught in my throat, because there he was, lying on his side, propped up on one arm, calm and collected, a faint teasing smile on his lips—annoying and, damn it, way too good-looking.

I tried to glare, but it came out as a nervous laugh.

Hmph!

I huffed, refusing to let him see how flustered I was.

The comforter didn’t fully cover him, showing off his abs, making me both mad and... well, never mind.

I averted my eyes, cheeks burning. No way was I giving him the satisfaction.

I knew he was in good shape, but seeing it up close was a whole new thing.

Apparently, I had a thing for abs. Who knew?

I asked, carefully, "Last night..."

I held my breath, bracing for whatever answer he’d give.

He answered, totally calm, "Great night."

His voice was so nonchalant, I almost believed him. Almost.

Uh... I tried to shift the blame. "I was drunk last night..."

I played with the edge of the comforter, hoping he’d let me off the hook.

"I don’t buy it. You were obviously using booze as a weapon." He sounded so matter-of-fact, but his eyes were all mischief. Even I, queen of thick skin, was too embarrassed to look at him!

His grin widened, and I wanted to disappear. How did he always see through me?

Nope. I needed to get it together. But I forgot the comforter barely covered me, so I scrambled back, face burning.

I nearly fell off the bed, but caught myself just in time. Graceful as ever.

"Actually..." I looked away, pretending to be calm, "People these days are pretty chill about this stuff. Especially since last night was an accident..."

I tried to sound breezy, but my voice shook. I was terrified of losing him as a friend.

Honestly, I was scared of losing him as a friend.

The thought of things getting weird between us made my stomach twist.

He cut in, "Autumn, you gotta take responsibility for me."

He said it so seriously, I almost laughed. Almost.

What?

I couldn’t help but stare at him, stunned.

Was he joking? Or was he actually... serious?

He went on, "I’m old-fashioned." Dead serious.

He looked me right in the eye, and for a second, I believed him.

Just then, the hotel room door flew open—a bunch of people burst in, loud and chaotic. Before I could react, Mason yanked the comforter over me.

I squeaked, diving under the covers. The room exploded with voices—his coworkers, of course.

Seriously, I’m an adult, and there’s a huge lump under the covers. Anyone could tell what was up!

I heard laughter, footsteps, the thick-glasses guy stammering apologies.

"Boss... your phone was off, we couldn’t reach you, thought something happened, so we... we came to check..." It was the thick-glasses guy.

He sounded both worried and mortified. I almost felt bad for him.

Someone cracked, "Boss, is this what they call a five-alarm fire?"

There was a chorus of snickers. Someone snapped a photo, and I made a mental note to hunt them down later.

Then a thud and a muffled, "Get out!"

Mason’s voice was pure thunder. The room emptied in seconds.

Ha, Mason was pissed.

I couldn’t help but giggle under the comforter. Payback for all his teasing.

The room fell silent. The comforter loosened, and I poked my head out for air, almost suffocating from nerves.

I peeked out, hair wild, and caught Mason’s eye. He looked exasperated, but there was a hint of a smile.

Just as I debated whether to ask Mason to be a gentleman and turn around, he got up, cool as ever, picked up my clothes from the floor, set them on the bed, then grabbed his own and started getting dressed.

He didn’t make a big deal of it, just tossed me a t-shirt and jeans. I scrambled to get dressed, trying not to look at him.

I just gaped. This guy really knew how to flaunt it...

He stretched, muscles flexing, and I had to look away. Was this some kind of test?

Then he turned, raised an eyebrow: "Enjoying the view?"

He grinned, cocky as ever. I grabbed a pillow and chucked it at him.

Cough! Who was looking? I hurled a pillow at him, which he caught easily. He seemed about to say something, but his gaze shifted, then he walked over to the bed.

He caught the pillow mid-air, tossing it aside. His face softened, and he sat on the edge of the bed.

Was he about to...

My heart pounded. I pulled the comforter up to my chin, ready for anything.

I clutched the comforter, eyeing him warily: "What are you doing?"

I tried to sound tough, but my voice wobbled.

He lifted the edge, frowned, and looked at me with a hint of confusion:

He glanced down, then back at me, his expression unreadable.

"You said you’ve been around the block, had plenty of boyfriends, and every relationship was public, like you wanted the world to know."

His tone was gentle, but there was something searching in his eyes.

Following his gaze, I saw it too, and quickly covered the little red spot.

My face went crimson. I yanked the comforter tighter, wishing I could disappear.

Since waking up, this was the most embarrassed I’d felt, but I forced an explanation: "You know people spread STDs on purpose these days, right? I value my life."

I blurted it out, then cringed. Why did I always say the weirdest things at the worst times?

He stared at me, eyes boring holes through me. My cheeks burned. Finally, I snapped, "I’m just old-fashioned!"

I crossed my arms, daring him to argue.

"I’ll take responsibility for you."

He actually said it.

He looked at me, dead serious, and I felt something shift inside me.

Earlier, when he’d said, "You gotta take responsibility for me," it was half-joking. I hadn’t taken it seriously. But now, when he said, "I’ll take responsibility for you," he was more serious than I’d ever seen.

He didn’t blink. The silence stretched between us, heavy and real.

For a second, I almost believed him.

I stared at him, searching for a sign that he was joking. But he just waited, patient as ever.

Turns out, Mason’s "taking responsibility" just meant teasing me more.

He started texting me every day, sending me memes, inviting me out for dinner. It was like we’d slipped into a new routine, and I didn’t hate it.

Maybe because the project was going well, he suddenly had free time, always inviting me out, picking places I loved. I weighed myself and decided, why not? Who turns down good food?

I started looking forward to his messages, even if I pretended not to.

Besides, after a one-night stand, Mason was acting so chill. Me, admit defeat? No way. I’d eat him under the table!

I made it my mission to out-eat him at every meal. Friendly competition, obviously.

One day, just before clocking out, he texted, "Wanna do fondue tonight?" I replied, "Heck yes!"

I did a little happy dance at my desk. Cheese solves everything.

While waiting, I Googled the best fondue spots in town. When the doorbell rang, I was ready to go.

I grabbed my purse, checked my lipstick, and practically skipped to the door.

But when I opened the door, I was floored.

Mason stood there, arms full of groceries. What the heck?

He had a paper bag in one hand, a baguette under his arm, and a sheepish grin. "Change of plans."

He barged in like he owned the place, eyed my royal blue dress with a look of pure judgment: "Change. You’re on kitchen duty."

He dropped the bags on the counter and started unloading cheese, chocolate, and way too many vegetables. The kitchen was tiny, with a retro fridge and a battered Crock-Pot on the counter.

My biggest "talent" is being hopeless in the kitchen. I can eat, but cooking? Forget it.

I stared at the ingredients, panic rising. Last time I tried to cook, I set off the smoke alarm.

I always thought Mason was the type who could order takeout but not cook. But he was surprisingly skilled—even cut the veggies into fancy shapes!

He chopped carrots into little hearts and arranged the cheese cubes like a work of art. The cheese was classic Wisconsin cheddar, and the chocolate was Ghirardelli. Show-off.

"Impressive!" I blurted.

I couldn’t help it. The guy had skills.

He suddenly looked up, dead serious: "Just impressive?"

He leaned in, eyebrow raised, waiting for a better compliment.

At first, I didn’t get it. Then my face went hot.

I realized what he meant, and my cheeks burned. Was he flirting?

I tried to play it cool, "I blacked out, so I can’t confirm."

I shrugged, pretending to focus on the cheese.

"Oh?" He stopped, grinned, and moved closer. "You mean I should prove it again while you’re sober?" He trapped me between him and the counter.

His hands on the counter, so close, his breath tickling my face.

He was so close, I could feel the heat radiating off him. My heart raced.

We’d been friends for years. I knew his love life was boring, but didn’t know he could flirt like this.

He’d always been the responsible one. When did he get so smooth?

"You, you, you... I, I, I..." I stammered, trying to say something or escape, but before I could, he kissed me—straightforward and intense.

His lips were warm, and I melted into the kiss before I could think. It was nothing like our usual banter—this was real.

I was shocked. This wasn’t the Mason I knew. I hesitated, debating whether to push him away.

My brain screamed "danger," but my heart said "stay."

But he was solid as a wall. After a token struggle, I gave up, but I’d never admit I enjoyed it, since I’m a lady.

I let myself lean in, just for a second. No one had to know.

How did he break down our years-long "friend zone" with one night and one kiss?

I had no idea, but I wasn’t complaining.

In a daze, he stopped suddenly, breath ragged, and softly asked, "Did I scare you?"

His voice was gentle, almost apologetic.

"Not at all." I admired my own stubbornness—I couldn’t even look at him!

I stared at the floor, hoping he couldn’t see how flustered I was.

He laughed, "Wanna keep going?"

He wiggled his eyebrows, and I had to bite back a smile.

Keep going? I froze. Seeing his face getting closer, I snapped out of it and tried to push him away—when a voice shouted from the living room: "What are you two doing?"

The voice was unmistakable—Mom.

That voice... was my mom’s!

I groaned, burying my face in my hands. Of all the times...

Since I can’t cook, my mom comes every Monday to restock my fridge and tidy up. She brought a homemade mac and cheese casserole, the kind with buttery Ritz cracker topping.

She claims it’s because she worries about me, but I think she just likes snooping through my leftovers.

I’d told her not to cook since I was going out for fondue, but with Mason there, I’d totally forgotten.

She must have let herself in with her spare key. I made a mental note to change the locks.

With my mom and Mason working together, dinner came together fast.

They chatted and laughed like old friends, leaving me to set the table and try not to die of embarrassment.

I was a nervous wreck, holding chopsticks but not knowing what to pick, watching every move between Mom and Mason.

I watched them like a hawk, waiting for someone to slip up and spill our secret.

"Didn’t know you could make shrimp cocktail, pretty talented. Try my homemade pasta." Mom happily put noodles in Mason’s bowl, ignoring me.

She doted on him, completely forgetting I was even there. Typical.

They’d been chatting in the kitchen earlier—I’d heard them through the wall.

I caught snippets of their conversation—Mom raving about Mason’s manners, Mason humoring her with stories about his job.

Mom praised Mason for his looks, cooking, and manners, saying he was way better than the losers I’d dated before, and was shocked we’d known each other for years!

She shot me a look that said, "Why didn’t you bring this one home sooner?"

She really thought she was a mother-in-law already?

I could see her mentally planning the wedding. I wanted to crawl under the table.

"Thank you, Mrs. Monroe." Mason scooped some shrimp into Mom’s bowl. "I made a special sauce, hope you like it."

He turned on the charm, and Mom ate it up.

Mom tasted it and raved.

She gave him a thumbs up, beaming. I shot her a look.

I couldn’t take it.

I stabbed a piece of pasta, wishing someone would rescue me.

"You two..." I started, but Mom cut me off, stern-faced: "I haven’t finished with you! What did you do to Mason?"

Her eyes narrowed. I gulped.

My heart skipped. I glared at Mason. I’d just run to the bathroom, not eavesdropping—had he spilled everything? I gritted my teeth and confessed:

I shot him a death glare, silently promising revenge if he’d said anything.

"It’s not what you think, it was an accident... And I was drunk, I don’t remember a thing!"

I blurted it out, hoping she’d let it go.

"That night? Drunk?" Mom’s face changed again, eyeing me and Mason, then asked, "Are you hiding something else?"

Her voice softened, but her eyes were sharp. I shook my head, trying to look innocent.

Huh? I was lost. Did I misunderstand?

Was there some secret code I’d missed?

Mason kept eating, explaining, "Mrs. Monroe said you’re a mooch. I told her about the places we’ve eaten lately, and she thought... you were taking advantage of me."

He shrugged, like it was no big deal. I wanted to strangle him.

I felt like he did it on purpose.

He grinned, clearly enjoying my discomfort.

But since Mom asked, I owned up, so it seemed unrelated to him...

I crossed my arms, refusing to let him take the blame for my eating habits.

Mom handed me a pasta flower, saying seriously, "Autumn, you have to take responsibility for Mason!"

She looked at me like it was the most obvious thing in the world. I nearly choked on my water.

My mom! Selling me out and still counting his money! I rolled my eyes, "How? Should I marry him?"

I said it as a joke, but the look on Mason’s face made my heart skip.

"Good." Mason put more food in my bowl, grinning, "I’ll marry."

He winked at me, and Mom clapped her hands. I was officially outnumbered.

...

I was definitely being played by Mason!

He’d turned the tables, and I had no idea how to get control back.

When Mom called Mason to ask when the families could meet, and he said anytime, I realized the joke was real.

I overheard her planning the menu for a meet-the-in-laws dinner. My head spun.

So I hurried to meet Mason, hoping he’d call off this "huge prank."

I marched over to his office, ready to demand answers.

Mason looked at me, amused, and asked, "Why?"

He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, waiting for me to explain myself.

Why? I was stunned. "Aren’t we just friends?" Marry a friend?

I could hear the desperation in my own voice. This couldn’t be real.

He smiled, "Do friends kiss?"

He had a point, but I wasn’t about to admit it.

"That was an accident..."

I muttered, looking anywhere but at him.

"You were drunk that day, maybe. But what about the fondue night? No booze then, right?"

He raised an eyebrow, daring me to argue.

I snapped, "Yeah, you didn’t drink, why’d you kiss me then?"

I crossed my arms, refusing to back down.

He grinned, "Why do men kiss women?"

He waited, but I had no answer.

Men kiss women for love or loneliness.

The thought echoed in my mind, making me uneasy.

But we were neither, right?

I searched his face for a clue, but he just waited.

I thought about it, then asked carefully, "Have you been single for a long time?"

I tried to sound casual, but my voice was barely above a whisper.

He raised an eyebrow, didn’t answer.

He just smirked, letting the silence do the talking.

"Is your family... pressuring you to settle down?"

I remembered his coworkers’ reactions at the bar, knowing Mason wouldn’t chase after me if there was another woman, using me as a shield.

I wondered if he was just using me to dodge family drama.

"So you think I’m just caving to family pressure, looking for a random bride?" He sighed. "Your logic is wild."

He shook his head, but he was smiling. I felt my cheeks heat up.

Huh? I hadn’t said anything yet, but he acted like he knew everything.

He always did have a way of reading my mind.

"Let me ask you..." He looked at me, his gaze lately more and more impossible to read. "You didn’t drink that night—so why didn’t you say no?"

His question hung in the air. I didn’t have an answer.

...I really didn’t want to answer.

I stared at my hands, wishing I could disappear.

It’s not like I can’t say no. When Mason took me on that business trip and my ex called begging for another shot, I shut him down right away.

I’d always been good at walking away when things got complicated.

"Your divorce is none of my business, and I’m not cleaning up your mess."

I told my ex off, proud of myself for not getting dragged back in.

If he cheats, I won’t be the only one, but if he uses lies to drag someone else into his marriage, I won’t stand for it.

I had my standards, even if my love life was a mess.

So when I realized I was the other woman, I broke up on the spot.

No drama, no tears—just done.

Then the ex yelled, saying I never really loved him because no one stays so calm in love. I reflected and realized it was true.

His words stung, but I couldn’t argue.

Before every relationship, I always made sure I had a safe exit plan.

I never let myself get in too deep. Always an escape hatch, just in case.

So whenever things got risky, my brain told me to walk away.

It was self-preservation, or maybe just fear.

That ex who left for the rich girl said, "I don’t think you ever really loved me."

He’d said it like an accusation, but maybe it was true.

But I never even considered the possibility with Mason—maybe because I knew there was no safe exit.

With Mason, the rules were different. I couldn’t imagine a life without him in it.

Just friends was fine. He had no other women, just me. Heartbroken, jobless, happy, or sad—I could always count on him.

He was my constant, my safety net.

As for why I didn’t say no when he kissed me, maybe because his presence was always different, but I was too scared to face it, afraid to lose even our friendship.

I’d rather keep him as a friend than risk losing him for love.

But Mason, in one night, broke down my walls, forcing me to deal with my real feelings.

He never let me hide, not really.

"Are you... really going to marry me?" I asked, not sounding confident at all.

My voice trembled. I wasn’t sure I was ready for the answer.

He smiled, "Do you want to?"

He watched me, patient as always.

"I heard the best way to keep a friendship between a guy and a girl is to get married..." Who knew it was actually about love.

I tried to joke, but the words felt heavy.

Then, out of nowhere, he got down on one knee in front of everyone, pulled out a velvet box, opened it to reveal a gorgeous diamond ring, and asked, "Autumn Monroe, will you marry me?"

He did it right there, in the middle of the cafe, in front of everyone. My heart stopped.

A diamond ring! I was floored. It was his lunch break at a cafe near work—bound to run into someone we knew. So much for keeping it low-key!

I looked around, cheeks flaming. Of course, half the office was there.

Suddenly, someone shouted, "Isn’t that the boss? He’s proposing!"

Phones came out, flashes went off. I wanted to disappear, but I couldn’t stop smiling.

It was his coworkers—thick glasses, buzz-cut, ponytail—amazed that the forever-cool boss was actually proposing, whipping out their phones to record, saying, "We’re posting this to the group chat! This is historic!"

The buzz-cut guy elbowed thick-glasses, whispering, "Told you he was whipped."

Mason’s eyebrow twitched.

He shot them a look that promised payback. I bit my lip to keep from laughing.

I was embarrassed and flustered, but also found it hilarious. When had I ever seen him so out of his element?

His cheeks were red, but he didn’t back down. I’d never seen him nervous before.

With so many witnesses, saying "No" would humiliate him, but saying "Yes"... I was scared.

I froze, torn between panic and excitement.

Just as I hesitated, he took my left hand, slid the ring on my finger, and kissed my hand.

His lips were warm, his eyes soft. I melted.

When he stood up, his coworkers scattered so fast their shoes squeaked.

The room erupted in cheers, then everyone pretended to be busy. Classic office move.

I stared at the ring, stunned. I hadn’t really wanted to say no... but there’s a difference between "not saying no" and "saying yes!"

I twisted the ring on my finger, feeling the weight of it.

I frowned, glared at Mason: "You—" Before I could finish, he bent down and kissed me.

He didn’t give me a chance to argue. I melted into the kiss, forgetting everything else.

"Mmm..." He’s been so bold lately! But why didn’t I stop him?

I let myself enjoy it, just this once.

Around us, strangers cheered, warm and sweet.

A couple at the next table clapped. Someone whistled. I laughed, feeling lighter than I had in ages.

Yeah, why should I refuse?

For once, I let myself say yes, even if only in my heart.