Lynnette Kent - Smoky Mountain Reunion

Mason pulled Garrett’s chair away from the table, then scooted it back in when his son stood up. “We’ll get out of your way,” he told Mrs. Werner. “’Night.”

“More rolls in the morning,” Mrs. Werner told Nola. “Come for breakfast.”

They left through the kitchen door and turned west, toward Pink’s Cottage. “I’ll need a new wardrobe when I leave here,” Nola said. “I’ll have gained fifty pounds eating these rolls.”

“You’ll get your share of exercise,” Mason said, watching Garrett sprint ahead of them. “The faculty still plays volleyball on Mondays and Wednesdays. You can join them.”

“I haven’t played in years,” she said. “I remember the student/faculty game my senior year, though. You spiked the ball practically down my throat. Scared me to death.”

Mason grinned. That had been a great hit. “The students won anyway.”

“Are you still playing?”

The answer wasn’t easy to give. “When Gail…” He cleared his throat. “There’s not as much time as there used to be. I don’t play anymore, either.”

“That’s too bad.” Her hand lifted as if to touch his arm, then fell back at her side.

They walked the rest of the way to her cottage in silence, with six feet of cool night air between them. When Mason opened the Pink’s Cottage garden gate, Nola stepped through, then turned to face him, closing the white picket panel between them.

“Thanks for the escort.”

“My pleasure.” His pleasure, indeed. The night’s shadows showed off the arches of her cheekbones, the squared curve of her chin, the provocative fullness of her lower lip. Mason made himself look away from Nola’s mouth and found himself caught in the glimmer of her pale eyes, shining almost silver in the darkness. She stood just a breath or two away, protected only by the flimsy barrier of the picket gate. A kiss would be so easy to give…to take….

“Hiiiyah!” Garrett yelled from somewhere behind him, battling imaginary aliens with his own brand of martial arts.

Nola jumped, and took a step backward. “He’s quite a handful. And a charmer to go along with it. I didn’t know children could be so easy to talk to.”

“Oh, yes.” Mason scrubbed a hand over his face, hoping to clear his brain. “Until you say no. Then he turns into the Incredible Sulking Child.”

Since sunset, the breeze had picked up, become an actual wind. Clouds veered across the sky, obscuring the stars, veiling the moon. “Here comes our rainy weather.”

Nola shivered inside her sweater. “But today was so beautiful!”

Mason rejected the urge to put himself between her and the cold. “The mountains are unpredictable. We’ve had snowstorms later in the spring than this. Hope you brought your raincoat and boots.” He glanced over his shoulder and called, “Come on, Garrett, let’s go.”

Even as he looked back toward Nola, he heard the door to Pink’s Cottage shut tight. The lock clicked into place. She’d gone inside without saying goodbye. He only wished he felt relieved.

Garrett ran up and tackled him around the waist. Apparently, all was now forgiven. “Where’s Ms. Shannon?”

“In her house, where we should be.” A Freudian slip, if ever there was one. “I mean, we should be in our house.”

His son didn’t notice the mistake. “I was gonna ask her to come over tomorrow to see the pond and the animals.”

Close call. Mason sighed. “Right now, you need to go to bed, get ready for your soccer game tomorrow.”

“Aw, Dad, do I hafta play?” Garret dropped his arms and trudged on alone, his head hanging low. “I don’t like the guys on the team. And the coach is mean. Can’t I stay home?”

Back to the old routine, Mason thought, blanking out the memory of Nola’s mysterious gaze in the moonlight. Thank God.

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