Relief floods through me, but it’s only temporary, as I have about a thousand other things I want to say to him. Also, I hate the fact that Simon and my mom are now discussing “architectural features.” She isn’t really going to list the house this quickly, is she?

Mason lifts his water glass, covertly blocking his face. His eyes are a deep, dark brown and shiny. “Do you have my notebook?” he whispers.

Guilt rushes through me and I nod. His shoulders relax slightly. “Meet up?” he says.

The thought makes me feel like I’ve swallowed sparklers. And not just because of how meeting up with him would look to my mom, but because looking at him makes me feel…

Okay, this is ridiculous. I’m only reacting this way because I read his notebook. According to what I read last night, he’s also sweet and introspective and sort of heartbreaking, but that doesn’t negate the fact that he’s a complete stranger. Also, I now feel even worse about reading this person’s innermost thoughts.

“I’ll get it to you,” I say quietly. Nova is definitely listening.

He lifts his glass again. “It’s you in the painting, isn’t it?” His voice is slightly above a whisper this time.

Did I mishear him? “Sorry?”

He lowers the glass slightly, a small smile pulling at his lips. “The mermaid painting.”

Now he’s full-blown smiling, and then I’m blushing again, because honestly it is such a nice smile. Even if I have literally no idea what he’s talking about.

Simon is saying a lot of words I don’t want to hear, and my attention feels split. Market value. Historical property listings. Sale prices.

She can’t sell it. She can’t.

And Mason is looking at me expectantly, his fingers tapping on the table now.

“Did you say ‘mermaid painting’?” I think I whisper it, but suddenly I realize my mom and Simon seem to be focused on us now, and I dig my fingers into the booth seat, my whole body tense. Did she hear?

But she’s looking at Simon, who is looking at me. “Willow, your mom says this is your first time in Salem. What have you seen so far?”

“Ah…” Dragging my eyes away from Mason is difficult. He has so much presence. It’s like he’s sucking up all the energy in the café. “Not much. I’ve walked through the city a bit.” And by that, I of course mean I raced after my ever-fleeing mom.

He picks up his cup. “What do you think of your aunt’s house? Isn’t it incredible?”

“Yes!” I blurt out. “Or, at least, what I’ve seen of it.” I glance at my mom, but luckily, she doesn’t seem all that interested in my response