Camera Shy (Lessons in Love Book 1)

I scour Mason’s face for any glint of a tell as the waitress sets a colossal slice of chocolate cake in front of us.

“Happy Birthday,” she says with a wide, toothy smile.NôvelDrama.Org © 2024.

“Thank you.” I rub my hands together, then straighten the single, pink-striped candle that was starting to tilt. “It’s my thirtieth today.”

“Oh, hey,” she chirps, her eyes lighting up, “it’s your golden birthday.”

“My what?”

“It’s April thirtieth, and you’re turning thirty.” She twirls her wrist. “Hence, your golden birthday. You only get one. I’m June first, so mine was wasted before I even knew what a birthday was.” She pokes out her tongue playfully. “But your golden birthday kicks off your golden year—which means thirty will be the best year of your life.”

“I like the sound of that.” I look back into my boyfriend’s deep-brown eyes. “Cheers to my golden birthday.” I hold up my champagne flute and tilt the rim towards the waitress. “And thank you for being so wonderful tonight. The steak was superb. You were lovely. This is officially the best birthday meal I’ve ever had.”

Mason chuckles as he leans back in his seat and tugs on the sleeves of his navy sports coat. “That’s my girlfriend’s subtle way of telling me to leave you a generous tip this evening.”

I glance between them as they exchange a quick, knowing look.

Oh, it’s happening.

She knows something.

There is most definitely a hidden surprise in this slice of cake.

“Would you like me to bring out the staff to sing?”

I open my mouth, but Mason answers for me. “Please God, no.” He embarrasses so easily, but I don’t mind the singing. It’s fun and silly. These days we’ve hardly had time for fun and silly. Our business together is booming, which means we’re working nearly fourteen-hour days. My birthday celebration dinner is the first time we’ve gotten dressed up and gone out in months. Hell, I think tonight is worth singing about.

Our waitress lights my single pink candle and flashes me one more genuine smile. “I’ll leave you to it.”

“Damn.” Mason lets out a whisper of a chuckle as soon as she’s out of earshot. “Did we order a slice or a whole damn cake?” The rich triple-fudge frosting matches the hue of his irises and the dense devil’s food cake is the same color as his furrowed brows.

With a devious smile, and much to Mason’s horror, I dive in with both of my forefingers, using them as chopsticks as I massacre the dessert.

Searching… Where the hell is it?

Leave it to Mason to do something tacky as all hell like hiding an engagement ring in a slice of birthday cake.

Thirty. I’m freaking thirty years old today. The moment is here and that damn ring better be somewhere in this massive piece of chocolatey goodness.

I found the ring about six months ago in our upstairs closet, hardly hidden. It was careless of Mason, really. We’ve been dating for over four years. We’ve lived together for two. He should be well aware by now that once the winter weather hits, I am religious about folding my summer tank tops and flowy skirts into tidy, color-coordinated piles and stacking them neatly on the top shelf of the closet. Of course I noticed the lonely ring box on the top shelf. He probably tossed it up there in a hurry to hide it, unaware that when someone’s standing on a small step stool, eye level with the highest shelf, the tufted black jewelry box is impossible to miss.

I’m a good girlfriend, though. I didn’t even peek. Sliding the box about a foot to the left, I went about my business and pretended I didn’t notice. I’ve never rushed Mason. It took him exactly ten dates before he officially asked me to be his girlfriend. We waited an entire year before he introduced me to his family. Another year after that we moved in together. Mason is slow and steady like a turtle. My reliable, loving, sweet turtle whose last name I can’t wait to share. I can be patient for him…

Or, at least that’s what I told myself six months ago.

I didn’t expect him to propose at his parents’ fortieth wedding anniversary reception…although I’d hoped. It was such a beautiful night. It was a tad chilly on the California beach in October. Mason draped his suit coat over me like the gentleman he is. We all sat barefoot on the beach as we watched his parents dance right at twilight, listening to the low hiss of the waves crashing against the tide. It would’ve been the perfect time to tell me that it’s exactly what he wanted for us in forty-some years.

But the night came and went. I get it. It was his parents’ night, not ours.

Then there was Thanksgiving—okay, I didn’t have high hopes for that one. We both looked like potbellied pigs after three Thanksgiving dinners—his parents, my mom, and my dad’s family. I was so swollen from the sodium and sugar-induced coma, he would’ve had extreme difficulty sliding a ring on my finger. It was not exactly romantic.

Christmas was—again—hectic. Three separate families crammed into one day. Once again, it was a no-go on the proposal. On New Year’s Eve, I fell asleep early. I was so certain he was going to pop the question that in my giddy delight, I knocked back an entire bottle of champagne and passed out in Mason’s lap by ten o’clock. I kicked myself for weeks after, wondering if I foiled his big plans.

Valentine’s Day was another bust. The evening started wonderfully. He bought me the most beautiful flowers and his card nearly had me in tears. We were in the car, on the way to the Italian restaurant to make our seven o’clock reservation, when some idiot riding our ass hit us from behind. We were okay, but Mason’s bumper and right taillight were destroyed. The airbags deployed, meaning we were all but urged to go to the emergency room as a precaution. Needless to say, our moods, as well as our evening, were ruined.

Since then, it’s been quiet. About once a week, I grab my little step stool and check the top of the closet, hoping the box has moved. It hadn’t budged. It lay in the same spot to the left of my neat piles of clothes…

Until tonight.

Oh, you bet your ass I checked before tonight. My thirtieth birthday. As of eight o’clock this morning, the ring box was removed from the closet, which is why I wore my classiest black dress with the slit up to my knee, was extra thorough curling my hair, and spent an obnoxious amount of time on my smoky eye makeup. I could’ve given Thomas Kinkaid a run for his money the way I painted on light and shadows, contouring and highlighting my round face into the angles of a sleek antelope.

Tonight is my goddamn night.

And I will take a picture to document this monumental moment. I swear. Yes, I’m camera-shy. Yes, I duck and run anytime someone pulls out the selfie stick. I’m comfortable in my body, but I’m not exactly proud of it. I’m healthy. I’m just not a model. Let the beautiful people be beautiful. I’ll cheer them on from the sidelines. I don’t need to be a trophy…I’m treasured…by this man.

“What are you doing?” Mason asks with wide-open, bewildered eyes as I pinch apart the last remnants of cake. There is a crumbly chocolate graveyard in front of me…but no ring. I murdered this dessert and now it’s time to confess.

“Enough,” I grumble when I realize I’m left without a proposal for the umpteenth time. “I know, Mason.” Grabbing the linen off my lap, I wipe off my fingers one by one. “Just ask already. If you’re nervous, don’t be. Of course I’ll say yes.”

I give him a warm, bless-his-heart smile, but instead of relief, I’m met with his petrified expression.

“Ask what?” His face flushes and he looks incredibly nervous.

I tent my clean, but still chocolate-smelling fingers, over my nose and mouth. “Oh. My. God.” The horror floods through me as I imagine all the other things that could fit in a small square ring box. A crumpled-up necklace. Earrings. A key…to a safe…where I could stash my egregious embarrassment and lock it away forever. I should’ve opened the damn box before I let my expectations run rampant. “It wasn’t a ring? Shit. I am so stupid…I…I thought—”

Mason holds up both of his hands in surrender, like he’s trying to dissuade an approaching grizzly bear. “Avery, calm down. Are you talking about the black box on the top shelf of our bedroom closet?”

I nod sheepishly.

“Honey, it’s a ring.” He pats his sports coat on top of the breast pocket. “An engagement ring.”

I let loose the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “Oh, thank God.”

“You knew? How long?”

I grimace as I shrug my shoulders. “About six months.”

“Six months?” he squalls. Clearing his throat, he leans forward. “Six months?” he asks again in a lower voice, far more collected. “And you didn’t say anything? You never even asked…”

Reaching over the table, I place my fingers over his tenderly, trying to show him how I feel with just a touch. “I didn’t want to be demanding or steal your moment. I know you’re careful with all your decisions and I admire you for it. You’re my rock, honey.” I squeeze the tips of his fingers. “When you’re sure, I’m sure.”

Mason reaches into the inside pocket of his sleek sports coat. “You thought I put the ring in the cake?”

Hanging my head, I nod.

“And you knew about this ring for half a year and didn’t badger me for a proposal?” He pulls out the familiar little black box with the thin golden lines around the seams and sets it on the table between us. At this point, I know what’s coming, but there’s no controlling the nervous tingles dancing furiously around in my chest.

“I wanted you to ask me because you wanted to, not because you felt you had to.”

Mason’s eyes begin to well and his complexion grows blotchy. His thumb knocks nervously on the table. It’s an odd response, but this is a big moment for both of us. Finally, after all the familiarity of our very tame, even-keeled relationship, at least his behavior is…new?

“How long would you have waited?”

I answer his odd question with a tepid smile. “When our finish line is forever, what’s the rush?”

“You’re too good of a woman.” He says it like an admission instead of admiration. “You’re too good to me.”

I shake my head, my hair falling into my face. “No, I’m not—”

“You are.” His tone is so matter-of-fact that I have to study his strained expression. It’s in this moment I realize he won’t return my gaze. He’s looking in my direction but over my shoulder. I glance behind me, trying to see what’s caught his attention, but there’s nothing but an elderly couple silently enjoying their steak dinner behind us.

“Is everything okay?” My eyes toggle between the box on the table and Mason’s wandering gaze. Instead of answering, he covers both of his eyes with his hand. My full stomach drops ten floors as the nerves shift from excitement to dread.

“Open it,” Mason says, nodding to the little box. He’s normally such a gentleman. When I saw the ring for the first time, I thought it’d be between his fingers as he was down on one knee. Mason’s avoiding the box like it’s on fire. “Please.”

I pry the box open. It’s reluctant, like a clamshell unwilling to lose its pearl, but the prize inside…holy hell. “Oh my God,” I mumble as I free the ring from its resting place nestled inside the tiny plush velvet pillow. “Mason, this is too much…this is what? Two carats? It’s stunning. So elegant.”

It’s a simple platinum band with a brilliant round diamond. The cut and clarity seem flawless. I know it’s far more than he can afford. Mason and I share everything—a home, a business—so I know he stretched the limits with a ring like this. I slide the ring over my finger and it halts at my knuckle. Ignoring the pain, willing my finger to instantly slim, I force the ring over the thickest part of my finger.

“Oh, wait!” I palm my forehead. “Honey, I’m so sorry. You didn’t even ask yet.” I try to pull the ring off, but it’s useless. It might as well be superglued on. “Shit. It’s stuck.” I chuckle and shrug helplessly. That’s okay. I’m never taking it off. “It’d probably be a good time to ask me to marry you now.”

He doesn’t match my humor. A tear dribbles down his cheek. Mason’s not cold and callous, but he certainly isn’t one for public displays of affection…or unguarded emotion.

“Mason, what’s—”

“I can’t do this.” His breath is ragged as a single tear turns into a small stream. Wiping the wetness from his cheeks with the back of his thumb, he adds, “I’m—I’m so sorry, Avery. I love you so much, but I… I really was going to ask…but…seeing it…” His eyes lock on the ring choking my finger. “Not like this. I’m so sorry.” He covers his face, hiding his tormented expression. “I’m so, so sorry.”

The hairs on the back of my neck rise like an animal that senses danger. “What’s wrong?” I try to reach for his hand. “If you’re not ready, we don’t have to rush.”

He quickly places his hands in his lap, safe from my clutches.

“I think we’re over.” He closes his eyes and braces like he’s paused at the top of a rollercoaster. “I want to break up.”

The world stops. Everybody in this fancy steakhouse freezes in place. The sound of thunder roars around us. Lightning strikes, splitting the ground, and from the crack, fire emerges. Or maybe it’s only in my head. For now, I just focus on breathing. In and out. One breath at a time.

Mason watches my stunned eyes and tries to fill the silence. “I…I really do love you…I just…we’re…”

I’m having trouble making sense of the moment. His stammering sounds garbled in my head. I’m wearing a ring…but we’re over? What the fuck?… It’s my birthday… I can’t breathe.

“We’re what?” I force the words out in a staccato. “Tell me.”

“Can we go home?” Rotating his head, he takes in a cursory glance around the fancy steakhouse, ensuring no one’s listening. “Please?”

“No.” I shake my head and deliver my message clearly and curtly. “Start talking.”

He shrugs his shoulders and holds up his palms to the ceiling. “Our sex life is…” He shakes his head, his grim expression saying everything he can’t.

I quickly defend myself. “I’ve tried. You’re the one who’s always tired.”

He drags both hands over his red, splotchy face. “Lately, I haven’t wanted to have sex with you.” His words are like an uppercut to my ego, then a follow-up sucker punch to my heart. “Please,” he says again, studying my face as intently as I was scouring his earlier.

“Please what?”

“Can we leave? Can we at least just talk in the car?”

My throat is dry, so I reach for my water, but my hand doesn’t cooperate. My limbs are numb. Everything is heavy, even my eyelids. Blinking becomes a chore. Ignoring his request, I ask, “Did you cheat on me?”

He buries his face in his hands. “No,” he mumbles.

I nod in relief. I don’t know why it makes it better, but at least—

“But I wanted to.”

My eyes snap back to Mason, who hangs his head.

“I’m sorry. If I’m being honest…there’s someone else I’m interested in. Nothing happened.”

“Yet,” I whisper, feeling the burn in my chest like I just took a straight swig of Jameson. “You’re leaving me for someone?”

“This is about us, Avery. I’m trying to be truthful. We have a business together, we live together, and I don’t want to string you along. Yes, there’s someone I’m interested in, but I would never ever cheat on you. She’s not important.”

“Yet,” I whisper again.

My demeanor is eerily calm. Mason looks concerned at my collectedness. I should be crying, blubbering…maybe throwing something at his head. But for some reason, I’m very interested in the logistics at the moment.

“What’s her name?” I ask.

Mason has the audacity to roll his eyes at me. “Do you really want to do this? It’s only going to hurt your feelings.”

“You brought her up,” I hiss. “You’ve just humiliated me and broken my heart on my birthday. The least you could do is answer my questions.”

His eyes shift uncomfortably. “Maura.”

“Where’d you meet her? And when?”

“I, uh…” His pleading eyes beg me to stop my interrogation, but when I raise my brows at him, he answers. “She’s a trainer. I met her at the gym.”

Of course he did. Mason and I live together, work together, eat together, and sleep together. The only time we’re not attached at the hip is when he’s killing himself at the gym. I always thought we were a good balance. My face is soft and a little round. Mason’s jaw is chiseled and cut in clean angles. I love the feel of his strong arm against the soft slopes of my curves as I nestle into his hard stomach and muscular chest. I like how it feels when he holds me at night. I thought he liked the way I feel too.

I realize it’s been a while since we’ve had sex, but we built a brand management business from the ground up. We scored our first major contract with a Fortune 500 company. We’re overloaded, overwhelmed, and have had more instant success than we could’ve dreamed of. I thought we were just tired.

“When did you meet her?”

His eyes stay locked on his lap. “Right after I bought that ring. Avery, I’m sorry. But honestly, are you happy? Are you excited about the idea of a future together or tolerating it?”

“Tolerating?” That’s what you’ve been doing with our relationship? Tolerating it?

I ignore the twisting and writhing in my gut, telling me I don’t want to dig deeper. No more truths tonight—I can’t handle it. But I ignore my instincts. “Are you not attracted to me?”

“You are the perfect woman in every single way…” He ducks his head, ashamed. “Except the way that matters to me the most. I tried to get past it. You were always on the cusp of being beautiful, but then the business started and I handled my stress by working out and you handled it by…”

Eating. It’s the word he wants to say. But while he already dug his grave, I don’t think he’s dumb enough to crawl into the open casket.

I narrow my eyes. “I gained eight pounds, Mason.” Fuck you.

“It’s not just the weight. It’s how you dress…or don’t. You never put on makeup. We live off of garbage takeout food. We’re sloppy. There’s nothing sexy or appealing about the way we are around each other and I couldn’t say anything without sounding like an ass. I know how this all sounds, but I can’t help how I feel. I was panicking about committing to our lifestyle forever. It wouldn’t last. We’d end up divorced in a few years, and isn’t that worse than this?”

I raise my voice, incredulous. “Worse than pretending like you loved me for four years?”

He blows out a breath and checks over his shoulder, seeing if my loud response has attracted any attention. “I wasn’t pretending. I loved y—I love you. I just don’t think we’re meant for each other. Avery, I never wanted to hurt you.” He actually looks sincere, which makes this entire conversation ten times worse. “But I’d rather waste four years of your life than leave a marriage. I…um…I’m trying to do the right thing.”

“It’s my birthday.” I let out a bizarre, raspy chuckle. “You chose to do this on my birthday?”

“No,” he says, shaking his head adamantly. “I didn’t choose anything… I had every intention of proposing tonight. I really did. I just saw that ring on your finger and I couldn’t deny the truth anymore.” He holds up his hands, showing me his palms across the table. “I’m so sorry. I hate myself for this. I wish I could just change how I feel.”

Taking in a deep breath, I stare right at the shriveled-looking man across the table, who not five minutes ago looked like the man of my dreams.

“Please,” he says.

“Please what?” I hiss as the dull background noise of the restaurant resumes. The earth slowly but surely begins to rotate again as my racing heartbeat calms.

He clasps his hands together like he’s praying desperately. “Can we talk about this at home? We don’t have to do anything right away. We have a two-bedroom apartment. We can take some space…figure out the business. This can all be amicable.”

I glare at him. “You want this to be amicable?” My words are cool, but there’s fire in my eyes, and he’s about to burn.

“Or I can stay at a friend’s house for a while and give you your space until we figure out the next steps. However you want to handle this, Avery…I want to be supportive.”

“A friend’s house?” I laugh. “You condescending piece of shit.” Why do I have a sneaking suspicion I know exactly what friend he’d like to stay with. “You did cheat on me, didn’t you?”

He shakes his head. “No, I said I wanted to, but I would never. I respect you too much.”

“Seriously? That’s your grand gesture?” I widen my eyes. “Well, thank you for only wanting to cheat on me. Congratulations on your self-restraint.”

He looks left and right, clearly uncomfortable having this conversation in public, but my limbs still aren’t working and I’m glued to this chair, so I’ll have to wait out the shock here a bit longer.

I’ll admit, our sex life has been lackluster. I thought it was a mixture of the honeymoon phase ending, the stress of our business, and the aftermath of getting really comfortable with someone. I thought his lack of sex drive was odd, but I didn’t realize it wasn’t the drive that was the problem…it was apparently the vehicle.

“Whatever you need to say…say it. I deserve it.” He stupidly holds his hand out.

I’m not touching that.

“I’m sorry. And I’ll say it a thousand times again. I really wanted this to end up differently.”

Is he tearing up?

My head is spinning. He’s trying to be apologetic, but everything he says slices me in a new spot. He is implying I’m big, but it’s funny—at the moment, I’ve never felt smaller in my life. So small in fact, I could slip right through the wooden floorboards of this luxury steakhouse, never to be seen again.

I yank again on the ring on my finger. It still won’t budge, but at least my limbs seem operable again. “It’s fucking stuck,” I mumble.

“Keep it,” he says quickly.

“What?” I screw up my face.

His brows are furrowed in anguish. “I don’t…know how else to apologize.”

I don’t even recognize him. How quickly a man can go from the love of your life to a complete stranger.

He actually looks relieved as I push away my plate of chocolate cake crumbles and scoot out my chair. I don’t exactly have a plan, but I collect my clutch and rise. When I walked in tonight, I felt like a goddamn piece. A knockout. A total ten. I’m leaving in ugly, fat humiliation…alone. How could this man’s perception of me so quickly change my own view of myself?

I pause by Mason and watch his face shrivel up in concern when he realizes I’m leaving without him.

“Are you going to call for a ride home?” he asks, looking me up and down.

“What home?” I whisper. I clear my throat and enunciate. “We no longer have a home.”

He catches my hand as I try to pass him. “Aver—”

I rip out of his grip. His hands feel cold and clammy, and I don’t want them anywhere near me. “Don’t you dare follow me.”

I flee to the restaurant entrance, maneuvering between handsomely dressed waiters carrying large trays of fancy dishes. I dart past our waitress on the way out and force a small smile as I say thank you and good evening. She’ll clue in once she sees Mason alone at the table, waiting for the bill.

I burst through the glass doors and into the crisp night air feeling like a free bird with clipped wings. I laugh to myself as I think about how abruptly the sky fell on such a pleasant evening. I never saw it coming. I didn’t suspect a damn thing.

Golden birthday…golden year…

My ass.