Timeless (5 page)

That night, Heather flew back to Houston, claiming that her job was done, and I surprised Mase by showing up at the concert presenting my freshly-styled locks and a sexy new dress. I’ll never forget seeing his eyes light up when he caught a glimpse of me enjoying his voice in the right wing of the stage. As soon as they finished the show, he hurried over to me and picked me up in his strong arms, twirling me around while kissing all over my face. We didn’t make it to the after-party that night; we had lost time to make up for.

Almost instantly, Mase and I found our groove as a couple again, and by the time we crossed into Orange County, it was as if nothing had ever happened. During the first couple of days, pictures of the two of us back together out in public made a few headlines, but I avoided the media like the plague and focused on what I knew to be the truth.

Everyone on the tour was overly-excited about the LA show. Not only did performing in the entertainment capital of the world incite an electrifying buzz, but we were staying there four days for two shows, which meant three nights in a hotel, and a day-and-a-half of free time! I couldn’t wait to soak in a bathtub, and to sprawl out naked across a big bed without worrying about other people sleeping a few feet from Mase’s and my bed.

The first night, they played at the Staples Center, and everything about it was insane. The intensity of the crowd overpowered the massive venue, the band unveiled their new single—which the concert-goers responded wildly to, and the after-party was full of familiar faces from the big screen. I tried hard not to be star-struck, but it was nearly impossible, and to think these celebrities had come out to see my boyfriend sing was just mind-blowing.

The following evening, the band was scheduled to perform an intimate show at the famous Hotel Café. Everyone on the guest list were fans who had won tickets for this private performance on a local radio station over the previous month. During the day, the guys were busy with interviews and photo shoots with the station, and even though I had just been to the salon with Heather a week prior, Sophie and I hit up a day spa, where we indulged ourselves in massages, facials, manicures, and pedicures, all while sipping pink champagne. We talked about everything and nothing, laughing and relaxing as we thoroughly enjoyed our girl-time together.

On the way back to the hotel, Mason texted me that the band landed a dinner meeting with a producer they’d wanted to work with, and that Sophie and I were to meet them at the performance that night at nine. Our names would be on the list. I didn’t think much about it, quickly replying with a “Kk. See you then.”

Deciding to extend our girl-date, she and I arranged to change into our evening attire, and then meet back downstairs for dinner and drinks before the show. For the big show the previous day, I’d dressed up in a sexy black number with matching heels, my hair in a fancy up-do, and my make-up more dramatic than normal. It was fun to get all dolled-up and hang out with all the pretty people, but my feet were still killing me, so I elected to go with a more casual, relaxed look that night. After slipping my slender legs into a pair of fitted indigo jeans, I opted for a sheer, silvery blouse adorned with fine, metallic strands threaded sporadically throughout it, my snowy-white satin push-up bra clearly visible under the delicate fabric. I allowed my subtly-highlighted tresses to cascade into soft waves down my back, while opting for light make-up application—a thin coat of mascara to lengthen my already dark lashes, a touch of cerise blush to highlight the freckles sprinkled across my cheekbones, and a hint of coconut-flavored gloss smeared across my lips. Before sliding my feet into strappy, silver sandals and grabbing the matching handbag off the bed, I did a once-over in the hotel bathroom mirror, pleased with my appearance—flirty and fun.

I glanced at the alarm clock on the night stand, realizing I was five minutes late, so I hurriedly stuffed my license, money, room key, and phone into the clutch and rushed out into the hallway, the door slamming shut behind me. A quick elevator ride down to the lobby, and I found Sophie at the bar enjoying a pre-dinner glass of wine. Sliding up next to her, she greeted me with a huge smile and a hug, as if we hadn’t seen each other in years.

“You look absolutely perfect, Scarlett. I can’t wait for tonight,” she exclaimed. I thought her excitement level was unusually elevated, but chalked it up to our day of bonding and knowing that the guys had the following day completely free of appointments or shows. I knew she missed hanging out with Aaron, and had a day of activities planned for them.

“Thank you. So do you,” I replied sincerely. I was pleased to see she was dressed similarly in a silky red top, tight faded jeans, and black ballet flats. “Where do you want to eat?”

“I made us reservations at Beso. It’s pretty close to the Hotel Café, so we can just walk over there when we’re finished.” She swallowed the last of her wine, and grabbed her purse from the bar-top as she hopped off the seat.

Shadowing her, we headed out the main doors and made our way to the restaurant. Dinner was excellent; we shared several different items for a sampler effect, and the drinks were even better. I lost count of how many Pretty Girls—their signature drink—I consumed; it was flowing like ice-cold lemonade on a hot summer day. Before I knew it, she announced it was time to go, so we finished up our last drink and paid the tab before heading out.

Exiting into the warm summer evening, I paused for a moment just outside the door, and I closed my eyes while deeply inhaling the southern California air. Tipsy, but not drunk, the alcohol in my blood tingled under my skin. I felt alive and energetic, optimistic and confident. Sophie grabbed my hand and began dragging me down the pavement, insisting we couldn’t be late for some reason or another. I giggled and followed her lead, high on a lot of life and a little Grey Goose, excited to hear the show, and to spend the next day alone with my Mase.

We entered the coffee-shop-turned-music-venue, and were quickly ushered to a reserved table right up next to the small stage. Taking a look around the narrow space, the brick-walled room elicited a cozy, inviting ambiance with its dim lighting and high ceilings. A server hurried over to us the moment we were seated, welcoming us by name and getting our drink order, and the murmuring buzz filling the air in the packed room was nearly tangible as everyone waited for Jobu’s Rum to take the stage. Completely enthralled by the ambiance of the quaint music café, my body began to hum with exhilaration, eager to see Mason sing this up-close and personal.

Shortly after our first drinks arrived, the crowd burst into applause and cheers as the guys casually strolled onto the stage. They all look relaxed and fully at ease in the informal setting, even though it was completely different than what they had grown accustomed to. Mason was dressed in his typical solid black t-shirt that showed off his tatted sleeves, loose jeans, and black Chucks; his hair was recently buzzed, and his lip-ring glimmered every time the light hit it just right. Looking down at where I sat, his lips curled into a playful grin and his eyes twinkled with secretive mischief as he grabbed the microphone and began talking.

“Good evening, Hollywood! It’s great to see y’all here tonight.” It’d been noted time and time again he had a way of talking to his audience that made people feel like he was having a personal chat with them. Fans couldn’t help but love him. “We truly appreciate you all coming out to witness this once-in-a-lifetime kind of show. I know you were all promised an ‘intimate performance’, but you have no idea how intimate we’re going to get tonight.”

Confused, I tore my eyes away from his lean figure and looked over at Sophie, who was busy blowing kisses and making googley-eyes at Aaron. She was paying no mind to me whatsoever, and I couldn’t get her attention without calling to her out loud, so instead, I refocused on Mason.

“We’re gonna start off by playing a few of our favorites from the first album, and then our two new singles from the second,” he continued. “After that, we’ve got a little something special for you.”

Immediately, they began their set, nailing each song flawlessly, playing with a zealous passion that pulsated deep inside me. It had been so long since I’d watched from the audience as he performed—typically, I watched from the wings of the stage—and it was a truly different experience looking into his eyes as he crooned the lyrics. As the song they had just debuted the night before came to an end, Mason grabbed a wooden stool sitting on the side of the stage and dragged it over to where he stood. The music stopped, and everyone—myself included—remained silent, watching and waiting with ardent curiosity.

Palming the neck of the microphone, he affectionately gazed down at me and smiled warmly, extending his hand down in my direction. “Scarlett, will you join me up here, please?”

Surprised. Startled. Dumbfounded. A thousand other emotions I couldn’t pinpoint roared to life inside of me.

Scattered cheers and whistles echoed throughout the otherwise soundless room as I unquestioningly stood up and joined him, nervous my shaky legs were going to collapse underneath me.

“Sit down,” he instructed, pointing at the stool.

Doing as he requested, I hopped up on the circular, wooden surface as he traded his electric guitar for an acoustic one waiting for him off to the side. I didn’t need to look at my reflection in a mirror to know my cheeks were severely blush-stained and my green eyes were enlarged to the size of saucers, unsure of what was happening.

The stares of the audience fixed on me. My gaze fixed on him.

Without another word, his fingers strummed the guitar and the opening chords of “Your Guardian Angel” resonated loudly throughout the room. My face lit up, remembering the first time I’d heard him sing that song—the morning after I’d come back from being gone after Evie’s death. He’d been cooking breakfast for me and was unaware I was watching him; I’d snuck up behind him and whispered in his ear, “I’ll stay with you, Mase.”

After he sang the first verse and chorus, he somehow morphed the song into Robbie Williams’ “Angel” without missing a beat, and then a little bit later, he did it again with the Aerosmith song of the same name. Magically, he’d comprised a compilation of songs about angels, perfectly interweaving the lyrics and transitioning the harmonies so that it flowed faultlessly. Tears of unadulterated joy spilled down my cheeks, and I didn’t bother to wipe them away. The final part of the angel anthology was Jack Johnson’s rendering of the namesake, and as he sang the powerful, awe-inspiring lyrics…I knew.

I simply knew.

And the answer was yes.

The song came to an end, and he propped the guitar up against one of the nearby amps. Then, in his sensual baritone voice—his grey eyes glimmering—he spoke directly to my heart. “Hollywood is known as the land of dreams. Los Angeles is the City of Angels.” Pausing to lick his dry lips, I found his nervousness endearing and sexy. “So I figured, what better place to make my dreams come true and ask my angel to be my wife?” He dropped to both knees in front of me as he pulled a ring out of his pocket. The world around us metamorphosed into obscurity; nothing else mattered in that moment. With hands slightly shaking, he slid the solitaire onto my left ring finger. “Scarlett Alexandria MacGregor, will you marry me?”

I’m not sure I ever actually said yes; instead, I sprung from the stool into his arms, tackling him to the floor. My mouth crashed down on his boldly and unapologetically, answering him first with my lips and then my tongue in what had to be the most ungraceful kiss ever.

Ask me if I cared. I was going to be Mrs. Scarlett Templeton.

Over five years later and I still remember that night as if it was yesterday
—
hands down, one of the top-three moments of my life. Browsing through the photos of the two of us up on the stage, the euphoric glow on our faces is undeniable. We had no idea in that moment of the curve balls that would be thrown our way shortly after, but for that night, my life felt like a fairy tale.

SCARLETT

Looking around for a clock in my new living room, all I can see are the towers of boxes surrounding me on the floor. I need to get up and get some water anyhow
—
it was the real reason I got out of bed to begin with
—
so I rise to my feet and quietly scamper into the kitchen. The clock on the stove reads three-fifteen as I grab a cold bottle from the fridge. My sensible self is telling me I really need to go back to sleep¸ otherwise I’m going to be dragging ass tomorrow when I need to be productive, but I shush her with a promise I’ll only stay up another thirty minutes.

Kneeling down next to the photos scattered on the floor, I excitedly submerge my arm into the storage container and draw out another small pile. Immediately, my eyes are drawn to several in the stack that are larger than the rest, and are printed on a different type of material. Staring down at the black and white sonogram pictures, I beam internally. I think back to the day we found out our lives would change forever.