Chapter 6: Under Fire

I lost it, doubled over with laughter, tears streaming down my cheeks. “Mason, you’re a lost cause.”

Hahaha, just let us flop together on national TV!

I tossed the book onto the coffee table. “Let’s just be ourselves and see what happens.”

Mason saw my reaction and finally realized this was not the way to go.

He looked sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck. “Guess I got a little carried away.”

So he declared, with all the confidence of a game show contestant, that in three days he’d train himself into the perfect husband.

He wrote a checklist on my whiteboard: “Cook dinner. Give compliments. Don’t burn the house down.”

By then, we’d be the model couple, and nobody would suspect a thing.

He even set a reminder on his phone: “Be adorable at all times.”

Mason really is… too committed.

He’s always been an overachiever, even when it comes to pretending.

According to the show’s setup, Grant would arrive at the farmhouse first and prep a welcome gift for us all.

The producers wanted a “warm, heartfelt welcome”—I braced myself for something over the top.

Mason and I sat in the car, watching the live stream on my iPad.

We munched on drive-thru fries, giggling at Grant’s antics onscreen.

We saw Grant circling the porch, clearly hunting for something.

He looked like a lost golden retriever, muttering under his breath. Mason snorted.

The live chat was ruthless: “Bet he’s looking for the prank supplies.”

“I bet Grant’s planning a prank—he loved that stuff back in the day.”

Someone posted a gif of Grant’s legendary water balloon ambush. The nostalgia was real.

“After all these years, maybe he’s leveled up. I bet he’ll just lock the door and pretend no one’s home.”

I laughed. That was classic Grant.

But after circling and finding nothing, Grant finally gave up.

He looked resigned, shrugging at the camera. Mason grinned, nudging me.

He took out four boxes from his suitcase—inside were freshly customized family sweatshirts, just like the ones from a decade ago.

I burst out laughing, smacking Mason’s arm. “He really went there.”

I shot Mason a look.

He rolled his eyes, but there was a soft smile tugging at his lips.

Honestly, this kind of gift was peak Mason.

I whispered, “You sure you didn’t plant the idea?”

Mason caught my look and protested: “What? I’m mature now. I’d never do something that childish.”

He puffed up, trying to look serious. I snorted.

I nodded, “I’m not buying it.”

I waggled my eyebrows, teasing him. The fans were going to love this.

Not only did I not believe him—even the chat didn’t.

The chat exploded.

“Only Mason would come up with something like this, right?”

Someone posted a poll: “Who’s more likely to bring matching outfits—Mason or Grant?”

“Agreed, this is totally the Whitaker family head’s obsession.”

The old nickname resurfaced. I could see Mason cringe.

“Hahaha, everyone remembers the Whitaker family head!”

The memes were back—photoshopped crowns, scepters, you name it.