Mason’s home is gorgeous. Beneath all the girlie touches and the bubblegum upholstery, it’s easy to see the beauty of the structure. Gleaming toffee brown floors lead down tall, narrow hallways. The four bedrooms are tiny but perfect with large arched windows. I can easily imagine them flung open on a hot summer day to let in the splendid light and a soothing breeze. But Mason is a terrible tour guide. As he shows me around, his hands and his lips are distracting. They’re all over me every step of the way. Partway through, we abandon the house tour. We somehow end up in Mason’s
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