“By the way, this week I worked with the investigators I told you about. They researched some potential partners. You want me to tell them to look up your father?”
Oh. I never gave him an answer on that matter, and Grams has brought up the subject again twice.
“Yeah. I… I want to do this for Grams. It’ll be good for her.”
“What about you? ’Cause I think you’ll end up hurt. ”
“Maybe it will be good for me too. Settle that score.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
Max nods once, kissing my forehead.
“Okay. Come on, let’s shop for raw ingredients, and then you can charm me with your cooking talents,” Max says.
“I have to change. Be back in a minute.”
With the speed of the wind—or in my case, extreme hunger—I race to the bedroom, put on yesterday’s clothes, except the panties, and then join Max in the living room.
“Wow, I never imagined you’d actually be back in a minute,” Max says with appreciation.
“I always keep my word. I wanted to talk to you about something though…. I want to go back to the house tonight. I know Mrs. Wilson said she’d stay the entire weekend, but I don’t want to stay away for so long.”
“Okay. We can go to your house anytime you want.”
We, not you. There was no hesitation in his voice. “Great. By the way, thank you for calling my house and talking to Mrs. Wilson. Can’t believe it slipped my mind to do it.”
“You deserve time off from all your responsibilities, Emilia. Cut yourself some slack. I’m happy to help.”
Not knowing what to say to that, I just rise on my tiptoes and kiss the corner of his mouth. This man is worming his way into my heart with every word.
Max leads me to a nearby grocery store, and as we walk side by side, I can’t help noticing the way he keeps a protective arm around my waist, or occasionally my shoulders, and walks on the side to the street. I lean into his touch all the way, soaking in the warmth and safety he radiates.
I go wild in the grocery store, buying enough food for six people, but I don’t feel at all guilty. As we exit the store, we notice the drops of rain splattering on the pavement. A memory flashes before my eyes, of Max and me running barefoot through the rain, our feet sloshing through the mud. A low chuckle snaps my attention to Max.
“You’re thinking about all those times we got dirty in the rain, aren’t you?” he asks.
I nod. “We did like to get dirty a lot.”
He leans in to me, whispering conspiratorially, “We still do, only now it’s a different kind of dirty. Much more satisfying.”
He takes my hand, and as we rush to his building, I relish every feeling Max awakens in me—the familiar and the new.
Once back in the apartment, I immediately head to the kitchen. The rain was light, just a few drops, so there’s no need to change. I whip out a pan from his very well-stocked cabinets and start making pancakes. Max merely hovers around me, looking ridiculously out of place.
“How come you don’t cook? I remember you distributed tasks evenly when you were kids.”
Max scowls, having the distinct expression of someone who has been caught while doing something wrong.
“What I’m about to tell you is a secret,” he says seriously. “I think only half my family knows this.”
“Oh, what a secret. Do tell,” I encourage, turning to him while keeping an eye on the pan.
“You remember Christopher, right?” The serious expression melts into one full of mischief.
“I think I do.” I feign thinking hard for some seconds. “Tall, handsome—looks exactly like you.”