Chapter 3
Chapter Three
I hummed along to the music coming from my speaker as I dipped the paint roller into the tray and ran it across the wall. With my schedule, I didn’t often have time for projects like this, but I was determined to finally turn my condo into a restful, calming sanctuary. The steely blue paint I’d picked out reminded me of the color of the ocean on Plum Island on a clear day.
The soft buzzing of my phone pulled me from my thoughts. I ignored it, figuring it was my mom asking for the hundredth time if I needed her to find me a date. Eventually, the trilling stopped, but then my doorbell rang.
I frowned, wiping my hands on a nearby rag. I wasn’t expecting anyone, and in my current state, I certainly wasn't in the mood for company. My hair was tied up in a messy bun with stray strands falling out, my face free of makeup, and I could feel the faint stickiness of sweat under my arms from the effort of painting. I glanced at myself in the mirror by the door and grimaced. Definitely not my finest hour.
When I opened the door, my heart stopped. There was Max, looking like he’d stepped straight out of a GQ spread in an expertly tailored charcoal suit that clung to his broad shoulders and tapered waist like it had been made just for him. The scent of his cologne—sandalwood and something citrusy—made my head spin.
“Hey,” he said, his lips curving into that easy smile I’d come to know so well. He held up a bottle of my favorite Cabernet Sauvignon, the embossed foil label catching the light from the overhead light. “Thought I’d stop by with this and help finalize our plans for the wedding.”
My mind went blank for a second. “Oh God,” I muttered, glancing down at myself and back up at him, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “I … uh …wasn’t expecting anyone.”
Max’s grin widened as he took in my paint-splattered sweats and what I was sure was a smear of paint across my cheek. “I can see that,” he teased, his tone sounding affectionate. “For what it’s worth, I think this—” he extended his pointer finger from the neck of the bottle, gesturing at me with a twist of the digit “—is a very good look on you.”
“Shut up,” I mumbled, crossing my arms self-consciously over my chest, suddenly very aware that I wasn’t wearing a bra under my ratty old t-shirt. “You’re just saying that because you’re standing there looking like a walking Tom Ford ad while I look like a slob.”
Max laughed softly, a deep, rich sound that sent a shiver down my spine. “I’m serious. You look cute.” He stepped closer, his gaze lingering on the streak of paint on my cheek. “Although,” he added, raising his free hand to brush his thumb against the smudge gently, “you’ve got a little something right there.”
My breath caught at the unexpected touch, and I pulled away, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he was standing. “I was painting.” Surreptitiously, I glanced down to make sure my nipples weren’t showing through my shirt. When I was satisfied they weren’t, I looked back up. “I’m sorry. Did I know you were coming?”
“Nope,” Max said, his lips popping on the p. “But I figured we needed to iron out some of the finger points of our ruse. And I know how much you like this wine, so …” He held up the bottle again.
I eyed the bottle and then Max. “Should I be concerned? Is this some sort of bribe?”
“Tell me with a straight face you want to do this sober,” he said with a wink.
I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at my lips. “Fine.” I stepped aside and motioned for him to enter. “But don’t judge the mess. It’s been a week.”
Max stepped through the door, his mossy green eyes scanning the room. “I never judge,” he said, though his eyes were alight with amusement as he took in the drop cloths, the half-painted walls, and the small canisters from the many paint samples I’d tried scattered across the room.
“Liar,” I muttered as I shut the door behind him. “You’re definitely judging.”
Max shrugged out of his suit jacket, hanging it on the coat stand by the door before turning to face me. “Okay, maybe I’m judging a little,” he teased. “Why didn’t you hire someone to do this for you?”
I snorted, grabbing two wine glasses from the cupboard in my small kitchen and setting them on the counter. “And miss out on all this fun?” I quipped drolly, gesturing around me. “No thanks. Besides, I like doing stuff like this. It makes me feel accomplished.”
Max watched as I uncorked the wine and poured us each a generous glass. “I admire that about you, you know,” he said, his voice sounding softer somehow.
I looked up, surprised by the sudden change in his tone. “What? That I’m too stubborn to hire someone?”
“No,” Max said, taking a step closer. “That you don’t wait around for someone else to make things happen—you just do it. I like that.”
My cheeks warmed, and I busied myself with picking up the paint supplies strewn around the room, trying to ignore how my heart quickened at his words. “Well, thanks, I guess,” I mumbled, unsure of how to respond.
He took a sip from his glass and leaned casually against the counter. “So,” he said, pausing for a moment as he rubbed his free palm over the stubble on his jaw. “You ready to talk strategy?”
I sighed, setting the paintbrush in the sink and grabbing my own glass, practically chugging half of it in one gulp. The wine was rich and smooth on my tongue, precisely what I needed to calm my nerves before launching into a discussion of the logistics for our weekend away. “I … um … I’ve booked the hotel for Friday and Saturday night.” I twisted the stem of my wine glass between my fingers, staring down at the deep red liquid as it swirled.
“Makes sense. Your brother mentioned you need to be there for the rehearsal dinner. I didn’t know you were in the wedding, too.”
“I’m not, at least not really. Melody asked me to do a reading; I’m filling in for one of her sorority sisters who backed out at the last minute,” I explained as I tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear with trembling fingers. I tried to sound casual even as my pulse quickened as I prepared to tell him that we’d also be sharing a room. “And since we’re supposedly dating, I thought it would look odd if I booked two rooms. But don’t worry—I made sure the room has two beds.” My stomach fluttered as I took another sip of wine and waited for his response, suddenly finding the paint splatter on my sweatpants fascinating.
Max was quiet for a moment—long enough that I forced myself to look up at him. The corner of his mouth lifted in a half-smile that made my heart skip. “Hannah,” he said, his voice gentle but amused, “you do realize nobody’s going to see how many beds are in our room, right?”
The heat that flooded my face could have melted steel. I pressed my palms against my burning cheeks. “I didn’t even … I mean, I just thought …” I blew out a breath and snapped my mouth closed.
“That you’d protect my virtue?” His eyes danced with suppressed laughter.
I groaned and covered my face completely with my hands. “Can we pretend this conversation never happened?”
“Not a chance.” I could hear him moving closer.
I dropped my hands to glare up at him, though the effect was probably ruined by how hard I was blushing. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t." He took another sip of wine, looking far too pleased with himself as he settled his hip against the counter, his expression turning thoughtful. “Have you told your mom I’m your date?”
I felt my cheeks heating even more. “No,” I answered, my gaze darting away.
“How come?” He asked, his tone filled with curiosity.
I chanced a peek at him. “Because,” I said, waving my hand to and fro. “You know how she is.”
He nodded, his lips tugged to the side in a slight smirk. “That I do.” He cleared his throat. “She was in fine form at David’s birthday party.”
I groaned, remembering how my mother had not-so-subtly tried to push Max and me together all night. “Don’t remind me.”
He swirled his glass, his gaze focused on the wine as he spoke. “At one point, she cornered me to ask if I noticed how you glow when you talk about your work at the hospital.” Max chuckled lightly, raising his gaze up to meet mine, his eyes sparkling with amusement.
I snorted. “Oh god. She didn’t.”
I loved my patients, honestly, but working in a hospital was not for the faint of heart. The bureaucracy and political jockeying among the administrators had become increasingly worse since the pandemic, and there were days when I thought about walking out and never coming back. If I was “glowing,” it was only because my anger had reached the “hotter-than-a-thousand-fiery-suns” level.
“Oh, she definitely did. Right after she reminded me—and everyone within earshot—about how I used to push you on the swing set in your backyard when we were younger.”
“Because clearly that means we’re destined to be together,” I quipped, rolling my eyes. “You know she’s going to be impossible at this wedding, right? Even worse than usual.”
Just saying the words made my insides squirm. My mother had been trying to match-make between Max and me since I was old enough to date, reading far too much into every interaction, every shared laugh, every time he showed up at our house to hang out with David.
And now I was voluntarily giving her ammunition by bringing him as my date.
She’d be insufferable, interpreting each glance and casual touch as proof that her maternal instincts had been right all along. The worst part was that I couldn’t even blame her—not when I’d spent so many years trying to convince myself I didn’t feel exactly what she seemed to see so clearly.
“You mean even more impossible than last Christmas when she hung mistletoe in every doorway of your house and kept trying to maneuver us under it?”
“Definitely worse than that,” I confirmed, taking a long sip of wine. “Don’t be surprised if she pulls you aside to ask when you plan to propose to me. Or, god forbid, my Aunt Susan corners you to ask how we finally got together after all these years of ‘obvious chemistry.’” I made air quotes with my fingers, nearly spilling my wine in the process.
Max chuckled, swirling the wine in his glass again. “Well, if that happens, I’ll just tell her I was waiting for you to come to your senses and realize you’re madly in love with me.”
I nearly choked on my wine. “Oh God, don’t even joke about that.” I could feel the heat creeping up my neck again, and it wasn’t from the excellent Cabernet.
Max’s smile softened, his eyes searching mine. “We need a good story, right? How about this: We’ve been dancing around each other for years, but we finally got our act together at David’s birthday party and realized what’s been in front of us all along?”
My heart stuttered in my chest. That was the problem with this whole fake dating scheme—I’d never been uncertain about my feelings for Max. Not when he’d push me on the swings like my mother was so fond of reminding him, and certainly not when he’d sneak me into R-rated movies when I was a teenager, and definitely not now. I’d always known exactly how I felt about him; I was just really good at pretending I didn’t.
I forced my features into what I hoped was a neutral expression, fighting the urge to fidget, knowing Max would recognize all my tells. I had to sound casual and detached, like this was just another detail to work out, not a moment that made my pulse race and my palms sweat.
“That could work. It’s recent enough that people won’t question why they haven’t heard about us dating before now, but not so new that it seems suspicious.”
“Exactly,” Max agreed, moving closer. “And it gives us a solid foundation. We’ve known each other for years, so it’s not like we’re rushing into anything.”
“Right,” I managed, feeling slightly dizzy by his closeness. “Nothing rushed about this at all.”
Max’s eyes locked on mine, and for a moment, the air between us felt charged with something I wasn’t ready to name. “Han,” he said softly before reaching out to tuck an escaped strand of hair behind my ear. The gentle brush of his fingers against my skin sent a shiver down my spine.
“Hmm?” I couldn’t seem to look away from him.
“You’ve got nothing to worry about. You’re incredible, and anyone who makes you feel otherwise is an idiot.”
I swallowed hard, my heart hammering against my ribs.
“You’re smart and funny and so incredibly beautiful,” he continued, his voice low and earnest. “And any guy would be lucky to have you—even if it is just pretend.”
The word ‘pretend’ hit me like a bucket of cold water, snapping me out of whatever spell I’d fallen under. I stepped back, putting some much-needed distance between us. “Right,” I said, forcing a laugh that sounded hollow even to my own ears. “Pretend.”
Max opened his mouth as if to say something else, then seemed to think better of it. Instead, he lifted his glass in a toast. “To pretending to be in love.”
I clinked my glass against his, ignoring the way my hand trembled slightly. “To pretending.”