Chapter Thirty-Three
November 25th, 6:00 p.m.
T he traffic inched forward at a snail’s pace, cars stretching endlessly ahead on the highway. Paloma drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, glancing at the clock on the dashboard for the hundredth time. They’d been stuck on their last stretch of I-96 for over an hour, and her schedule was backing up like the endless line of brake lights ahead of her.
“Any movement up there?” Felix’s voice drifted from the back, slightly slurred with sleep.
She looked at him in the review mirror curled awkwardly across the backseat, his head pillowed on Abigail’s lap. Her fingers combed through his hair as she stared out the window, her breath fogging the glass.
Paloma sighed. “We’ve covered maybe ten feet in the last fifteen minutes.”
Beside her, Max shifted, the leather seat creaking. He reached over, his warm hand covering hers on the gear shift. “Hey, we have no major project to stress, so we’ve got time.” He grinned, and his eyes crinkled at the corners. “Which is good because at this rate, we might make it back by Christmas.”
A relucta nt smile tugged at her lips, and some tension left her shoulders when she met his gaze. She loved how he was so mellow, willing to go with the flow, yet not passive. It was a rare combination that made their work, play, and even unexpected traffic jams enjoyable.
“Christmas,” Felix groaned. “But I’m starving.”
“I told you we should have taken my family’s Cessna,” Abigail groused good-natured.
“I was thinking about the carbon footprint,” Felix replied.
“I’m not sure we’re saving much sitting in this traffic.”
“And I had to bring my truck back,” Max reasoned, patting the dashboard.
Paloma’s phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen on the car’s Bluetooth and saw her mother’s name flashing. “Uh-oh,” Felix sat up. “We’re going to be late for dinner. I’m glad you’re telling her.”
She quirked her brow at him in the rearview mirror, letting the phone continue to ring. Felix’s eyes widened. “You wouldn’t,” he gasped.
She smirked and nodded.
“So mean,” he muttered.
Her cell stopped ringing, and Max said, “What—”
Felix’s phone began to sing, “Your Momma Don’t Dance.” He groaned and said, “I’m taking you down with me, Drunk Decision.” He answered, saying. “Hi, Mom.”
“Felix, darling!” Their mom said through the speaker call. “Are you all still coming for dinner tonight?”
“Nah, we decided to stop at Gino’s for a pizza.”
“That’s not even funny,” their mom scolded, but there was affection in her voice. When will you arrive? Is Paloma with you?”
“Yes, she is, and that’s why we’re late. She drives like a hundred-year-old granny.”
“Oh, go od, so she’s with you. I wasn’t sure; she’s avoiding my calls again.”
“I don’t avoid your calls,” Paloma lied.
“Felix! Why didn’t you warn me that I’m on speaker?”
“I was about to tell you.” His grin said the opposite. Paloma rolled her eyes, unable to hold in a grin. Her brother loved to wind up the family.
“We are on our way but will probably be late,” she told her mom. “We’re stuck in hellish traffic. And I’ll be even later because after I drop off Felix and Abigail, I need to drop off Max at his house and pick up my car.”
“He’s that man you’re working on the big project with, right?”
“That ain’t all they’re doing,” Felix muttered.
Max made a choking sound and twisted around, his eyes wide. Paloma’s pulse jumped, and she reached into the back seat and pinched her brother; at the same time, Abigail swatted him on the shoulder.
“What was that, Felix?” their mom asked.
“I said they’re having a ball,” Felix replied. “They make a great team.”
“Ah, okay. Well, bring him along. There’s plenty of food, and I’d love to meet him properly.”
A slight tremor rippled through her fingertips, spreading like wildfire up her arms. The idea of Max meeting her parents—especially her father with his razor-sharp judgments—amplified the jitters until she hummed with nervous energy. She glanced at him. He raised an eyebrow in question. His easy demeanor only intensified her worry; this might be a casual invite for him, but not her. She didn’t bring men to meet her family. The only other man had been her ex-fiancé.
“I don’t know, Mom,” Paloma hedged. “It’s kind of last minute, and I’m sure Max has other plans.” She didn’t want him to feel obligated, but a small part hoped he’d want to come, even if her father would be there.
“Nonsense!” her mother declared. “Max? Hi, are you there?”
“I am, ” he replied.
“Do you have plans this evening?”
“Um, no.”
“Perfect. Would you please join us for dinner?”
He looked at Paloma, but she couldn’t read his expression. She shrugged and mouthed, “Up to you.”
In a neutral tone that gave away nothing, he said, “I’d love to. Thank you, Mrs. Wagner.”
She continued to search his face but couldn’t decipher if his acceptance was mere politeness or genuine interest. His gaze met hers, and all he offered was a slight smile.
“Wonderful. I’ll let Clifton know. He’ll be thrilled to meet you.”
Paloma barely suppressed a snort. Her father, thrilled? It’s more like he’d be sharpening his verbal knives, ready to grill Max about his business, plans, and life story. Then, her dad would move on to her.
After hanging up, Max asked, “Is Clifton your dad?”
She nodded.
“I thought he was designing a beachfront resort in California?”
“He is, but it’s mid-project, so he’s visiting before things pick up closer to the opening.” After a pause, she said, “You don’t have to come. It’s short notice, and my family can be . . . a lot.”
“No, shit,” Max laughed, twisting around, giving Felix the stink eye.
“What?” her brother said, all false innocence.
“I’m going so I can poison your potatoes,” he told Felix.
Paloma narrowed her eyes at the rearview mirror. “Don’t worry. I was already planning on it.”
“What! Hey, I’m just spicing up the family dinner! We don’t want things as bland as Dad’s desserts.”
Max laugh ed, but she caught a glimmer of apprehension in his eyes. He was probably second-guessing his decision to join this family chaos.
“Well, next time serve a dish from your life, Flea,” Paloma shot back, trying to sound mad but failing. It was difficult when Max was pushing his seat back, squishing Felix. Their laughter and Abigail’s giggles filled the car, momentarily drowning out the frustration of being stuck in traffic.
Her gaze flicked between the road ahead and Max. His grin was wide, eyes twinkling with mischief, and her chest tightened. He looked so at ease, joking with her brother and Abigail—Paloma’s two favorite people. It was like Max had always been and would be a part of their little group.
The car gradually quieted, with occasional chuckles from the back seat breaking the silence. Max turned slightly in his seat, angling toward her. His voice was low when he spoke. “Hey, about the dinner . . .”
He didn’t want to go, and she couldn’t blame him. She should be relieved, not disappointed. They weren’t even dating, not really, so why would he want to meet her parents?
“My mom kind of pressured you into it. Don’t feel like you have to go,” she said.
He took her hand. “I’ll come if you want me there.”
“I . . .” Her heart did a little flip. She wanted him there. Desperately. The thought of him charming her mother and holding his own against her father’s interrogation warmed her insides. But she was jittery. Max, at her family table, would make what was happening between them real.
Felix leaned forward between them. “I want you there. Now that Lotte’s divorced, there’s too much estrogen at these monthly dinners. Help!”
Paloma laughed, grateful for her brother’s interruption of the heavy moment. “Last I checked, you and Dad manage just fine.”
“Sure, until you all start talking about your periods.”
“Oh, sh ut up. That’s not what we talk about at every dinner,” Paloma huffed.
“Yeah, we only do when we’re on them,” Abigail called from the back seat, her grin in her voice.
“And we can’t help that our times are all in sync,” Paloma finished, laughing.
“See what I’m dealing with?” Felix pleaded. “I need reinforcements.”
Max glanced at Paloma, and she saw his unspoken question. She nodded at him. “I’d like you there.”
“Good, glad that’s settled,” her brother said, clapping his hands once. “Because we might get there before midnight.” He pointed out the windshield at the moving traffic. She turned to the road, where cars were moving forward with more purpose.
“About time,” Max said, giving her hand one last squeeze before letting go.
They picked up speed. Conversation flowed easily, punctuated by laughter and the occasional grumble about the delay. The sun had long since set, casting the suburban landscape into darkness as they finally exited the freeway. She glanced at the dashboard clock—already past eight. No wonder her stomach was growling at her. But, damn, her parents would be annoyed, especially her dad. She hoped he wouldn’t make the evening unpleasant and tense.
“Hey,” Max said, his voice cutting through her worry. “That pizza place you mentioned earlier—think it’s still open?”
“Gino’s?” She clicked her tongue, considering. “Probably, why?”
“I was thinking we could grab a couple of pies,” he said. “You know, as a peace offering for being late.”
Felix lea ned into the front seat. “Oh man, Dad would flip if we showed up with Gino’s. Remember when he tried to ban it because he thought it was ‘corrupting Italian cuisine’?”
“And then Mom caught him sneaking a slice at 2 a.m,” Paloma added, laughing. The knot of tension in her shoulders loosened a fraction. “You know what? Let’s do it.”
Instead of turning right, she made a left, and less than ten minutes later, they were pulling into Gino’s parking lot. She caught Max watching her, a soft smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “What?” she asked, suddenly self-conscious.
He shook his head. “Nothing. Just . . . I like seeing you happy.”
His simple honesty made her pulse flip. Before she could overthink it, she leaned over and kissed him. It was chaste, but it was the first time she’d done it in front of anyone. “Thanks,” she murmured, not quite meeting his eyes.
Felix made a gagging noise from the backseat. “No PDA.”
“Shut up,” she laughed, opening her car door. “Like I haven’t seen plenty from you and Abigail last summer when I visited. Now let’s get some food. I’m starving.”
They piled out of the car and into the restaurant. They entered Gino’s and were greeted with the warm, yeasty smell of pizza. The sizzle of cheese and the rhythmic thump of dough being kneaded created a comforting symphony. Max’s hand rested on the small of her back, a gentle comfort guiding her through the crowded pizzeria.
Fifteen minutes later, they were back on the road, the car filled with the mouthwatering aroma of garlic and melted cheese. They turned onto her parents’ street, and her grip on the steering wheel tightened.
Max reached over and took her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “What’s wrong? ”
“I love my parents, but they can sometimes be a bit much.” And him, at their table, makes her scary feeling for him all the more real.
“I get it. Believe me,” he said softly, “And don’t forget, whatever happens, we’ve got pizza. And each other.”
Her heart dipped. For now, they had each other.
Parking in front of her childhood home, she took a deep breath. The scent of Gino’s famous garlic knots mingled with the faint trace of Max’s cologne—each equally enticing. “Let’s do this,” she said, injecting a carefree lilt into her voice.
Everyone climbed out of the car, arms laden with pizza boxes. The cool evening air raised goosebumps on her arms as they walked to the door. Max’s warmth beside her was a stark contrast, his presence solid and reassuring. The porch light cast a soft glow, highlighting his straight spine and a slight lift of his chin. She recognized the posture as one he adopted before important business meetings. But the soft smile he gave her when their gazes met revealed the nerves behind his confident facade.
Before they reached the porch, the front door swung open. Her father’s frame filled the doorway, his expression unreadable in the gathering dusk. But then he lifted his chin and sniffed. His stern facade cracked.
“Is that . . . Gino’s?” he asked, a note of longing in his voice.
Paloma exchanged a quick glance with Max, a silent laugh passing between them. Maybe tonight wouldn’t be the weighty, relationship-defining dinner she’d feared. Maybe it could just be pizza and family and Max’s warm presence beside her—uncomplicated, for now, at least.