Chapter Thirty-Six
November 26th, 9 a.m.
S unlight slanted through Max’s bedroom blinds, and he watched the shadows creep across his ceiling. The morning stretched before him like an endless void, punctuated only by the promise he’d made last week—breakfast at his mother’s house.
He should be in his kitchen making his mom’s favorite berry muffins. Instead, he lay in lethargic limbo replaying last night’s dinner at Paloma’s parents’ house. She was probably there right now, planning and packing with her dad—a scenario notably absent of him.
He should get up. Stop being an asshole. His mom had been fretting over him constantly since the car accident, bringing over food, calling, and stopping by. She was yet another person he’d managed to burden with his jackass decisions. The thought of facing her today, of watching her eyes track his movements for signs of pain or distress, had his chest tightening. She’d see right through any attempt to pretend he was fine. He’d end up worrying her more if he visited.
Rolling over, he patted blindly at his nightstand for his phone, intent on making the call that would disappoint her again. His fingers brushed against the cool metal as his doorbell chimed, the sound jarring in the morning quiet.
“What the fuck?” he muttered, dragging himself upright.
The last thing he needed was company. It meant admitting the day had to start and that life was moving forward whether he was ready or not. He crossed to his front door in quick, angry strides. He yanked it open and found Drake on the porch, looking far too alert for the early hour.
“What are you doing here?” Max demanded.
His brother grinned. “Good morning, Grumpy McGrump. I’m making sure you don’t make our mom cry by bailing on breakfast.”
Max blinked. “How the hell did you know I was thinking about bailing?”
Drake shrugged. “I’ve heard from a friend that Paloma’s heading to Louisiana. Are you going to let me in, or should we have this conversation on your porch?”
He stepped back, and his brother came inside. “How in the world do you even know? Didn’t you drive in this morning?” Max asked.
“Last night,” his brother replied. “Do you have coffee?” He made his way toward the kitchen.
Hadn’t Emmaline left early to meet someone? Max’s spine straightened as the dots formed and connected. “Who do you know that would even know about the Louisiana job, let alone so quickly?”
“Like I said, a friend.” Drake suddenly seemed way too focused on the coffee machine.
Max leaned against the counter, crossing his legs at the ankles. “Who did you spend last night with?”
“I don’t kiss and tell.”
“You’re not gonna be able to kiss anybody after I punch you in the mouth,” Max grumbled.
“Temper , temper,” his brother laughed.
“Are you seeing Paloma’s sister?” Max asked.
“Define seeing.”
“Great,” Max muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. Emmaline deserved better than his brother’s usual hit-and-run routine, especially fresh off her divorce. “Try not to be yourself with this one, okay?”
Drake’s eyes flashed, his easy smile hardening at the edges. “Don’t worry about me, or I should say, her. She’s working some stuff out of her system. We’re enjoying each other.” He grabbed two insulated mugs, handing one to Max. “Focus on yourself. And Paloma.”
He filled his coffee and said, “There’s nothing to focus on. She’s in Louisiana. We’ll talk when she gets back.” If she has the time. Damn, that thought was bitter as the brewing coffee.
Drake opened a cupboard, closed it, and opened another. “What are you looking for?” Max asked.
“Ingredients for the muffins. It’s too late to make them here. We’ll take the stuff over and make them at Mom’s.”
A laugh huffed out of Max despite himself. “By ‘we’ll’ you mean me, right?”
“Yup.”
“Get changed. We’ll drive over there together. We can talk.”
“I don’t need to talk.
Drake rolled his eyes. “Don’t be that dude.”
“What dude?”
“The one who won’t talk about his feelings, but will drown in them, making himself and everybody around him miserable.”
“Then don’t be around me, asshole,” Max replied without any heat.
“No can do. I kinda like you. And—”
Max raised his brows. “Kinda? ”
“I’m still pissed about my Lego city you destroyed.”
“Dude, I was eight.”
“Time doesn’t heal all wounds,” Drake sighed theatrically. “Tell me what we need to bring. I’ll gather them while you get dressed.”
Max did both, and they were in his brother’s Mercedes twenty minutes later. Drake pulled onto the main road, his usual lead foot noticeably gentler on the gas. Great. Even his brother was treating him like he might break.
“Just say whatever you’re thinking,” Max grumbled, watching suburban houses blur past. “The silence is worse than your usual smartass comments.”
Drake clicked his tongue. “You’re not gonna like it.”
“When has that ever stopped you?”
“Fair point.” His brother turned down their old street, muscle memory making them lean into the curve by the Montgomery’s house. “I think you’re making a big deal out of Paloma taking the job.”
Max snorted. “How? You act like I begged her to stay. Or shouted at her, threatening to break up if she took the job.” Like that was even an option. They had to be a couple to break up. And she wasn’t interested in anything beyond sex.
Drake pulled into their mom’s driveway, killing the engine. “I know you, brother. I saw it in your face when you opened the door. You’re giving up.” Before Max could respond, he grabbed the bag of ingredients and headed to the front door.
Was he? Maybe it was time.
He followed his brother up the familiar brick path and nudged him aside to unlock the front door. “Mom,” Drake called. “Your favorite son is here!”
The moment Max stepped inside, it hit him: the aroma of freshly baked quiche, warm butter-kissed pastry, savory roasted leeks, smoky bacon, and the rich per fume of eggs and gruyère melting together in perfect harmony. His stomach growled, betraying how ready it was for something other than the sad bowl of cereal he’d been planning to eat while wallowing in his house.
“Oh, didn’t know you knew about my other son, James,” she joked.
“Haha, Mom,” Drake said, entering the kitchen with Max behind him.
Their mom stood in her favorite apron, the blue one with tiny cats all over it. A smudge of flour was on her cheek. “I thought it was funny,” she said before pulling what looked like quiche from the oven. I was about to call you two.”
She set the pan down and wrapped them both in a hug that somehow managed to encompass them despite their height difference. The counter was cluttered with cooling racks and mixing bowls, and the morning sun streamed through the window over the sink, catching the steam that rose from everything fresh-baked. Drake was sneaking pieces of French toast when their mom turned back to the oven. Max had to admit that his brother had been right to drag him here. The familiarity of their mom’s kitchen and the constant stream of questions and commentary would leave no room for brooding. It was exactly what he needed, even if he’d never say it out loud.
“How’d the Sterling house go?” His mom asked.
Had that project ended a few days ago? It felt so much longer. “It was good.”
“It was good,” his mom repeated, one brow raising. “That’s it. That’s all I get? A morose, ‘it was good.’ Were they happy? I mean, of course, they were; my incredibly talented son was working for them. Do you think that it’ll lead to more of these types of projects with Paloma?”
He emptied the contents of his bag on the counter and grabbed a large bowl from the cupboard. “Doubtful.”
The sound of the metal whisk hitting the pan silenced, and his mom turned to him. “Why? Did something happen? Were they not satisfied?
“No, all of that is great. They were incredibly happy. Better than we had hoped.” He told her about the positive feedback and the upcoming magazine interview. However, the glow and excitement that had surrounded him had faded.
His mom took the same stance he had earlier with Drake. She leaned against the counter, crossing her legs at the ankles. “What’s the problem?”
“Paloma’s taking on a large project in Louisiana, so she won’t be able to take on new ones here for a while,” he said flatly.
“Aw, well, maybe that’s for the best. You’re pretty busy without another business venture.” She picked back up the whisk. “And visiting Paloma will be fun. Louisiana has so much to do.”
“We’ll see.” He busied himself mixing the muffin ingredients.
His mom rested a hand on his arm, stilling him. “Why? Did she break up with you?”
“No.” He stepped away from her comfort. “We weren’t even in an actual, official relationship, so I doubt she’ll think long-distance is worth the effort.”
“Why not? You’re a catch.”
His mother’s earnest expression and vote of confidence only made his chest tighter. He shot her a “yeah, right” look—the one that pulled at a corner of his mouth and had his eyebrows climbing toward his hairline. It was the same expression he’d been giving her since he was a teenager who thought he knew everything.
The whisk returned to the counter with a light smack. “What was that look for?”
“Come on, Mom, you know it, and I know it. I’m an impulsive fuck up. Why get entangled with me?”
“Max, y ou have a successful business and a great circle of friends. A home. And it seems working with you has benefitted her a great deal. I don’t see where this belief you’re a screw up is coming from.”
His title as a landscape architect might have gotten them clients, but his impulsiveness nearly cost them both jobs. He shouldn’t have come on to Paloma at the Thompson house. He shouldn’t have fallen asleep at the wheel. Hell, he shouldn’t have let his curiosity lead to that night with his ex in Chicago. Had he thought through the consequences of his actions, they wouldn’t be haunting him. Maybe Paloma would be more interested in him.
He couldn’t tell his mother about any of this, so he said, “Aren’t you the one who always says I’m impulsive?”
“Yes, you are on the impulsive side, but not wild. And while you may have been reckless at one point, that was a long time ago. And I’m sorry if I made you think I viewed you as reckless.”
“I still am. I change my mind constantly. I go back and forth. When we first met at The Hill, I turned Paloma down.”
“You turned her down?” Drake said. “Why in the hell would you do that?”
Max startled, forgetting his brother was there. “Long story, but yes, I did. Then, I almost immediately changed my mind once we started working together, even though she made it clear she thought a professional relationship was better. I made everything more difficult.”
“Did you push something she didn’t want?” his brother asked. “Did you wear her down? Or did you only make your feelings known?”
“I’m not an asshole, or desperate,” Max huffed. “I’m not gonna force myself on someone not interested.”
“Then let yourself off the damn hook,” Drake said. “Paloma isn’t going to do anything she doesn’t want to do.”
He had a point. Paloma’s strong will and assertiveness were two of the things he loved about her. And yes, he could admit he was falling for her.
“True,” he said. “But the fact remains that my impulsiveness had made our working relationship more difficult. And in turn, she’s probably happy to get rid of me. From the start, she’d said she wanted things simple. That wasn’t us.”
“If you care about her, you should make sure she knows,” his mom said.
“This comes from the woman who told me not to pursue someone I’m working with.”
“Well, son. It’s too late for that. You did, and it is obvious you care about her. Impulsiveness is one thing, but are you also afraid to go after what you want? I see how you hold back, waiting for others to decide if you’re worth choosing.” His mom wiped her hands on her apron and moved closer, placing a palm on his cheek. “And Max, you are worth choosing. The question is, are you brave enough to let Paloma make that choice for herself instead of deciding for her?”
His brother stole a spoonful of the muffin mix and said around it, “And this isn’t about you, asshole.”
“Drake,” their mom chastised him.
At the same time, Max asked, “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Lotte mentioned Paloma was engaged—”
“Who’s Lotte?” Their mom looked between them. “How—”
“A friend,” Drake said, probably hoping to cut off more questions.
“Yea. The guy screwed her over. What’s that to do with me?” Max asked.
“Don’t you think her trust in men, in commitment, would be all kinds of fu—” He glanced at their mom. “All kind of screwed up?”
He turned to his bowl, dumped in the frozen berries, and mechanically folded them in the muffin mix. Drake had a point. And her ex-fiancé wasn’t the only one who’d hurt her.
And Max w as no better. He hadn’t stolen from her, then tried to make her feel like it was her fault, but he hadn’t shown her that he was willing to fight for her, for them. Instead of talking to her, he’d been ready to let them fade away.
“Earth to Max,” his mom’s voice cut through his thoughts. “You’re going to crush those berries into juice if you keep stirring like that.”
“Sorry,” he muttered, setting the bowl down. “I am an idiot.”
His brother snorted. “Only now realizing this?”
“Drake,” their mother chided him, then turned to Max. “Care to elaborate?”
“I’ve been so caught up in my head, thinking about all the ways this could go wrong, that I almost . . .” He ran his hand down his jeans. “Listen, I’m sorry, but I have to bail on breakfast.”
“Are you planning on running over to Paloma’s right now?” Drake asked.
“Um yeah, how’d you—”
“Really, weren’t you bitching like five minutes ago about being impulsive?”
Max grinned. “Piss off. I’ve decided being impulsive isn’t always a bad thing. Like when I need to talk to someone important before they leave the damn state.” He kissed his mom’s cheek and headed for the door.
“They took an early flight,” Drake called after him.
Max halted, but only for a second, then headed for his car. He was about to take impulsiveness to a whole new level.