9. Chapter 9
nine
By some miracle, I managed to make it a whole week before I had another run-in with Max, much to my friends’ disappointment.
And by “miracle,” I mean “as a result of taking drastic measures.” Leaving at a different time every morning after checking the peep hole and listening for sounds from his side of the wall, running past his door every time I passed it—actual, honest to goodness running that I hated with every fiber of my being—and, while bringing in my dino chicken nugget throw pillow when it arrived, faking a spontaneous phone call.
Unfortunately, my good luck had finally run out. I’d grown complacent.
Friday morning the week after I’d made that stupid promise to Kris, I only left five minutes earlier for work than I had the day I’d run into him in the hallway.
After working double shifts for seven days straight, I didn’t have the energy to run past his door this time.
Lex had had to take a raincheck for girls’ night last night yet again because of work, so with any luck, Max wouldn’t be up this early for his workout—the maniac. A girl could hope.
Futilely, apparently, since his door opened at the exact moment I walked past it.
“Aw, turkey nuggets ,” I muttered, seriously tempted to say a four-letter word that would’ve earned me a deposit in my brother’s swear jar instead.
He looked suspiciously alert this morning, his dark eyes smiling to match the grin on his face. “Good morning, Dekker.”
Would it kill him to save some good looks for the rest of us poor schmucks?
Seriously, it should be illegal for someone to look this amazing first thing in the morning.
Mussed hair that gave me the most irrational urge to comb my fingers through it.
The slightest five o’clock shadow accentuating his jaw and making his white teeth pop even more.
A light blue hoodie that practically made his skin glow.
“Are you even human?” I blurted.
His brow furrowed in confusion, and I cringed. Why couldn’t I say normal things? Like a normal, well-adjusted human being?
Actually, don’t answer that.
“Sorry, that came out wrong.”
Way to dig myself in deeper with him. It was the guilt and the guilt alone that kept me from speed walking my sorry little butt out the door and into the relative safety of the four A.M. riffraff.
To cover up my slip, I waved at him—yes, from three feet away—and smiled so wide my cheeks hurt. Like a normal person. “Good morning, Max. You heading to the gym again?”
He pressed his lips into a tight line. “Actually, I felt like going for a walk first.”
I blinked dumbly. “The sun isn’t even up yet.”
“Which makes it the perfect time for a walk, no?” He looked me over from head to toe, sending a shiver down my spine in the process. “No umbrella today?”
“I forgot it at work.”
Unfortunately, that was true. I’d been so caught up in closing the bakery down properly last Thursday that I’d left it by the back door. I’d intended to bring it home every day since yet always managed to forget. This especially sucked a few days ago when we got two rainy mornings in a row.
Speaking of the bakery, I really had to get going, so I headed toward the stairs.
Max fell easily into step beside me. “Don’t you normally have Fridays off?”
I faltered a step. He’d remembered that? I barely remembered telling him that last week. Was he memorizing my schedule so he could slide raw fish under my door when I wasn’t home? Pour a bunch of Legos on the hallway floor with a “no shoes allowed” sign? What was he planning?
My promise to Kris came to mind, and I blew out a breath. He hadn’t done anything truly malicious—yet—so there wasn’t any use cycling through the what ifs . I’d promised I’d at least try to keep an open mind.
“Usually, yeah,” I replied, nodding my thanks when he held the door open for me. Huh. He’d done that last time, too. “This week is a little different, since my boss is out of town. I’m kind of running things in her absence.”
He gave a low whistle. “That sounds like a lot of responsibility.”
I snorted. This time, it resembled a dying bagpipe, an inhumanly loud squawk that sliced through the still morning air. I walked faster, hoping he wouldn’t dwell on the crime against all Scottish-kind.
He, of course, caught up within two strides.
“It is,” I finally answered. “But I like it. I think.”
Did I? I knew I loved baking, creating something delicious out of simple things. The challenge excited me. The familiarity comforted me. But managing a bakery? I used to love it, despite its downsides.
Now? I didn’t know anymore.
The churning, boiling feeling in my gut that I felt every time I thought about the incident with Max or the fiasco with Besserman returned. Furiously. I wrapped my arms across my midsection in a vain attempt to stop the riot my guts were inciting.
Something else Kris said last week drifted through the discomfort. I think you tend to handle rejection a little… differently than most people . Was that what this was? Didn’t everyone feel this way, even months or years later?
“How does rejection make you feel?” I asked, the words bursting out before I could stop them.
Max paused, his face illuminated faintly in the building’s light and his mouth already open. Aw, meatballs , was he talking and I interrupted? He didn’t deserve that. He also didn’t deserve random, overly sensitive questions, either.
“Sorry. Again.” I covered my face with my hands. Was it too much to ask for a sinkhole to spontaneously open beneath me and suck me under forever? “I was off in my own little world. What were you saying?”
Unfortunately, walking with your eyes covered isn’t the wisest choice. I stumbled on a crack in the sidewalk, overcorrected, and somehow bumped into Max. Hard .
A soft oof escaped him before steel-like arms righted me. “Easy there, Tiger.”
I groaned in frustration. If this was any indication of how the rest of the day was going to go, I was so screwed. “I’m sorry. You should probably give me a wider berth, for your own safety.”
As if the incident wasn’t evidence enough of that. Maybe I could wrap myself in caution tape. It seemed like the responsible thing to do at this point.
“I see now why you’ve only needed an umbrella for self-defense,” he teased. “You’re a force to be reckoned with.”
“Something like that.”
And by that I meant nothing like that .
To keep myself from assaulting a federal officer again, I stepped a good three feet further from him before continuing my brisk pace toward the bakery. “So what were you saying? When I interrupted you with my creepy invasive question.”
He chuckled. “I was asking how you like your coffee.”
I narrowed my eyes, my brain already spinning through all the possible reasons he would want to know that. Was he going to sneak some laxatives in? Hide raisins in the bottom? Something equally as heinous?
Wait. No catastrophizing. He didn’t say he was going to drug me, so this could be an innocent question all along. The odds of that felt astronomical, but I was a woman of my word.
“If I’m getting it at a cafe? I like the Frappuccinos,” I finally answered, my voice embarrassingly breathless.
If I could make it through this conversation without wheezing, I’d consider it a win.
“I mean, a milkshake and caffeine? Sign me up. And if I’m making the coffee myself, I like anything that’s more cream than coffee. I’m not picky, really. What about you?”
“Medium roast with hazelnut creamer,” he declared, sounding oddly pleased. Maybe he took his coffee selection very seriously? “And if I’m getting it at a cafe, I think I like mochas.”
I smiled despite my heavy breathing. “Ah, hot chocolate with caffeine. Great choice.”
“Thanks.” He laughed softly. “It took a while to find a favorite.”
“I know what you mean. The combinations are endless.”
And intimidating. Even now, I ordered the exact same thing every time because I knew I liked it, even though it had only been the second drink order I’d ever tried from a cafe.
Lex teased me about being too scared to try the seasonal flavors, but I liked to think it was because I simply knew what I liked.
When he didn’t break away as we passed the parking lot, his morning walk suddenly made sense.
“You wouldn’t be walking to the bakery by any chance, would you?” I asked, not bothering to hide the suspicion in my voice.
“It’s a scenic route, don’t you think?”
“Maybe if the scenery you’re looking for is a bunch of darkness, yes. But that doesn’t answer my question.”
He sighed, otherwise not sounding the least bit exhausted. Figures. “Alright, yes. I know you can take care of yourself, Dekker. But anything can happen. And I’d never be able to live with myself if something happened to you and I could’ve prevented it.”
“Oh.”
It wasn’t the most eloquent response by far, but it captured my conflicted feelings better than anything else I could come up with.
He didn’t want something bad to happen to me?
At all, or because he wanted to be the one to get back at me?
If it was the former, his duty as a man of the law was undoubtedly to thank, and not any warm fuzzies he might feel toward me, right?
“Thank you,” I finally managed. Whatever his motivations, the fact remained that he’d chosen to walk with me and make sure I made it to the bakery safely.
“Of course.” He nudged me playfully on the arm. When had he gravitated closer? And why? “I don’t want to go through the pain of helping another new neighbor move into your apartment, so it’s in my best interest to keep you alive.”
“Wow, thanks.” Despite myself, I laughed. And consciously kept my brain from overanalyzing. Maybe he hated me like he should. Maybe he didn’t. For now, I’d just exist in the moment. “Have you decided what new hobby you’re going to try next?”
A few beats passed in relative silence before he answered, the crunch of our shoes and the distant sounds of cars on the highway the only disturbances. “You know, I think I want to try pickleball. I figure it’s only fair if I’m recommending it to others, right?”
I shrugged. “Makes sense to me.”
Somehow, I’d managed to keep myself from obsessing about his motives too much the rest of the way to the bakery.
Most of it was filled with small talk. The weather.
Surface-level questions about how our jobs were going.
The usual stuff—safe and manageable. And by the time the motion-activated lights turned on, we’d been walking in strangely comfortable silence for half a block.
Max held back, giving me space to unlock the door and disarm Gale’s security system. When I turned back to thank him again, he broke the silence first. “I’ve been thinking about your question, actually. The one about rejection.”
I cringed. “You don’t have to answer that. I shouldn’t have asked.”
He shrugged, a boyish smile on his face that had no business looking as attractive as it did. Then again, nothing about Max did, yet here we were.
“I don’t mind, though I’m curious why you asked.” He raked a hand through his hair and looked away. “I assume it must have something to do with our… history .”
Oh, tea and crumpet s. He was bringing up the incident . Right now.
The sick churning in my stomach returned. Did I really want to know his answer? It was as terrifying as it was enticing.
“Rejection hurts,” he continued. “It feels a little like a bruise, honestly. Tender for a while, but it heals. Especially when you take care of yourself.” He offered a sad smile. “Heartbreak, on the other hand, is a little more complicated.”
“I bet,” I whispered.
Guilt snaked its way around my ribs, sinking its fangs into my veins until the venom ran hot and acidic. I was the reason he’d gotten his heart broken. I put him through that. When was he going to give me what I deserved?
“What about you? How does rejection make you feel?” he asked. He had a light, teasing lilt to his voice, like he was trying to overcompensate for his vulnerability.
I should know. I do the same thing.
And that was the only reason I didn’t deflect this time.
I gripped the door with white knuckles, my pulse beating wildly against my throat.
How did it feel? How could I possibly convey the way it shut me down, flooded me with the urge to flee, and weighed on me long after it happened?
The concept of moving past it as quickly as a bruise healed felt foreign. So I settled on the best analogy I had.
“It feels like drowning.” I forced a smile, thanked him again, and shut the door on Max Fuentes.