Chapter 23 Nola #2
“Don’t be mad but I made her a tween cave.”
“A tween cave?”
“You know, like a man cave, but instead of being in the basement, it’s upstairs in the loft space, with a couch and a TV.
Hung some lights and put a sign on the little table that said it was an area for Emma only.
Her bedroom is right next to it and I thought it’d give us a little privacy while letting her feel like this house is also hers. ”
I bite my lip, unsure how to respond to his thoughtfulness.
Then I turn and see the kitchen nook, devoid of the usual table.
In its place is an easel and blank canvas.
Pointing at it with my mouth agape, Max gives me a shy smile.
“And that’s your space,” he says. “The morning light is really good and I know I’m only here for a month right now, but I wanted you two to like visiting me.
And want to visit me after the season’s over. ”
“Max.” I finally am able to get one word out. Closing the gap between us, I lightly place a hand on his chest and kiss his lips. “You’re incredible.”
He leans in to kiss me again and I sense him wince. “Mmm, want to do lots of that, but I need to lie down.” He goes over to the oversized plush couch and eases himself down, propping his head on what looks to be an uncomfortable throw pillow.
“Want me to help you go upstairs into your room?” I ask.
“No.” He closes his eyes. “I want to spend time with the two of you. I’ll be okay.”
“I’m going to go check on Emma and then I’ll be back.” Upstairs I find his bedroom, a large and clean space. This doesn’t surprise me since he’s tidy at my house too. I love seeing this glimpse into him in his own space.
There are two pictures on the midcentury-style dresser. One is Stella and I’m guessing her late husband, Nicholas. They’re younger and holding hands, sitting on a blanket at the beach with three kids. Max has shaggy hair and is gangly limbs, braces, and bad style. My lips quirk up at the sight.
The other picture is a copy of the same one Jen gave me after the Harvest Festival.
He looks the part of an overly egotistical, if not grumpy, Jack Sparrow.
Next to him stands a very unimpressed parrot.
I was such a buzzkill that night, and there’s no point in saying I’d do anything differently, knowing what I do about him now, because he’d made me mad for Emma’s sake.
We’ve come a long way in a few months. Having overstayed my nosy welcome, I grab a light throw blanket and pillow off the bed.
In his closet, I find a pair of joggers and a concert t-shirt from The Killers to add to my pile.
Emma’s room is down the hall. Max was right. That tween cave definitely has Emma’s name written all over it. Her bedroom is just as fun and welcoming. I’ll be hard-pressed to get her on the flight home in a few days.
She stands in the middle of the room, next to her queen-sized bed, and throws her arms out. “Look at this! It’s so much bigger than my room at home and Max got me an egg chair! I’ve got to FaceTime Reese later. She’s going to be so jealous.”
I sigh, letting the creeping thought come back—how long can this last?
Why have I dragged Emma into this and allowed her to get wrapped up in the idea of us being a family, this home being ours, and Max being a permanent figure in our lives?
It’s been a long day and I can’t face that hard conversation right now.
“You need to thank Max for everything he’s done to make you feel at home, okay, kiddo? ”
“You call me monkey, Mom. Max calls me kid or kiddo.” She laughs like I’ve made a silly goof and how dare I. “Can I go swimming?”
“Yeah. Let’s feed you some pr—”
“Protein, yes, yes, always with the protein.” She rolls her eyes.
“Hey, when you’re a mom, you’ll get it and you’ll thank me.” I bump her with my hip. “I need to get Max situated and then I’ll go out and lifeguard you.”
“You’re not going to swim with me?”
“Is that what you want?” I’m surprised. She’s outgrown me in so many ways the last two years, but I love when she lobs me a softball like this and wants me to be a part of her world.
“Yes!” she huffs, as if duh, I should be able to read her mind.
I give her a smile and follow her down the stairs. “Okay, bossy.”
Max, in his continued hospitality, stocked the fridge with our same favorites from home, so I set Emma to work finding her own dinner while I read through the text from the team doctor and work on getting Max set up in the living room.
“Hmmm,” I say, furrowing my brow as I tuck the phone into my back pocket.
He looks concerned. “What do you need? We can do a delivery order for whatever I’m missing.”
“The doctor didn’t say anything in his instructions about playing non-stop Roy Orbison to help you recover. I’m just not sure I can trust a guy who doesn’t prescribe that.”
Max puts a hand to his head and stops himself from laughing. “Don’t be funny right now, please. My head is killing me.”
Emma cries from her perch at the counter. “Ah! Reese is calling! I’ll be back!” She flies up the stairs without glancing back.
I set a few things on the coffee table across from Max, who rubs his temple in slow circles. “Hey. Are you low-key making fun of Stella with that reference?”
“Maybe. But I do feel like Roy’s your family’s calling card. There’s something comforting in that and a part of me is envious you have that.” Standing in front of him, I hold out my hands and help him to his feet. “Let’s change you. I think you’ll feel better if you’re not in polyester.”
I reach for the hem of his uniform top and carefully slide it up his sides, over his rib cage, and guide his arms straight into the air to remove the piece. Once it’s off, my eyes don’t maintain professional conduct, and they drop to his broad chest.
His breaths quicken as I take in his muscles, toned in all the right places.
He’s not ripped, not married to the gym the way he probably once was, but he’s in shape.
Sculpted. Light chest hair trails across his pecs and down his torso.
I swallow hard. This is the most intimate thing we’ve done, and he’s concussed.
Regardless, I blush so fast I can feel the heat radiating off my face like the evening after a bad sunburn.
Max watches me in amusement. “You think I’m gorgeous—”
“Yeah, and what if I do?” His quoting taunt stops and it’s his turn to pink at the cheeks.
My breathing quickens as I discard the top to the floor, reaching my arm behind me to grab the concert t-shirt from the pile I’d left on the coffee table.
“Marry me,” he whispers.
I chuckle and run my hand through his hair. “According to the state of Idaho, I already have, Maxford.”
“Let’s do it for real, Nola.” He’s being earnest. “Let’s plan a real wedding and invite all our friends and family. No contract from Stella’s lawyers, no timeline. I want forever with you.”