Chapter 11 Maya
Maya
She sat on the porch swing, feet tucked beneath her like she could fold herself small enough to disappear.
The afternoon air was warm, already edging toward humid, but Maya hadn’t moved from her spot. She couldn’t stand in that kitchen, pretending that she wasn’t thinking thoughts about her parents' favorite neighborhood kid.
So she just sat there, staring across the quiet street, spiraling about something else.
She was a good daughter, right?
Maya sent birthday cards. Transferred money when they needed it. Asked Simone to order groceries for delivery. Bought her mother that hair steamer last Christmas and showed George how to use the mobile deposit on his phone.
She was a good daughter.
But she hadn’t remembered their anniversary party.
Not until last night, when Teddy mentioned it like it was common knowledge. Like he’d actually read the texts she sometimes skimmed.
To be fair, the family group chat was so active that she’d silenced the notifications months ago…
But she hadn’t even checked it.
Because she was too busy writing. Too busy marketing her backlist. Too busy chasing preorder numbers like they were oxygen.
She and Nate texted every week, sure. He made it easy. Short bursts of stupid memes or the occasional voice note when he was bored from grading History exams. Their rhythm felt effortless.
Her parents were different.
They called. They emailed. They waited.
And sometimes… she forgot to answer.
Because she was tired. Or on deadline. Or stuck inside her head, spinning plot threads tighter and tighter until there was no room for anything else.
And now Theo Ward was in her parents’ kitchen, charming the hell out of them like he hadn’t almost talked her out of her panties the night before.
Like she hadn’t read the dirtiest scenes of her career into a mic while he stood behind her, listening intently.
Maya closed her eyes and took a slow breath. Her fingers were tight around the armrest as her jaw clenched.
Theo looked so comfortable in there.
He always had, hadn’t he? Her parents loved him. From the moment Nate brought him home from school with a crooked smile and big eyes. Nadine had fed him like she was auditioning for sainthood. George had taught him how to drive.
And now?
He was fixing Bluetooth speakers and bringing peach scones like he hadn’t turned her insides inside-out.
Maya pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead.
This was fine.
Everything was fine.
She just needed to breathe.
And maybe remember who she was before a thirty-year-old Theo Ward stepped into her life with that voice and those forearms.
She was in the middle of a regret spiral, contemplating the pros and cons of deleting her entire author platform and moving to another country, when the front door creaked open behind her.
She didn’t need to look. Maya had felt him before he said anything.
“Thought you could use one.”
Theo stood at the edge of the porch, holding a small white plate like it was a peace offering. Or a trap. A single peach scone sat in the middle.
She stared at it, then at him.
“You’re weaponizing baked goods now?”
He had the audacity to grin. “It was Nadine’s idea. Not a marriage proposal.”
Her face burned. “You’re so chummy with my nosy mother, aren’t you?”
“Really chummy. I’ve already caught up on the neighborhood and church gossip.”
Maya narrowed her eyes at him a second longer, then reached out and took the plate.
Their fingers brushed.
She stiffened from the brief contact, just enough for her to notice. Probably enough for him to notice too.
Maya shifted on the swing to make space, and he sat.
Long legs stretched out. One arm hooked over the backrest, behind her but not touching, like it was a natural gesture.
She took a small bite of the scone just to keep her mouth occupied.
Theo stayed quiet, too.
He just let the silence fill up between them until she couldn’t take it anymore.
“You’re really comfortable, huh?”
Theo glanced at her, eyebrows lifted. “I’ve always liked this porch swing.”
She gave him a deadpan look. “You’re acting like you’re not freaked about last night.”
“I’m fine,” he said, scratching at his dark scruff. “But… we might as well get it all out in the open, Maya.”
She huffed a dry laugh before stuffing more scone in her mouth. “Right.”
“Contrary to what your mother said, I could be into older women.”
Maya’s head snapped toward him so fast, the swing shifted under them.
He didn’t flinch, just flashed her a boyish grin.
She swallowed. “You know she was joking, right?”
Theo tilted his head. “I’m not.”
Of course he had to be like this.
Soft-voiced and thoughtful and somehow earnest while saying the most ridiculous shit she’d ever heard.
She set the half-eaten scone back on the plate.
“This is dangerous.”
Theo leaned back a little. “What is?”
“This,” she said, motioning vaguely between them. “This banter. This vibe. This… porch-swing bullshit. It’s a slippery slope.”
“To what?”
“To something we shouldn’t be doing.”
He raised a brow. “Go ahead and lay your cards on the table, Maya. Let me know what I shouldn’t be doing.”
She almost laughed.
This wasn’t how men usually flirted with her. Not anymore.
Men her age were exhausted by ex-wives, by kids, by the idea of starting over.
A lot of them wanted to sneak around on the partners they had, with someone easy and pliable.
Some were titillated by her work, believing she was writing fantasies made for them, until they realized she wasn’t like her work.
She was often exhausted by late-night edits, cranky from stress migraines, or quietly breaking down when her plots were going nowhere and she desperately needed sleep.
But Theo?
He seemed to like that she was sharp. That she was snippy. That she took up space.
And that made it worse.
Because underneath the professional boundaries and self-protective sarcasm, there was this dangerous truth she didn’t want to confront:
She kinda liked him.
“You want my cards?” she asked, sitting up straighter. Growing irritated that he was being more mature than she felt.
“Sure.”
“First of all, I hired you. I know it’s a short job, but I shouldn’t be fooling around with the guy I’m paying.”
“Probably.”
Frustrated, Maya tried again. “And I’m not sure how you remember me all those years ago, but I don’t think I’m that woman anymore.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to be,” he said in an easy voice. “I know I’m not the same man.”
“Yeah, well… At forty-five, I feel more brittle, cynical, and very close to burning out,” she admitted. “I’m currently tracking perimenopausal symptoms like itchy ears and night sweats. I struggle with 1099 tax forms and have to make an effort to add more fiber to my diet.
“You were a baby when I started college,” Her voice tightened. “You’re my little brother’s best friend. You should follow his lead: marry an awesome, age-appropriate woman and have an adorable son who’s obsessed with dinosaurs.”
That made him smile gently. “It’s sharks now.”
She rolled her eyes but kept going. “People already treat romance like it’s not serious.
Like it’s fluff. But I’m serious about my career.
I didn’t get this far just to fuck up. And if people found out I was messing around with the narrator of my own audiobook—especially you?
—it wouldn’t be sexy. It would be amateurish. It would be a joke.”
She stopped.
Her throat felt tight. Her fingers were clenched in her lap.
Theo didn’t say anything right away.
He just looked at her with those maddening, quietly intense eyes and nodded again. Like he understood. Like he didn’t need to argue to make his point.
Then, after a long beat, he spoke softly. “Okay. I’ll behave.”
Maya frowned, not expecting that zen-like response. “What do you mean ‘okay’? Just like that?”
Theo matched her frown. “I’m doing what you asked, Maya.”
“You’re not supposed to just agree with me like I’m the boss of you!”
He stared at her, incredulous. “You just gave me a TED Talk about professionalism and age-gaps. What did you want me to do? Fight you on it?”
“Yes!” she snapped, then immediately winced. “No. I don’t—ugh, I don’t know!”
He was laughing now. Full-on laughing, low and breathy, shaking his head like she’d just knocked something loose in his brain.
Maya stood up, flustered, brushing nonexistent crumbs off her shorts. “Forget it.”
“Done,” he said, scrubbing his hands down his face.
“I hate you.”
“You don’t. We’re not following the enemies-to-lovers trope.”
She glared at him. “You’re making this very hard.”
“I’m making it easy, actually. You said stop. I stopped. Now I’m a well-behaved freelance narrator with a warm scone and no agenda.”
She stared at him, jaw tight.
“You’re the worst.”
He raised his mug in a lazy toast. “See you at the mic, Brooks.”
She didn’t move.
Didn’t head inside.
Maya just stood there, plate in one hand, the other curled into a fist like she might use it.
Theo watched her, still lounging like a smug little shit, sipping his coffee with perfectly acceptable behavior.
“You’re seriously just… fine with this?”
He raised an eyebrow. “You said stop.”
“But you didn’t push back!”
“That’s called listening, Maya.”
She made a strangled noise and sat back down beside him, not gracefully. “God, this is so stupid.”
“Agreed.”
“I don’t know what I want.”
“That’s evident.”
“But I do know that you’re like, a whole generation younger than me, and you have a whole… face.”
Theo blinked. “A face?”
She gestured wildly. “That thing you do with it! The smirking! And the voice, paired with a 5 o’clock shadow of a man! And the casual, 'lays your cards on the table' crap. You can’t just go around saying shit like that to women who haven’t been laid in nearly five—”
She cut herself off by slapping a hand over her mouth.
He just stared.
“I didn’t mean to say that,” she muttered through her palm.
Theo set his coffee down slowly. “Oh?”
“I hate this.”
“I can tell,” he said with a raised brow. His eyes were flitting over her body with renewed curiosity, she didn’t want to indulge. But she kinda did.
“I hate you.”
“You said that already.”
She groaned and leaned her head back against the swing, eyes closed. “You were basically feral when I met you. And now I’m sitting on a porch wondering what your hands can do.”
Theo, bless him, made a sound that was half-laugh, half-suffering. “I was not feral.”
“You used body spray instead of showering.”
“That was one time.”
“You wore shorts and flip-flops to Thanksgiving.”
“All White boys from the Midwest wear shorts in the fall.”
Maya stared at him with pursed lips.
He stared back with a wide grin.
Neither of them looked away.
Finally, Theo tilted his head. “You’re thinking about my hands?” he asked.
“Shut up.”
He didn’t shut up. Instead, he raised a brow. “Five months or five years?”
Maya let out a small growl as she launched herself off the swing and headed toward the front door. She didn’t feel forty-five anymore, not when she was clearly acting like a teenager.
“I’ll see you at your place tonight, but right now?” She pointed her plate at the interior of the house. “Stay behaved, you hear?”
She didn’t stick around long enough to hear another one of his quips.