Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Harper
Max Dawson in a tuxedo could throw a girl off her game on a good night.
This wasn’t a good night, but I was extra determined not to succumb to the swirl of emotions threatening to swoop in at any moment. Distraction was my friend.
Once I’d set the beautiful flowers from Piper’s store in their vase on the table, I picked up my evening clutch and rejoined Max.
When he met my gaze and smiled, I stopped breathing for a few seconds as I closed the space between us.
He held out his arm, and I looped my hand around it, lightly grasping just above his elbow.
The fabric of his tux was smooth beneath my fingers, and I deduced two things. One, this wasn’t a rental. Two, it was high quality. Though he didn’t flaunt it, Max had money. I knew where he lived; everyone did.
Back when he’d retired from the NFL because of his injury, he’d had a modest home built for his mom and snapped up a prime lakefront lot for himself.
His custom-built home wasn’t a mansion. From the street, it appeared to be a little prettier and bigger than the average Dragonfly Lake home, but there was nothing about it that screamed former-NFL millionaire.
From what little I knew of him personally, that understatedness fit.
But there was no question he’d dropped an above-average sum of money on it, probably in cash.
He walked me to the passenger door of his high-end SUV.
“Nice wheels,” I said. “I like the way the black sparkles.”
“Piper said you like bright colors.”
“True. My car is teal. But you get extra points for sparkles.”
He opened the door and helped me up into the vehicle with a large hand at my elbow. A quarterback’s hand. I might not be wild about the sport, but I could see the appeal in the athlete.
While he walked around to the driver’s side, I closed my eyes and coached myself to ignore the way he looked and—dammit—the way he smelled.
He’s Dakota’s brother, not some Hollywood star. Just a guy who probably leaves the toilet seat up.
“It’s at the Wentworth?” he asked as he slid in. He opened his map app on the dash display.
“Right. It should take us an hour tops, unless we run into traffic.”
He typed in the hotel, and we were on our way.
“I heard your team won last night,” I said.
“We did, by a hair. Could’ve gone either way.”
“Must’ve been some decent coaching.” I grinned at his handsome profile, and he flicked his gaze at me for a second before returning it to the road.
“That or a defensive line that dug deep and kept the other team from scoring last minute.”
“I wonder who inspired them to dig deep,” I teased.
“You didn’t go to the game?”
“Will you kick me out of the car if I admit I’m not a huge fan?”
He surprised me by laughing. “Not at all. It’s refreshing.”
That was an interesting response. “I went to games when I was in school, but it was for the social aspect. I don’t understand the rules, and I don’t like to sit still for that long, particularly once it gets cold.”
“If you ever want to understand the rules, I know a guy.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said. He was easier to talk to than I’d expected. Five minutes in and I could tell he was humble and had a good sense of humor. “Everybody knows your football history, but what I’m dying to know is, why math?”
He looked surprised. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a date ask me about math.”
“Did you choose to teach math or get stuck with it?” I asked.
“I didn’t get stuck with it. I’ve always loved math.”
I raised my brows at this bizarre and too-handsome creature.
“I can tell by your face you don’t love math,” he said.
“I don’t love math. I don’t know many who do.”
“Math is…neat. It has right answers.”
“The problem is finding them,” I joked.
“But you can find them, and then you can prove them, unlike, say, an analysis of literature.”
“I’m with you on that one. I always thought it was presumptuous and pointless to try to figure out what the author meant to say on a deeper level.”
“Because who ever knows,” Max said.
“Exactly. What’s wrong with just enjoying a story because of the plot or the characters?”
“So if you didn’t like math and weren’t a fan of literature, what classes did you like back in the day?”
“That’s such a teacher question.”
“It’s a getting-to-know-you question.”
“You won’t like my answer. I didn’t like any subject. I didn’t like school. Much to my dad’s horror, I wasn’t a good student.”
“We can’t all be good at school,” he said, surprising me. Again. “That must’ve caused some friction between you two?”
“We get along. He takes me to dinner every few weeks. I stop by the house to visit. But he doesn’t understand me, and I’m pretty sure he hates that I’m a server at the diner.”
“He isn’t supportive?”
“He comes in and sits in my section. Leaves me bigger-than-average tips. But it drives him crazy that I haven’t chosen a ‘suitable path’ for my life.”
“Working at the diner can be a path, right?”
I studied him from the side, looking for a sign of insincerity, because that was not what most teachers would say, at least not in my dad’s presence. Max appeared to mean it. What was more, I saw no judgment in his expression.
“It could be, yes,” I answered, more intrigued by this man than I wanted to be.
“But?”
“It’s not mine. I don’t have a path. I don’t want a path. The very word itself is limiting, you know?”
“What do you mean?” he asked, and his tone sounded as if he genuinely wanted to understand, not like he was challenging me.
“Take my older sister, for example. She went to school for a thousand years to become a lawyer. But what if she ends up hating that job?”
“Does she?”
“Not that she’s admitted to me, but admitting it would be hard after so many years and dollars invested into it.”
“A career like that’s a big commitment,” Max agreed.
I made a face. “I’m allergic to commitment.”
He chuckled. “That’s not something I hear a lot on a first date.”
“Only date. No offense. I know you’d never choose to go out with me.”
“Says the girl who only bid on me because of a dare.”
“Because I know you’d never choose to go out with me,” I repeated, keeping my tone light.
“The only reason I wouldn’t choose to go out with you is because your dad is my boss.”
“And your sister is my friend.”
“There’s that too.”
“And yet here we are, and you’re not fired.”
“Only warned.”
“My dad warned you away from me?”
“Not in so many words.”
I bit down on my annoyance because Max didn’t need to hear about that.
“He accused me of fronting you the money to bid on me,” he said.
I whipped my gaze toward him. “He didn’t!”
“To be fair, he was confused that you had so much money to spend on the auction.”
“That’s sort of justified. I don’t normally have five grand lying around.”
“At the risk of asking about one of those off-limits first-date topics—”
“Only date,” I teased.
“I’m starting to get a complex.”
“First time for everything, right?”
He let out a full-chested laugh. For some reason, I found that gratifying. I liked making him laugh.
I never would’ve thought I’d be comfortable teasing Max Dawson on a date, but I was.
Whenever I saw him around town or in the hallways back when I was in school, he seemed unapproachable, as if he had a protective shield around him.
As if he hid behind a sort of public persona and didn’t let people see the real him.
This guy? The one in the seat next to me? I wasn’t getting those same vibes. The things this Max said seemed more personable, more…real.
“What off-limits topic were you going to ask about?” I asked.
“The money you used to bid on me…” He hesitated. “You said it was a story for another day. I’ve been curious ever since.”
“Ah.” I nodded once and steeled myself. “How well did you know Naomi?”
“I didn’t. She didn’t go to Dragonfly Lake High, right?”
“She was from Runner. Her whole life was about art and especially sharing it with others. The experience, I mean. She did sell a lot of her paintings and other creations, but the thing that lit her up was getting people involved in art. Especially kids.”
“She’s responsible for us getting art classes back in the high school,” he said. “Even after she died.”
I couldn’t help but smile at that, even though harder emotions were bubbling up—they’d been threatening all day, getting closer to the surface with every hour as the gala approached.
“She’d be euphoric over that.” I sniffled involuntarily, which drew Max’s gaze to me.
“I’m fine,” I reassured him, cringing that I’d let that sniffle escape.
“Anyway, she had an envelope where she stashed cash. Her house and land were paid for. She lived frugally and saved whatever she could in her envelope, always with a cause in mind.” I stopped for a minute to brace myself further.
“When she was in the hospital and the infection was getting worse instead of better, I think she sensed what was coming. She told me where her envelope was, how much was in it, and that she wanted it to go to the Dragonfly Lake fundraiser. She actually put it in writing that that money was a gift for me to donate.”
My eyes teared up as I remembered that conversation, remembered insisting she would be okay and that the discussion was a waste of her energy. My breath was shaky, and I dabbed at the corners of my eyes with my finger, hoping to avoid raccoon eyes before I stood up in front of hundreds of people.
Max reached across the console, put his hand on my wrist, and squeezed gently, supportively. “You did what she asked of you, and you added your own bit of Harper flair to it.”
I laughed through my tears. “I bought a boy with it. Naomi would absolutely approve.”
Max’s laugh filled the SUV again. He took his hand away before it could start to feel awkward. “She sounds like a special person.”
“She was incredible,” I said. “Unselfish. And now we need to talk about something different because I cannot stand up and accept her award and bawl like a baby.”