Chapter 40
Chapter
Forty
MAX
Sara’s words still burn in my ears. I think of her eyes dodging mine as she closed the door behind her.
I’ve never met her mother. I was under the impression they had fallen out many years before we met, so I guess they must have made up.
I don’t wish ill on her mother, but Sara’s ‘bad news’ is my ‘good news’.
What will it mean for me? Another stolen week? The staff will be around so it won’t be like how it was these last two weeks, but we will be able to squeeze a few more stolen hours in her bed, and it will give me a bit more time to consider what to do with my relationship with Sara.
The cold coffee on the desk mocks me, and I can no longer remain in the stuffy office. I rise to my feet and walk to the window. I stand looking out and spot Amelia in the garden, crouched by a rose bush. She calls to me like a magnet.
I push through the back door and step onto the patio. Amelia is yanking out a stubborn weed. Her denim shorts are smudged with earth. Her golden hair is tied back, but loose strands cling to her damp neck. Her tank top sticks to her back, outlining the dip of her spine.
For a moment, I watch her move, her fingers deft but fierce, tearing at the roots like she’s fighting something bigger than weeds.
I’m floored by how easily she makes my world tilt, makes every moment sharper, brighter, just by being here.
The sun’s high and blazing, and her cheeks are flushed, a pink glow that makes me want to pull her inside, away from the heat, into my arms.
“Hey,” I call, as I step closer. Gravel crunches under my boots. “It’s brutal out here. Maybe you should wait till the evening? You’re gonna burn. Come inside.” I try to keep it light, but there’s an edge to it, a need to protect her that I can’t hide.
She glances up, her green eyes catching mine, and a soft smile flickers.
“I’m fine. I almost never burn. Don’t you remember?
” Her voice is low, steady, as she brushes dirt from her palms. She stands, wiping her brow with the back of her wrist, leaving a streak of soil, and I want to reach out, to wipe it away, to kiss the spot where it smudges her skin.
But I hold back, my hands fisting at my sides, the air between us thick with everything we’re not saying.
I step closer, the scent of warm earth and her citrus shampoo hitting me, making my pulse race. “Did Sara speak to you?” I ask, my voice low, tight, searching her face for a clue to what’s coming.
Her gaze drops to the pile of weeds at her feet, her fingers twisting together, dirt caught under her nails. “Yeah. She told me she’s going away again next week. Her mom has deteriorated, so she’ll need to be with her for a little while longer. Another week, maybe two.”
Her words trail off, and she goes quiet, her shoulders stiffening, her eyes distant into the horizon like it holds all the answers.
I move closer, close enough to feel the heat of her skin, the faint tremor in her stance. Her nearness is like a spark catching dry grass.
“Amelia,” I say, my voice low, urgent, cracking on her name, “I know this is… heavy. If it’s too much, if it makes you uncomfortable, just tell me. I’ll stop everything—right now, I swear. I’ll keep my hands off you, give you space, whatever you need.”
My throat burns. The words were the ramblings of a desperate man. I’ve never been like this before. Never had to beg. Never wanted to. I swallow hard, my heart hammering with the fear of her pulling away, but also with a selfish hope, a flicker of light that we might have more time.
"I just… When Sara told me, I couldn’t help it. I was happy, thinking we’d get a little longer together, or at the very least have some time to think about a more permanent arrangement between us.”
Her eyes lift, meeting mine, and they’re bright with unshed tears—love, pain, uncertainty. Her smile is small, fragile, but it’s there, and it’s like a flame in my chest, warming me, comforting me.
“I’m not uncomfortable,” she says, her voice trembling, like she’s fighting to hold it together. “It’s not that, Max. I just… I’ve got a deadline breathing down my neck. My publisher’s waiting for paintings, and I’m already behind. It’s a lot to juggle.”
She pauses, her gaze dropping, her fingers brushing the dirt on her shorts, and I see the tug-of-war between her life and this thing we have between us.
“I know,” I say, my voice low, trying to sound certain, for her as much as for me. “But we’ll figure it out. I know we will. We’ll make things happen, no matter the odds.”
"We will," she says and smiles. I embrace her and then get up, eager to help her out before I have to get back to work. I grab a barrow, drag it closer, and begin piling in the weeds she’s pulled. Our hands brush as we work, and the contact is so sweet I have to pause each time to catch my breath.
She laughs, a soft sound, half-joy, half-ache, and it twists something in me, a longing so sharp it steals my breath. “You don’t have to be here,” she murmurs, her eyes flicking to mine, bright with a warmth that makes my pulse skip. “It’s the middle of the work day."
"It’s my lunch break or whatever," I say, and she laughs in response.
The need to touch her grows. I try my best to ignore it. We’re no longer alone, but I truly can’t help myself. I glance around, spot a cluster of shrubs, their leaves thick, shielding us from the house. I pull her behind the foliage, the world falling away.
My fingers cup her face, my thumb brushing the smudge of dirt on her cheek, and I kiss her, soft at first, then deeper.
My lips are hungry, as they taste the salt of her sweat, the faint sweetness of her breath.
She moans, a quiet, trembling sound that sets my blood on fire, her hands gripping my shirt, pulling me closer, her body pressing against mine.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur against her lips, pulling back just enough to meet her eyes, my voice rough, broken. “I couldn’t stop myself. I just… needed to taste your lips again, Amelia.” I search her face, looking for a sign she feels this as deeply as I do.
Her breath is uneven, and her fingers brush my jaw in a comforting gesture. “It’s okay,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “I needed it too, but Sara’s back now, and we have to be more careful. I don’t want to hurt her.”
Reality cuts through, sharp and cold, and I step back, my hands falling to my sides. “Okay. You’re right. Break’s over and I’ve gotta head back to the office. I have back-to-back meetings.”
I hate the words, hate the distance they put between us, but I forced them out anyway.
She nods, though her eyes are shadowed, carrying the same ache I feel. “I’ll be here or in the studio.”
"See you later," I say and turn away.
It is such a battle to walk away. Still, I trudge on. I have to return to the office, I have meetings scheduled that I don’t give a damn about.