Chapter 17 #2
“No, Daisy, it’s not,” he said, his eyes boring into mine. “It’s hard to miss something you never wanted.” And then he shut off the engine, stopping my heart for a beat along with it.
Maybe it was the clear, starry night, but the house looked like something straight out of a dream.
The two-story home was wrapped in serene blue-gray siding, its dark metal roof so clean and reflective it made the house look like it was topped with a blanket of stars. I was still taking in the size of the home and the two-car garage when Max opened my door.
“You okay?”
“Did you build this?” I asked as he helped me down, wishing I could hold on to the warmth of his fingers for a little longer.
“No,” Max said with a shake of his head, following me as I walked along the covered pathway between the garage and house that led to the back—and the view.
“It was new construction when I bought it. I was casually looking in the area because the store was opening up, and we’d just opened a main hub in Portland, and as soon as I saw this… ”
The path led to an expansive deck along the back of both structures with a view open to the ocean, the dark water lulling against the shoreline somewhere in the near distance.
To sit here as the sun came up every morning…I blinked, and in that fraction of a second, I saw myself exactly where I stood, but watching my daughter play in the yard in front of me.
“It’s perfect.” Too perfect, just like everything else about him. My husband.
“Yeah.”
I turned quickly at his strained voice, catching his equally strained expression as he stared at me. Not the view.
“Come on.” He cocked his head back toward the truck. “Let’s go inside.”
For the next ten minutes, my dream man led me on a tour of my dream home.
The inside of the house was a modern open floor plan.
Rustic beams. A state-of-the-art kitchen.
And windows. I hadn’t even noticed them when I was outside, too overwhelmed with the view—a view that could overwhelm me from the inside too.
“This house is amazing, Max,” I repeated, though it was pointless. He was selling it.
“Make yourself at home,” came his muffled reply as he turned back down the hallway toward the front door to grab my bags from the truck.
At home. God, if this were my home…
Even if I thought Max would let me help him unload my stuff, I found myself wanting a few secluded moments to explore this space. His space.
He’d left me at the invisible joint between the dining room and the kitchen, so I turned to the kitchen first, trailing my fingers along the island countertop as I went through it, half-expecting the whole building to vanish the second I didn’t have a hold on it.
From there, I moved into the living room, the sofas in front of the fireplace suddenly registering that the house seemed completely furnished.
“Daisy?”
I looked up and saw Max standing at the end of the island, holding two huge duffels I’d filled with my things.
“The furniture…is it here to stage the house for buyers?” I asked, making my way to him.
“Yeah.” He loosely swung one arm toward the staircase. “Let me take you to your room.”
My attention lingered over the rich leather couches and then moved to the craftsman table and chairs. I slowed on the steps, staring at the dining chairs. They looked familiar.
I turned to ask if Jamie had made them, but he was too far ahead of me now to hear.
Cresting the stairs, I followed the hall to the only open door ahead of me, which led into the room I quickly assumed was the master bedroom.
The rustic wood four-poster bed dominated the space, but in a way that made it feel safe rather than imposing.
The windows overlooked the same view of the coast from downstairs, and there was also a sliding door that opened out to a small deck.
Max set the bags on the bench abutting the foot of the bed. “Bathroom is through there. Closet through there,” he pointed to the two other doors in the room. “Unpack everything.” That command was a little harsher, but instead of feeling abrasive, I only shivered with warmth.
Since when did I enjoy taking orders? I wondered, running my fingers along the comforter. Since Max Hamilton started giving them to me.
“This is all your furniture?”
His jaw flexed. “Yeah,” he said and shrugged. “Nowhere to move it to, and Aria said it would help sell the house. I told her if the potential buyers are interested, I’m willing to sell the furniture with the house too. Everything but the dining set and my…this bed.”
“Jamie made them.”
“How’d you know?”
“The chairs look like the ones at your aunt’s house.” Max smiled then, making it even clearer how much tension he was holding. Because of me. Because I was here. “Max, you don’t have to give me your room—”
“Hasn’t been my room for months, Daisy. Now it’s yours.”
I had no will to argue. Not when this bed was looking more and more amazing by the second. “Which room will you take?”
His throat worked to swallow. “There’s a fourth bedroom off the kitchen downstairs.”
Downstairs. It made sense. Of course, it did. It was closer to any and all entrances and exits to the house…and it was as far away as possible from me. Safer from every angle. So why was the only thing I felt disappointment?
“Okay.” I nodded.
“These should be your clothes.” He patted each duffel. “I’m going to bring the rest of the bags inside and then hop in the shower. Do you need anything?”
My jaw slackened. Yes. I needed to not be left with the mental image of my naked husband showering on the floor below. Or the memory of my almost mother-in-law tracking me down and threatening me and my baby.
“No, thanks. You…I’m good,” I managed to choke out, walking to the window and staring blankly out at the invisible horizon.
I felt the tears welling. The sadness. The anger.
I hated when it happened like this, the way a tsunami pulled the ocean away from the shore before unleashing devastation.
I hated how my emotions retreated after Max sent Mrs. McCormick packing.
How we’d eaten and packed up my things, and the whole time, I’d felt fine.
I’d thought I was handling it fine. Now, I saw the cresting devastation as it hurtled toward me.
So I closed my eyes and braced for the onslaught, but instead of the cold desolation I’d been expecting, it was a wave of heat that hit me first.
It was the scent of him, floral and spice, flooding my nostrils. The proximity of his size and the way it set my body on edge. Threatening, but in a way that made me ache for it. For him. And I tried to tamp it down. For how long had I tried to tamp it down?
I didn’t need to open my eyes to see where he stood, and for too many seconds to count, all he did was stand behind me. Maybe he was waiting for me to look at him, to say something. But what was there to say?
“Daze.” His hand curled over my shoulder, and then the tsunami hit.
Tears coursed down my cheeks, overflowing through closed eyelids like the watery drops were made solely of what-ifs and what-could-have-beens. I wished I could stop them. I wished I could have held them back until Max had gone.
There were no what-ifs when it came to Todd.
Not anymore. The moment I read his note the morning we were supposed to be married, I realized I’d been clinging to what-ifs with Todd for four years.
What if he didn’t mean it? What if he wanted to change?
What if he was really changing this time?
What if he truly loved me, and that was why he hadn’t given up on us yet, even though he never seemed happy?
There was no wondering what if he’d shown up to our wedding.
I didn’t wonder. I didn’t hope. I didn’t want.
And I wasn’t crying over what had happened with him or his mother. I was overwhelmed by what was happening with Max and everything that could’ve happened differently if only one thing had changed.
What if it hadn’t been Todd I’d left the coffee shop with four years ago, but Max?
“Daisy…” The ragged texture of Max’s voice made the first sob break free. With a deep rumble, I felt myself being spun and clutched to Max’s solid chest, swallowed up in the fortress of his protection.
His possession.
And then the sobs broke free. Heavy rolling waves of sadness.
Not for Todd or because of his mom, but for me.
Because I was too stubborn, believing I was too smart and too cautious to end up in a bad relationship.
So stubborn, how, at every sign, I sacrificed accepting what was true in pursuit of proving I was right.
I wanted to be right about Todd. I didn’t want to accept that my first serious relationship was a failure.
I didn’t want my daughter to grow up without both parents.
When my breaths started to hiccup, Max tightened his hold, one hand on the back of my head, the other on my low back. “It’s going to be okay,” Max said, his fingers lightly rubbing my scalp, the prickle of sensation reaching all the way down to my toes.
I didn’t open my eyes. Couldn’t. For some reason, I could face him the day my fiancé had left me at the altar, but this…
this was different. That day I’d been a victim, but tonight, I was vulnerable.
My raw, obstinate, and pitiable heart was laid bare in front of the man I’d always wanted.
The man who’d given me in a matter of weeks what Todd hadn’t been able to manage in four years. The what-if I should’ve chosen.
And that was what made this worse. Anger shook through me, giving more force to my cries. Anger at myself because I knew better. Because I could’ve chosen better. Because I had a better choice and I didn’t take it.
Max slid his hand to my cheek and tried to tip my head, but I pressed deeper into his chest, drowning in his scent. “Daze, look at me.”