Chapter 6
Chapter six
Aubrey
The raindrops fall in cute little plops as I navigate my car down the dirt drive toward the one-room cabin that Sara's brother, Jett, recommended. Hard to believe they’re the start of a storm that has the whole mountainside preparing to hunker down for the weekend.
I look at the clock. Jett warned me to get here before evening, as the road can get washed out in severe storms.
Even though Candy had to practically lock me out of the bakery last night, I'm getting a little excited about my weekend away.
A few days with limited cell service and no chores, errands, or worries.
The last five episodes of my show are downloaded on my laptop, along with a ton of movies I've been meaning to watch, and I stocked up on baking supplies to test a bunch of recipes.
You can take the girl out of the kitchen, but you can't take the kitchen out of the girl. Or something like that.
I’m resolved to enjoy my forced time-out.
Candy's right. I need a vacation, and I also need to let her do the job I hired her for. Ideally, she’ll run the retail-facing side of the bakery so I can focus on the wholesale and product side.
I've already networked with local restaurants to provide some of their weekly dessert specials, and I'd like to explore the possibility of shipping items nationwide. But I’ll never get there if I refuse to hand over the reins and trust my brilliant friend to do her job.
Well, look at that. Not even through the front door, and I'm already having life-changing revelations.
My mental happy dance is short-lived, as the moment I've been obsessively ignoring for days comes screaming to my prefrontal cortex.
What about Max and the almost-kiss?
Awesome. Now that I've figured out my plans for work, I have the entire weekend to agonize over what happened in Sara and Hayes' kitchen.
Goody.
After I refused to let him kiss me, I hightailed it out of Sara's house like my ass was on fire—kicking myself the entire way for saying no, but I had to.
I have no interest in becoming one of the many women throwing themselves at Max.
And I'm certainly not going to make a fool of myself by letting him kiss me, then go back to him glaring at me every morning.
I sigh. Rational logic certainly hasn't stopped me from imagining the moment going a different way over the last few days. Did I mention the multiple vibrators I brought as part of my weekend essentials?
The check-in instructions tell me to park by the garage at the back of the cabin, but I want to unload my baking supplies first, so I pull up parallel to the front door.
As I get out of the car, I glance at my surroundings, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
Sara was right. It's isolated up here, and every horror film I've ever watched suddenly flashes before my eyes.
Isolated cabin. Check.
Spotty cell service. Check.
Doe-eyed girl willingly setting herself up to be murdered. Damn it.
I hoist my bags in my arms and trudge up the front steps. Fumbling with my phone, I enter the code into the keypad. I bend over, backing into the cabin butt first, so I can drag the heavy bags of baking supplies inside.
Why does it smell like a spring meadow in here?
As I turn, the glint of a knife is the first thing I see, followed by the hulking figure of a man.
"AHHHHHHhhhhhhhhgh!"
I scream and drop to the floor. It's my only defensive move, but it used to work wonders on my older brothers, so my instinct kicks in as I prepare to use my heel on the balls of any would-be attacker.
I gasp when familiar hazel eyes stare down at me. Strong arms suddenly loop around my waist, helping me to a standing position.
"You aren't supposed to be here yet." Max's deep voice stuns me back to the moment.
I drop my purse and phone on the little dining table to the left of the door before slamming my hands on my hips. "I'm not supposed to be here? You aren't supposed to be here at all, Max!"
The man who always acts like I'm inconveniencing him is standing in my rental cabin holding a knife like a fucking psychopath. He's lucky I didn't shit myself in terror.
Max's eyes widen as he suddenly realizes he's holding a knife. He tosses it on the countertop before lifting his hands in surrender. "No, no. I was trying to surprise you. Shit. I'm sorry."
My heart squeezes unexpectedly because he sounds so miserable.
My eyes roam over his gray sweatpants and fitted white t-shirt.
Why does he always look so good? I'll bet he can do the sexy, one-handed shirt move.
I rarely catch a glimpse of him out of his work clothes, but casual Max is a truly yummy sight to behold.
My steamy thoughts are immediately interrupted as my brain comes out of flight or fight mode and back to the regular anxiety-riddled comfort zone I live in.
What the hell is going on? Why is Max here?
"What—" I gasp as I look around and finally take everything in.
I have no words.
There must be fifty vases filled with flowers tucked into every corner of the room.
It looks like Max was busy cutting stems off another three dozen.
Soft light flickers from a hundred different candles nestled between the bouquets.
A bucket filled with what looks like frozen rose ice cubes sits on the coffee table, with a bottle of my favorite champagne chilling inside.
"They're battery-operated," Max says, shifting from foot to foot as my confused gaze returns to his. "The candles, I mean. I wouldn't risk open flames."
I stare at him, my mouth open. Words have escaped me entirely.
"I, um, I wasn't planning to be here when you saw this. I mean, I’m always happy to see you, but, um, I underestimated how long it would take to set everything up." Max rubs the back of his neck as his cheeks turn red. "And now I'm babbling. I'm sorry."
I swallow hard and force words out of my mouth. "What... is going on?"
He clears his throat as he walks toward me, his eyes darting to my mouth before snapping back to my eyes. If he asks to kiss me again, I'm going to say yes. Self-respect is overrated.
But he's silent for so long that I'm afraid he’s going to walk away like he has so many times before. I try to summon rational thought into my lust-filled brain, but his next words obliterate any and all remnants of logic.
"I'm in love with you."
My entire body warms from the inside out.
System crash, my brain screams. Please reboot.
"But—I—you h-hate me," I stammer, terrified that this is a prank or a way of getting me back for turning him down. I want to check the vases for cameras, but the look in his eyes locks me in place.
Max shakes his head. "I've been in love with you for a year, Aubrey, and I'm a complete asshole for not telling you.
The day I met you, my heart found its match.
I didn't believe it or didn't want to believe it.
Either way, I'm a fool. And I wanted to show you what you deserved, whether you return my affections or not. But I hope you do."
He gestures at everything in the cabin, and that's when I see the trail of rose petals leading to the bathroom.
I stare at him in awe. This moment is more romantic and perfect than anything I could have ever imagined.
"I'll draw you a bath before I leave. I'll let you have your weekend to relax, but I'd love to take you to dinner the first night you're free when you get back."
"You're leaving?" Disappointment and panic claw at my heart.
I step toward him, swallowing hard as I place my hand on his chest. He shivers when I touch him, his heart racing beneath my palm.
"The roads aren't safe,” I murmur. “You need to stay here tonight."
The muscle in Max's cheek twitches as his arm wraps around my waist. "I'll sleep on the couch. I can get out of here first thing in the morning. As soon as it's safe."
We're so close that our breath mingles.
"I don't think I'll be safe up here all by myself," I whisper.
His eyes are glued to my lips. "Then I won't leave until you do."
I've already turned him down once before, so I take the initiative. Lifting onto my tiptoes, I plant my mouth to his, moaning as I taste him for the first time. I’m sure that heart emojis are showering down upon my head as the man I've wanted for twelve months kisses me back like he owns me.
Like he's claiming me. A rush of desire soaks my panties, and a desperate whimper of need escapes my throat.
He pulls back to look at me, his hazel eyes asking a question.
"Yes," I whisper, hoping he understands that I'm going to allow him to do a whole hell of a lot more than kiss me this time. "Yes."