Chapter 23
Comfort and Cornbread
Max
Later.
The word keeps looping in my head.
Later.
The way he said it wasn’t a suggestion. It wasn’t flirtation, either.
It was a promise sharpened into a warning, wrapped in restraint so tight it almost vibrated.
And yeah, I’m more than a little disappointed that he is so restrained.
Controlled. Anyone with a pulse would be.
But disappointment isn’t the loudest thing I feel.
It’s awareness.
Eli doesn’t lose control. Not often. Even when he’s furious. Even when his jaw is tight enough to crack teeth and his eyes look like he’s deciding whether someone deserves mercy. He holds the line. Which somehow makes the promise of later more dangerous.
And sexy as shit.
But I didn’t miss the way he looked like he was one bad second away from murdering his own employee when I was outside laughing with him. That wasn’t just jealousy or irritation. That was a man on the edge of snapping.
And it made me want him more.
Later.
There’s a knock at the door.
“Come in,” Eli calls, already back in Business Bear mode like nothing just happened.
Lara steps in, poised and polished, but also seems aware she’s walked in on something… fragile. “Just a reminder. You’ve got a meeting in five minutes. And we’re still on for the team lunch afterward.”
“Thanks,” he says. “We’ll be there.”
She nods, eyes flicking briefly to me before she leaves.
Team lunch.
Good. Perfect, actually.
As a consultant, regardless of what the project is, getting to know someone’s team is just as important as learning the business itself.
A company can’t reach its full potential if it doesn’t have a strong team supporting its growth.
This is a phase that usually takes weeks and is being crushed into a few hours, but this isn’t a step I’m willing to skip.
I want context. The rhythm of a place. And if I’m going to help Eli sell his vision, I need to understand the people behind it.
Eli and Lara head out together, talking logistics, and I’m left alone in his office with my thoughts and a nervous buzz that hasn’t settled since I first got here.
I pull out my phone and call my mom.
Straight to voicemail.
That isn’t like her.
I try again. Nothing.
My chest tightens in that familiar, unwanted way. I don’t know why but I call my sister, hoping she’s around for a change.
No answer.
Okay. No. Absolutely not.
I start calling neighbors. Friends. Anyone whose number I have saved under in case of emergency. Ten minutes pass in a blur of unanswered calls and rising panic, my mind sprinting ahead to worst-case scenarios.
Finally, my phone rings.
“Maxine,” my mom says cheerfully.
“Mommy,” I exhale. “Where are you? I was worried sick!”
“Out grocery shopping with Justine,” she says. “You know that grocery store is underground so sometimes the signal is bad.”
I blink. “With…Justine?”
“Yes, baby. She offered.”
I don’t know what to do with that information. Shock fights relief, and relief wins by a mile.
“Oh,” I say. “Okay. I—wow.”
She laughs. “You sound surprised.”
“I am,” I admit. And I hate that it’s true.
“Well, don’t be. I’m fine. She’s fine. And now I’m about to put on a pot of greens.”
I shake my head, smiling. “Okay, Mommy.”
“Justine just walked in,” she says as I’m about to hang up. “You want to talk to her?”
“No,” I answer quickly. “That’s okay. I’m just glad you’re good.”
She doesn’t push. She never does. We say our goodbyes, and the line goes quiet.
Justine and I have a strange relationship, one that has always existed in a gray area.
My mother has spent years keeping the peace by saying nothing at all, allowing us to remain at each other’s throats.
Maybe it’s the age gap. Maybe it’s the fact that she has moved through life expecting privilege, and I resent her for it—the way she was granted choices I never had as the eldest, the one burdened by default with cleaning up her messes.
She exists in my life as my sister, but I’ve never figured out how to make her anything more than that. She is a permanent fixture, but she has never been a friend. But her showing up for our mother was a nice surprise. Perhaps a way for us to begin bridging the gap in our relationship.
Maybe people can surprise you.
Maybe they can change.
Maybe, on rare occasions, they show up when you least expect it.
I exhale and dial Timantha next.
No answer.
I stare at the screen for a second, then let out a small laugh.
Fine.
Maybe this is God telling me to relax and stop trying to manage everything. To let people handle their own lives the way Timantha’s been preaching for months.
I stand, straighten my sweater, and open the camera app on my phone. Positioning myself in front of the window where towering buildings are framed by snow-capped mountains, I snap a selfie and post it immediately. I don’t even pause to add a filter.
Before closing the app, I notice Nyles has been tagged in a photo with a woman. I smile, wondering if she’s the reason he kept his distance the last time I was at his place. Either way, I’m happy for him. Happy that maybe he’s found someone that fits better into his world.
With that, I head out to join the team.
When it’s time to break for lunch, everyone piles into cars, ride-sharing their way to Tiny’s—the same place Eli took me the night we first crashed into each other.
Tiny’s smells like comfort and cornbread. Sweet potatoes, roasted garlic, and the kind of food that feels like it could fix something in your soul just by breathing it in.
Eli’s hand rests at the small of my back as we’re guided past the front dining area. Not possessive. Just there.
Like I’m his.
It feels good.
One week.
We’re led to the back of the restaurant where a long table stretches across the room like Thanksgiving. The team is already gathered, family-style, throwing jokes back and forth, leaning into each other like this isn’t just lunch but tradition.
As soon as they spot us, a few voices call out.
“There he is!”
“About damn time, boss.”
“Hey, Max the Consultant!”
“Hey, Max the Consultant!” again—because apparently that’s my name now.
I laugh and lift my voice just enough to carry. “Hello. Again, everyone.”
Drinks arrive. Orders are called out. Plates start moving hand to hand down the table. It doesn’t feel like a restaurant at all. It feels like a family gathering. And somewhere between the easy chatter and the clatter of silverware, it hits me.
I feel…at home here.
The effect of Tiny’s, I guess.
“So,” I say, “what does everyone here actually do? What’s your favorite part of working here? What makes this place special?”
The table goes quiet.
Then smiles start spreading.
And one by one, they start to answer.
Dan, the design lead, chimes in first. “Eli lets us build things that matter. Stuff that actually changes lives. He doesn’t just talk sustainability, he lives it.”
“He once stayed overnight to help pour a foundation for a construction job with one of our contractors,” another team member adds. “Freezing cold. Didn’t leave until it was done.”
I glance at Eli. His face is neutral, as always, but there’s a flicker of something behind his eyes. Embarrassment, maybe. Or pride he doesn’t know how to show.
“He cares,” Lara says quietly from across the table. “Not just about the projects, but about people. And he protects this team. Fiercely.”
My chest aches.
Why the hell does this man have to be so.
.. layered? So good, even when he’s trying not to be.
Here I am, sitting next to this infuriatingly brooding, morally anchored man who’s supposed to be temporary.
He’s made it clear, and I’ve agreed to it: this ends when the job ends.
When the week ends. But every layer he peels back for me makes that harder to fathom.
After nearly forty minutes of chatting, laughing, and lowkey falling in love with this team—and him—I excuse myself and head to the restroom.
I’m halfway to the bathroom when I hear footsteps behind me.
“Hey,” Lara calls out gently. I pause and turn, waiting as she catches up.
Please don’t let this be the moment where she tells me I don’t belong here—or worse, that I’m trespassing on something that’s hers. I have too much peace to throw hands or shade today.
“I just wanted to say,” she pauses as two women squeeze past us.
“I know everything that you’re doing for us with such a short notice is a lot.
I know working with Eli isn’t always the easiest. But I saw Eli smile today.
I heard him laugh loudly. I haven’t seen that in a long time. Not since Vanessa."
My stomach clenches at the name.
“I thought for a second you were going to pull me aside and stake your claim, telling me Eli was your man or something.”
She laughs, the sound easy and real. “God, no. I love Eli like a brother. Unfortunately, I’m hopelessly in love with the other one.”
My eyes widen. “Drake?”
She nods. “Not that he has a clue. And I would never tell him.”
“The HR issue?” I ask, nodding slowly. “Against policy?”
She shakes her head, dismissive. “No. I don’t report to Drake, so there’s no real policy against it. It's more about the man. Drake is the kind of guy who doesn’t settle down. I know he thinks I’m attractive, but I’d never cross that line for a fling. I’d barely cross it for someone I work with.”
“I get that,” I say, hearing him crack jokes with the team just outside the hall we’re standing in.
“We met outside of work,” Lara continues. “But once we started working together, I never allowed things to move in that direction.”
“But you would,” I press, “if it could be something real?”
She narrows her gaze, her voice dropping an octave. “Potentially.”
Oh. Sweet. Baby. Algorithms.
“You ever heard of MatchSense?” I ask, my lips curling into something mischievous.
She furrows her brow. “Wait—MatchSense? The dating app for elite, high-intensity professionals?”
“That’s the one,” I say, grinning. “My best friend, and boss, built it. Smart. Exclusive. Zero creeps. You should let me set you up with a profile.”
Lara snorts. “Max, I’m not elite. And the only intensity in my life is caffeine-induced anxiety.”
She narrows her eyes at me, suspicious but clearly amused. “But let me get this straight. Your master plan is to make me a profile on some ultra-curated dating app so I’ll—what—forget that I’m hopelessly in love with a man who builds furniture like it’s foreplay?”
I bite back a smirk. “I never said that.”
She crosses her arms. “What exactly are you saying?”
I shrug, leaning back as the idea takes shape. “Maybe we set you up with a profile on the app. Maybe I find a way to get Drake to set up a profile on the app. We find out if you’re both looking for the same type of relationship and ensure you’re matched accordingly.”
I say it with a grin, as if it’s the most brilliant plan in the world. Just because it didn’t work for Nyles and me, doesn’t mean it won’t work for Lara and Drake.
Lara rolls her eyes, but her cheeks go pink. “You are dangerously close to meddling, Max, and I don’t even know you.”
I grin. “It’s not meddling if you consent.”
She groans, half laughing. “You’re relentless.”
I am. It’s kind of my thing. My best friend, Eslin, has an entire calendar of holiday traditions she never asked for because I bulldozed my way into her life and made her my sister in every way that counts.
Lara feels safe. Centered in a way that I need right now to keep me upright while I’m here. And I’ve always had a soft spot for a good matchmaking project.
So I decide—right there—I’ve found myself another purpose for the week. I’m going to get Lara and Drake together.