20. Chapter 20
twenty
In hindsight, I think I’d be the easiest person to kidnap.
Ever . Because all Max had to do was offer a cryptic non-answer and look at me with those beautiful brown eyes of his, and I’d happily ride along anywhere, insane driving and all.
Straight to Mount Doom? Don’t mind if I do.
A lecture on the evils of carbs and simple sugars?
Great, I’ve got cookies as a snack. A pit full of snakes?
Okay, I might actually have a problem with that one.
But I’d consider it. Almost. Which was a miracle in and of itself.
Thankfully, he didn’t bring me to any of those, but a quaint brick restaurant on the corner of a busy street I’d never paid attention to before.
“Dominican food?” I asked, motioning toward the sign under the restaurant’s name.
Max grinned, and I swore birds started singing. “The best food in the world.”
I mirrored his grin, not because I had the faintest idea what Dominican food actually entailed, but because he’d chosen to share his favorite food with me.
His excitement was contagious, too. His dimple popped with renewed vigor, his eyes bright and energy radiating off his body.
Just imagine a puppy with a new toy, but tall, human, and incredibly handsome, and you’ve got Max.
Bow chicka bow wow .
I snorted at my pun as he held the outside door open for me. I rubbed my nose and pretended to cough, as if that could explain the backfiring tractor sound that had escaped my body.
Max arched a brow, his smile never faltering. “What, you don’t believe me?”
“Oh, no, I definitely believe you,” I rushed to assure him as I entered the vestibule.
“Dominican food may be the best food in the world, besides my cupcakes. I have no idea. I was laughing at something else.” Before he could ask for more details, I opened the second door that would lead to the eating area inside and motioned him forward. “After you.”
He reached above me and effortlessly took over holding the door. “My mama raised me better than that, Chef.”
I blushed, more delighted by his nickname for me than I had any right to be. “I can hold my own doors, too. It doesn’t seem fair that you have to do it all the time.”
“Maybe I like spoiling you,” he teased. He looked me up and down again, so quickly I almost missed it. “And maybe it isn’t about whether you can do it yourself but about letting someone else take care of you because that’s how you show you care about them.”
“By giving them a chance to show how they care?” I asked, relenting and going through the open doorway.
His sentiment echoed Kris’ a little too closely for comfort. I’d had to rely on myself for so long, I’d forgotten how not to. And how comforting it could be to know I could do it on my own, but that I didn’t have to.
“Exactly.” He joined me a second later, his rich baritone competing with the music and chatter in the lively restaurant. “Acts of service is a love language for the recipient and the giver.”
I hummed in acknowledgement and met his eyes. “Which I appreciate, don’t get me wrong. But if you’re always taking care of others, who’s taking care of you , Max?”
It was a question I’d been forced to consider since last night’s intervention.
My friends had tried to take care of me when I needed it, but I’d made it near impossible for them.
I couldn’t imagine Max doing the same, but deflection could be just as effective as keeping everything inside.
He’d been so quick to rush to my aid, first with moving, then with the belt-snake.
The donkey suit and sprained ankle. Even helping me with the bakery.
He was the helper, never the helped—the complimenter, never the complimented.
And because he did everything with a smile on his face, nobody even seemed to notice.
Or maybe they did, but they didn’t care. After all, why mess with everything if he seemed to like it the way it was?
His smile faded, and his voice dropped until it barely carried over the noise around us. “I don’t think anyone’s ever worried about that before. At least not for me.”
Hadn’t his fiancée worried? Surely even if it wasn’t true love, she still made sure he ingested something besides a gallon of coffee that day or got the rest he needed after a long week.
Surely she’d stressed and fretted when he was on a raid, worrying that he might get hurt or worse.
I’d done all of those things with Lex, even before moving out here to be closer to her.
And didn’t he have family? I knew he had siblings, at least. They must worry about him. Or did he just mean no one outside of his family has worried about him? Even if that was the case, that hurt my heart.
Protective coals smoldered behind my breastbone. I’d been the forgotten one too many times—the one who seemed okay on the outside for too long—to let it happen to anyone else. Especially Max.
“Well, I do,” I declared. To hide how much my concern stretched beyond a simple friend or neighbor’s, I focused on the colorful walls when he looked at me.
Now wasn’t the time for my facial expressions to give me away.
That time was approximately never. “I care. I worry about it—about you.” I risked a quick peek in his direction.
“You deserve to be taken care of, too, Max.”
We stood there for a few seconds, time frozen in our orbit while life continued all around us.
I couldn’t decipher his expression, but that wasn’t a surprise.
For someone so open in every other way, he didn’t hand out his innermost thoughts and feelings to just anyone.
His laughter, he gave freely. His smiles, even more so.
But his soul—that was the real prize. The most precious gem, guarded by carefree facades and sharp spears of nonchalance that I hoped to one day be deemed worthy to pass through.
As quickly as the spell between us had been woven, it snapped. A noticeably pregnant waitress with her black hair pulled into a sleek bun on top of her head greeted us from across the restaurant. I hadn’t the foggiest idea what she said, since it was all in Spanish, but Max laughed.
He responded, sounding every bit as knee-weakeningly sexy speaking Spanish as I’d feared he would. He could be reciting my cringey Facebook posts from high school for all I cared. I’d still never ask him to stop.
And that’s how I ended up sitting in a booth close to the kitchen before I came back to my senses. I didn’t remember walking over, but I must have. Probably while entranced by his Latin siren song, the tricky scoundrel.
The same waitress stood by us, chatting at lightspeed with Max. Another person had joined her, this one a man about her age wearing an apron and a backwards baseball cap. The three of them spoke like old friends, laughing and clapping each other on the shoulder.
Now that I’d regained consciousness, I took the opportunity to drink in the atmosphere in its entirety.
A mixture of spices hung in the air, combining with the punch of hot oil.
Colorful murals covered each wall. On one side, a sunset on the beach, rich with pinks, purples, blues, and yellows and framed by palm trees.
On the other side, a hilly landscape filled to the brim with shades of green.
Bright blue sky, fluffy white clouds, and a happy yellow sun.
The other walls were painted a terra cotta color, and behind the wooden cashier desk, the window to the kitchen had a clay roof-like overhang.
This, combined with the wooden accents and vibrant art, painted a picture of what the Dominican Republic might be like.
Whether it was accurate or not, I had no idea, but I found it charming and relaxing either way.
“Dekker?”
I startled out of my perusal to find Max looking at me, his eyes sparkling and a smile teasing at the corners of his mouth.
“Sorry, what? I was enjoying the scenery.” I smiled at the two strangers and motioned to encompass the room, one of my Nonna’s favorite compliments coming to mind. Italian and Spanish were somewhat similar, right? “ Molto bello. ”
Their brows furrowed in confusion, but they smiled, nonetheless. Apparently the two languages weren’t as similar as I thought in this case, but hopefully they still got the gist.
Max angled his head in curiosity. “You speak Italian?”
I blushed. “Only a few phrases I picked up from my Nonna. The language and a lot of her culture kind of died out after she moved here to marry my grandpa.”
“Ah, gotcha.” Max nodded his understanding before gesturing to his friends. “Dekker, these are the owners, Cendy and Luis.”
He addressed them next, presumably introducing me in Spanish.
Cendy said something, and though I didn’t understand the words, I caught the gist of it.
The knowing gleam in her eye and the smirk on her lips when she looked at me gave her away long before the suggestive eyebrow wiggle she sent Max.
Then she gestured around her head. That , I wasn’t sure how to interpret.
His cheeks darkened like they’d done earlier, barely noticeable to anyone who wasn’t obsessed with him like I was. He shook his head and waved her off, whatever he said making her laugh as she and her husband walked away.
“Sorry.” He ran a hand through his hair. “They don’t speak much English, but they’re great people. Salt of the earth types.”
“They seem really nice.” The language barrier was a bit of an issue as far as knowing what else to compliment about them, but he clearly cared about them, and I trusted his judgment. “They like you , so they have good taste at least.”
“Or questionable taste, depending on how you look at it.” He winked and passed the sole menu on the table to me.
I hesitated before accepting it. “Don’t you need this, too?”
“Nah, I come here so often I think I’ve got the whole menu memorized.”