32. Chapter 32
thirty-two
Max ushered me into his apartment, breathless and smiling.
“Sorry, I’m running a little late. Isaiah just traded off with me for surveillance tonight, but I got here as soon as I could.
” He looked over his shoulder as he headed down the hall, already unbuttoning his shirt. “I only need five minutes, promise.”
“Take your time,” I called.
I occupied myself with inspecting the colorful flower canvas on his wall. Good soil . I wasn’t sure what constituted “good” soil, but whatever this was between us, it felt pretty dang good to me.
When I finally turned from inspecting the bright print, I stopped short as I caught sight of his couch. “Did you get a throw pillow ?”
Not just any throw pillow, either. A ravioli with cute little eyes and a mustache, and on the top corner, a shiny bow stuck on it like a Christmas present.
He appeared from the end of the hallway, fastening the button on a blue plaid shirt that made his skin glow. “ You got a new throw pillow.” He passed me the dapper ravioli, his eyes smoldering. “I figured I’d pick something more useful for you than flowers. Though if you’d prefer a bouquet…”
“No,” I blurted, hugging the ravioli to my chest. “Definitely not. This is perfect, Max. Thank you.” As much as I liked flowers, I’d take a novelty throw pillow any day. “What should we name him?”
Max squinted at the pillow. “Hmm. I’m thinking he looks like a George to me but make it Italian. So, Giorgio.”
“I love it.”
And, really, what wasn’t to like? It was pasta, cute, huggable, and did I mention it was pasta ?
“Giorgio, it is.” Max smiled, his eyes searing into me until heat curled in my gut. “You look beautiful tonight, Dekker.”
“Oh, uh, thank you. So do you.” I cringed. “Handsome, I mean. You look handsome.”
“But not beautiful?”
I arched an eyebrow. “Do you want to be considered beautiful?”
“Of course.” He winked and ran his fingers through his hair to style it. “Did you see me in that wedding dress? My sister’s pageant competitors would’ve resigned on the spot.”
I laughed, my awkwardness and embarrassment swept away and forgotten like only he could make me do. “I can’t argue with that.” I gestured to the couch. “Is it okay if I leave Giorgio here during the date?”
His eyes darkened until my pulse thumped against my ears. “You planning on coming back here at the end of the night?”
The offer was more tempting than tiramisu. The very thought lit fireworks inside my chest and made me forget my name.
I settled on a smile that might’ve been coy, if you squinted or looked at it sideways. “Let’s see how your wooing goes first, Mr. Casanova.”
“In that case” —he held out one hand and bowed slightly— “may I hold your hand, milady?”
I grinned, accepting immediately. Self-control, who? Never heard of her. “ Milady ? Did you get that from the book?”
“That depends. Is it successfully wooing you?”
“Hm, hard to say.”
It wasn’t. It was stupidly easy to say, actually. All he had to do was exist the way he was, and I was wooed to Timbuktu.
We made it out to the hall, hand-in-hand like peanut butter and brownies. A divine combination if ever there were one. And when we made it to the date location and intertwined our fingers again, I could’ve kicked the bucket then and there and had no regrets.
Detroit Axe–Corktown and The Yard was the brilliant combination of all things awesome.
Max had let me know where we were going this morning, so I’d have time to stalk the place on Google and decide what food I’d order ahead of time.
The one Yelp review I’d read while I was at it had been glowing.
And really, when you could throw hatchets, get tacos and drinks, and play board or card games all in the same place, how could you go wrong?
You couldn’t, that’s how.
We made our way inside, passing the stacks of cut wood and the charming patio dining area.
I stopped short, jaw dropping as I took it all in.
The pictures online had boasted giant game pieces and dice hanging from the ceiling, along with the carved wooden throne that had hatchets arranged to form wings spreading out the sides, so I knew it was going to be cool.
Seeing it in person, though, was a whole different story.
“You’re not chickening out on me, are you?” Max teased, nodding at the hatchet throne.
“In your dreams.”
Not even an army of telemarketing raisins could’ve stopped me. And that’s saying something, since telemarketers were only a step or two below Dolores Umbridge from Harry Potter on my list of who I’d most like to fight with nunchucks.
Don’t ask me why Lex and I decided that was an essential list to create when we were in high school, but I still stood by my choices years later.
“I’d tell you more about my dreams with you in them, but my mama raised a gentleman.”
My face flamed, and my jaw dropped. “Maximiliano Fuentes, we are in public .”
He grinned devilishly. “I dream about us decorating a cake together, Chef. Get your mind out of the gutter.”
I narrowed my eyes at him, which only made him laugh harder.
The rest of the date was a heady mix of fun, laughter, and contentment. I obliterated him in Battleship, he put my hatchet-throwing to shame. But then he’d taught me his “technique,” which involved a whole lot of having his arms around me. It was the best time I’d had in… probably ever, actually.
When we made it back to his apartment to pick up Giorgio, Max handed the pillow to me with a smirk on his lips. “Have I wooed you enough for another date?”
I pretended to consider his question. “Will there be more throw pillows? Because you’ve set the bar pretty high here. It’s gonna be hard to top this.”
He pulled me to him, his hands on my waist as I hefted Giorgio out of the way before he could become a ravioli pancake.
The pillow swung awkwardly in my hand, hovering behind Max as I wrapped my arms around him.
Even as my body ignited, pressed against his, my thoughts still strayed.
Had I already made things awkward by keeping Giorgio along for the ride?
I wasn’t willing to drop such a cherished gift to the floor, though, so me and my newly adopted moustached pasta were in this together for the long haul. For better or worse.
Max didn’t so much as bat an eye, shifting me out of overdrive like he often did so effortlessly. Parting the curtains until I could feel the sunshine on my face.
“I love a good challenge,” he murmured, tucking a stray curl behind my ear. “And this feels like one I’ll really enjoy.”
I shivered, both from his words and the smoldering depths of his eyes as they met mine.
I could stay here forever, wrapped up in Max.
The fact we’d ever been strangers felt… wrong .
Like I’d spent decades walking along the shore, collecting shells and building sandcastles, yet completely unaware there was an entire ocean brimming with life and beauty mere feet away.
“I don’t want tonight to end,” I whispered.
“Me neither.”
He placed a feather-light kiss on my forehead before resting his head on mine. I pressed my cheek against his chest, the thump-thump of his heart hypnotic and comforting. Nearly enough to distract me from my hand that held Giorgio, which was starting to cramp.
Max chuckled, the sound vibrating through my skull.
I grimaced. “The pillow is kinda killing the mood, isn’t it?”
“Pretty sure it’s impossible for ravioli to be anything but romantic.” He pulled back until I could see the skin crinkling by his eyes. “But that wasn’t why I laughed, actually. I was just… happy, I guess. Glad I made the right choice.”
“In throw pillows, or…?”
This earned me another chuckle, and he guided me to the couch. I snuggled into him, hugging Giorgio to my chest and laying against Max’s. We fit like we’d been made to go together.
“Not throw pillows,” he continued once we’d gotten comfortable. “I turned down a position in the Miami field office yesterday.”
My jaw dropped. Nerves twisted in my gut, and my thoughts twisted with it, already shooting in different directions before his meaning could sink in.
He was offered a job elsewhere. I almost lost him before I really ever had him. Would he leave me if a better offer came? Why didn’t he accept this offer? Wasn’t Miami where his family lived? That field office was bigger and thus had more funding, right?
Max absently stroked his fingers over the top of my curls. “When I went out of town last week, an old friend from the Bureau showed me around. I’d talked with him about applying for a transfer there a month or so ago, but I decided not to submit it.”
My voice box finally started working again, grinding out one of the many burning questions sprinting through my mind. “Why not?”
“I don’t know if you know, but this crazy, beautiful woman moved in next door and kind of flipped my life upside-down.”
I snorted amidst the rollercoaster of emotions coursing through me. Relief. Confusion. Fear. “How inconsiderate of her.”
“Nah, my life needed a good flip.” He pulled me closer and kissed the top of my head. “Anyway, I guess a position opened up in Miami, and the first person they thought of was me.”
“Can’t blame them,” I murmured. And really, who wouldn’t want him, no matter the capacity? They’d be lucky to get him. “Why didn’t you accept? It’s a great opportunity, right?”
His shoulder shifted behind me in a shrug. “Of course. But there are lots of great opportunities in the world. Choosing that one would mean missing out on the best one right in front of me. Or a wall away from me, I guess.”
I sat up, my brow furrowed. “You turned the job down because of me ?”
“There were a few other reasons that went into my decision” —the corner of his mouth lifted in a devilish smirk as he slid a curled finger along my jaw and tipped my chin up to meet his eye— “but I’ll admit you played the biggest part in it.”
I blinked, too stunned to believe this was real. He’d chosen to stay. For me.