Chapter 20
Max
It’s been nearly an hour. The contract is revised, my notes are in, and the email has been sent.
I’m finishing a follow-up call with my office, walking through the changes and making sure someone’s keeping eyes on the chain of command.
“Send it out immediately and loop me in if anyone pushes back.”
They confirm, so I hang up and drop the phone into my lap with a sigh.
April shoots me a sideways glance.
“All done?”
“Yeah,”
I say, exhaling again.
“Thank you for taking over. I’m probably walking into a hundred disasters next week—glad we caught this one before it blew up.”
She hums, pleased, and keeps her eyes on the road. I plugin my phone and go back to my laptop to close out my inbox, letting the tension settle.
Then she clears her throat. Just a small cough—but enough to catch my attention.
I freeze.
Right there, bold and impossible to miss, splashed across the car’s display screen, is a text from Nico.
NICO
how’s it going? in love yet?
April lets out a laugh.
“The screen burn wins again.”
“Freaking Nico,”
I mutter, scrambling to disconnect the Bluetooth and tapping frantically at the console until the message disappears. She just shakes her head, grinning like I’ve been caught red-handed.
ME
God damn it, Nico. Your text showed upon the car screen.
The reply comes fast.
NICO
bro
please tell me she didn’t see it.
wait nvm I hope she DID. Adds to the drama.
Did you end up finding a hotel?
Do we have an only-one-bed trope tonight? #prayerhands
ME
No. I felt terrible lying to her, so I found a hotel with a two-bedroom suite. Separate rooms, shared space.
NICO
Wow. Thoughtful.
It’s giving golden retriever boyfriend vibes.
ME
You need to stay away from your wife’s books. They’re getting to your head.
NICO:
Can’t blame me. TL Swan can write a mean ass book. Those things are addictive.
I shake my head, biting back a smile as I slip the phone into my lap.
“Everything okay?”
April asks, glancing at me again.
“Yeah. Just… texting with Nico.”
“Tell him I said hi. And that I saw the text.”
I groan.
“He’s never going to let me live that down.”
We’re still about three hours out from Casa Grande. April is at the wheel, sunglasses on, hair tied up in a loose bun that’s starting to unravel the longer we drive. She looks completely at ease, even in the middle of the desert, cruising at a steady pace.
“Your turn,”
she says, flicking her thumb toward the dash.
“DJ duties are officially yours.”
I take the hint and scroll through my playlist until I land on something familiar—comfort music for the soul. The first few chords of Jack Johnson’.
“Better Together”
float through the speakers.
April squints.
“Oh, wow. We’re diving straight into elder millennial territory.”
I laugh.
“Are you kidding me? Jack Johnson is eternal. Dave Matthews is practically a rite of passage.”
“Have you been to a Dave Matthews concert?”
“Twice. Life-changing.”
“Ugh,”
she groans.
“Bucket list. I always say I’m going to go and then never do.”
“Alright, new mission,”
I say, settling back into my seat.
“We’re getting you to a DMB show. You bring the vibe, I’ll bring the setlist.”
She glances at me with that grin again. The one that makes the car even warmer than it already is.
We drive in companionable silence for a while, windows cracked just enough to let the dry air in. Nora Jones starts to play, and I catch April humming softly along.
Eventually, we pull into a tiny gas station with sun-faded signage and exactly one working pump. I get out to fill the tank while April heads inside for what she call.
“the mid-afternoon snack reset.”
She’s gone longer than usual, but when she comes out, she’s holding two foil-wrapped burritos like she just discovered buried treasure.
“There’s a woman in there making them from scratch behind the counter,”
she says, eyes wide.
“I swear the place smells like heaven and cilantro.”
“You bought me one?”
“It felt like a moral obligation.”
We don’t get back on the road right away. Instead, we drive around to the back of the station where a narrow overlook opens up to a stretch of low desert hills, with cacti in every direction. There's a single picnic table and a trash can missing its lid.
I kill the engine, and we sit side by side, unwrapping our burritos in sync, and for a while, we just eat. There’s no music, no questions, no narration. Just the quiet stretch of road behind us, and the warmth of a burrito made with love.
She looks peaceful, like silence doesn’t scare her, and that might be my favorite thing about her.
We’re still sitting in the quiet behind the gas station, watching the desert stretch on like it has secrets to keep, when my phone buzzes beside me on the console.
NICO
What time are you getting to Casa Grande?
I glance at the GPS, then type back.
ME
According to the app, around 5 pm.
Three dots bounce almost instantly.
NICO
I have the perfect activity that’ll make her fall in love with you.
Head over freaking heels.
Say yes or no. I’ll get it booked.
I stare at the screen. It’s Nico. Which means this could either be legendary… or wildly unhinged. I hesitate.
NICO
Say yes, man.
You better say yes.
I glance at April, still unbothered in her post-burrito peace.
ME
Fine.
Yes. Do it.
Seconds later, my phone lights up with the confirmation:
NICO
Saguaro Ranch Sunset Ride – BOOKED
6:30 PM
1.5-Hour Golden Hour Ride
Long pants + closed-toed shoes.
Helmets are free, highly recommended, but optional
Golden.
Hour.
Horseback.
Ride.
YA WELCOME.
I run a hand over my face. A horseback ride, at sunset, with her. If this doesn’t kill me with how much I’m catching feelings, Nico’s smugness will when I tell him how it went. But looking over at April again, and yeah…
It’s worth it.
I drive the next three hours, but it feels like minutes. Which is insane because this stretch of desert? It's endless. Same terrain, same heat haze, same signs every thirty miles warning about snakes and dehydration, but with April in the passenger seat talking about everything and nothing, the hours fold in on themselves. And the whole time I’m thinking: How the hell do I bring up the fact that we suddenly have horseback riding plans? What if she hates horses? I mean, I don’t see April being scared of them, but she is scared of escalators, so honestly, anything’s possible. In the meantime, I learn more about her than I probably deserve to in one day.
She tells me she has a couple of tattoos—her mother’s initials tucked behind her ear in the tiniest, most delicate lettering. Then she holds up her left hand and shows me another: a small dove inked on the side of her index finger, next to her middle finger.
“Matching tattoos,”
she says, her voice a little softer.
“All three of us. Me, May, and June.”
“Why a dove?”
“Because Mom always said we were her birds. Free-spirited, wild and loud. Also kind of annoying and hard to ignore.”
She smiles. Not big. Not showy. Just… full of love. She tells me she’s always wanted more tattoos, but the fear of needles keeps her frozen.
“May’s the tattoo geek in the family. She’s got them everywhere. Ribs, forearms, ankles, and she looks so cool. I secretly wish I looked like her.”
She doesn’t need to. She’s perfect as herself. Bright, grounded, and endlessly real. I haven’t been able to look away from her since Houston. She also says she didn’t like pickles until recently.
“I thought I was pregnant,”
she says, with a dramatic eyeroll.
“I never liked pickles, and one day I was literally craving them. I didn’t even have a boyfriend, and there I was thinking I was pregnant.”
I laugh harder than I should, and somewhere between herstories and the curve of the open road, I realize I like her more than I should, and definitely more than I planned.
The hotel is… nice. Most definitely a step up from the charming-but-creaky motels we’ve been calling home the past two nights. Big windows, polished floors, soft lighting. It even smells like flowers and expensive hand sanitizer in the lobby. April walks in ahead of me and does a slow, dramatic spin.
“Thank God your job is paying for this.”
I chuckle.
“You’re welcome.”
We head to the check-in desk, where a woman with short silver hair and rhinestone glasses greets us with a smile that’s one part customer service and two parts seasoned sass.
“Welcome to the Casa Grande Suites. My name is Carol. You must be Mr. Smith.”
I nod, and she continues.
“I have you down for a two-bedroom suite with a full kitchenette and shared living space.”
I nod and glance over at April.
“Is that okay with you?”
Her brows lift in surprise, but then she nods quickly, the corner of her mouth curving up.
“Yeah, of course, that sounds great.”
Carol hands us our key cards and directions to the elevator with the ease of someone who’s seen it all. Once we’re walking down the hallway toward the elevator, April glances up at me.
“A two-bedroom suite, huh? Fancy.”
“I didn’t want to end up on opposite ends of the building.”
Her smile lingers. Inside the elevator, the silence feels…nice. Familiar. Like we’ve done this a hundred times. Then I decide to go for it.
“Hey,”
I say, casually.
“I kind of have a surprise for you.”
She tilts her head.
“A surprise?”
“Mm-hm. Question first, though, how do you feel about horses?”
Her eyes light up.
“Are you kidding? I love horses. Gentle giants are my favorite.”
She grins like she might be including me in that description, and yeah, it hits me right in my chest—a quiet little boom.
“Good,”
I say, a little softer than intended.
“Because we’ve got a date with two horses in an hour.”
Her eyes go wide.
“Wait, seriously?”
“Sunset ride.”
I nod.
“Scenic desert views. I’m talking peak cowboy energy.”
She laughs, clearly delighted, then looks down at her outfit.
“This is kind of all I have left,”
she says, gesturing to her jeans and the tee she’s been wearing since this morning.
“No idea if it passes cowboy chic.”
I give her a once-over. Not the kind that lingers, just enough to be honest.
“I think you look perfect.”
The elevator dings, and the doors slide open. Neither of us say anything as we walk toward the room, but my chest… my chest is full.