Chapter 21
April
The second we open the door to the suite, I’m in awe. The room is bright and open, with huge windows and a desert view so stunning it looks fake. There’s a love seat in front of a massive TV, a little dining table near the kitchenette, and soft, golden light pouring in from the west-facing windows like it’s trying to win us over.
Spoiler alert: it wins.
Max leaves our room key cards on the counter and nods toward the hallway.
“I’m gonna go change. Be right back.”
“Okay,”
I say, still distracted by the view.
“I’ll just…stand here and question how this is my life now.”
He disappears into one of the bedrooms, and I pull out my phone.
The group chat is quiet—for now—but that won’t last.
ME
We made it to Casa Grande.
Max planned a date for us.
What does this mean??
MAY
A DATE???
As in let’s grab a burger, or as in let’s get married in the desert?
JUNE
Define “date”
before we start planning outfits and speeches.
ME
Way more elaborate.
We’re going horseback riding.
At sunset.
Is this real life? How did we get here??
It takes about four seconds for the chaos to begin.
JUNE
Ummm you were TWELVE the last time you rode a horse.
MAY
And that horse sneezed and you screamed like you were dying.
JUNE
She made Mom switch horses with her.
ME
That horse was possessed, and I stand by it.
JUNE
You screamed like it was The Exorcist on hooves.
MAY
Let the record show: she is in love and afraid of horses.
I’m smiling like an idiot by the time I put my phone down. Max is still in the other room, and I have less than an hour to pull myself together before I mount a literal horse… with a man who makes my stomach flip by just existing in the same zip code.
Five minutes later, Max materializes from thin air wearing jeans, and not just any jeans. Jeans that fit him like they were designed for one specific purpose—to absolutely ruin me.
The phras.
“save a horse, ride a cowboy”
barrels through my brain at full speed and hits a wall. Hard.
Wowza.
I did not expect him to look this good, and the worst part? He knows it. He smiles—that panty-melting, soft-but-smug grin—and I’m fully embarrassed by how turned on I am over… pants. Literal pants. I mumble something about needing the bathroom and escape.
Once locked in the bathroom, I pee, wash my hands, splash my face with water, and try to fix the disaster that is my hair. I’ve had it in a bun all afternoon, and the situation is bleak. So I braid it—quick and low—and tug a few strands loose around my face in a way that hopefully says effortless and not panicked rodeo clown.
Chapstick. Deodorant. A quick prayer. When I step back out, Max is waiting, still in those jeans. Still smiling like it’s just another Wednesday and not a full-blown heart attack in denim form.
We leave the room, and the entire way through the hotel, I feel it—that pull, like we should be holding hands, like my body’s already moving toward his, cell by cell. I want to touch him—just something small. His arm, his hand, his back. But it feels too much, too soon, and I’m pretty sure my face is broadcasting every single inappropriate thought I’m having in 4K clarity.
We reach the car, and Max opens the door for me. Is this a date? What is happening? I get in, and he walks around the front. He glances through the windshield, and our eyes lock. There it is again.
That smile.
I swear to God, if he smiles at me one more time like that, someone is going to have to resuscitate me in this parking lot. He slides into the driver’s seat and taps the address into the GPS.
“We’re about twenty minutes out,”
he says, buckling in.
“Would you like to play some music?”
I nod—obedient, speechless—and grab my phone. I cue up my country western playlist because… well, it fits.
The opening notes of Randy Travis start to play, warm and slow and dangerous in the dim light of early evening.
“You may think that I'm talkin' foolish
You've heard that I'm wild and I'm free…”
We don’t speak. We just sit in that soft quiet, both of us humming along to the melody, and then, right when I think my heart can’t handle another beat of this moment, he starts singing. Not loud, just soft, casual, under his breath like a secret.
“But you're not just time that I'm killin’
I'm no longer one of those guys…”
And I swear—right there, in the passenger seat of his car, somewhere outside of Casa Grande—I. Am. Melting.
“As sure as I live, this love that I give
Is gonna be yours until the day that I die.
Oh baby I’m gonna love you forever,
Forever and ever amen”
Turning toward him, I think: Someone call 911. I need a damn medic.