Chapter 24
April
When I return to the table, Max stands, just slightly, like a man who was raised right.
“Welcome back,”
he says, grinning as if he didn’t wreck my entire nervous system an hour ago.
“So… would you like dessert? If you’re tired, we can head back. Or—if you’re up for it—we could extend our stay a little. I saw some blankets near the entrance. We could stargaze for a bit?”
I pretend to consider it, even though my answer was yes the moment he smiled at me.
“I wouldn’t mind staying a little longer.”
He grabs the wine bottle with practiced ease while I reach for our half-full glasses.
“After you,”
he says with a little bow of his head that makes my stomach somersault.
We walk back to the ranch house—now glowing in warm-amber light—and discover it's also a bed and breakfast. A woman with gray curls and a floral apron greets us with the kind of compassion you can’t fake.
“Looking for the stargazing deck?”
she asks before we can say a word.
We nod.
“Follow the path around the left. There’s a private overlook with the best view of the stars in the valley. Blankets and lanterns are out there already.”
We thank her and follow the path she mentioned, passing under a wooden arch lit by more twinkle lights. My heart is already tugging toward this moment, and we haven’t even sat down yet.
It’s just so easy with him.
The way he walks beside me. The way he lets me lead without ever falling behind. The way his hand brushes mine, like he’s offering without demanding. Being with Max feels like exhaling for the first time in years.
We reach the overlook and find a heavy wool blanket already laid out beside a low rustic bench and a few throw pillows. The stars are showing off in all their glory—brilliant and endless above us.
We sit side by side, and Max opens the wine.
“Top off?”
he asks, already pouring.
“Please.”
He hands me my glass, then lifts his.
“To adventures,”
he says, his eyes never leaving mine.
“To unexpected ones,”
I add, and we clink.
We sip, and we’re quiet. Not the awkward kind. The kind where your body knows it’s safe. Where silence means peace, not distance.
He shifts slightly, and when I glance at him, he’s already looking at me, like he’s trying to memorize the way the starlight hits my cheek and he’s been waiting for this moment.
Then he leans in, and so do I, and we kiss.
Slow at first. Sweet. Careful, like we’re still afraid we might wakeup and realize this has all been some desert-induced dream, but then… something tips.
His hand slides into my hair, and my glass hits the blanket with a quiet thud. His other arm wraps around my waist, and my fingers curl into the front of his shirt, then suddenly we’re not kissing slowly anymore. We’re kissing like we’re making up for lost time.
Three days of tension. Three days of glances and banter and fingertips grazing. Three days of pretending we weren’t both thinking about this exact moment.
His lips move with mine like we’ve done this a thousand times, and yet every second feels new. Familiar and electric. Safe and dangerous all at once.
He grips my hair, angling my face, and I swear the world narrows down to the feel of his mouth—hot and insistent and wanting. His other arm wraps around my waist, drawing me fully against him.
No hesitation. No second-guessing. This kiss is everything. It’s deep and consuming and hungry. The kind of kiss that steals your breath and gives it back in pieces. That makes your fingertips tremble and your thoughts disappear.
His tongue brushes mine, and I melt. Heat coils low in my belly, a slow burn that feels dangerous in the best possible way. He groans softly into my mouth, and I swear it short-circuits my brain. My legs shift, moving instinctively, and then I’m straddling him without even meaning to—but it feels so right I don’t stop.
He tightens his grip, and we don’t come up for air for along time. He pulls back an inch, eyes wide and dazed, and we both laugh at the same time.
“Well,”
I whisper.
“that escalated quickly.”
We laugh harder, and I slide off him, then we tumble sideways onto the blanket, lying next to each other in a messy sprawl.
My head lands on his shoulder, his arm curls around me, and the stars don’t blink, they blaze.
“This night has been magical, Max,”
I whisper.
He turns his head just slightly toward mine.
“Yeah,”
he murmurs.
“You truly are.”
I don’t know when it happened. Somewhere between the wine, the stars, and the way he kissed me, I fell asleep on his shoulder. Like a literal rom-com heroine.
One second, I’m curled beside him, warm and boneless and full of butterflies, and the next, I’m floating, sort of. No… I’m being carried. My eyes flutter open, and I’m weightless in Max’s arms.
I’m being pressed against his chest, with one arm under my legs and the other around my back, and all I can truly think about is how good he smells.
“Max?”
I murmur, voice soft, throat dry.
He looks down and smiles. It’s quiet, gentle. The kind of smile that says ‘I’ve got you’ without needing to say it at all.
“Hey,”
he says.
“Didn’t mean to wake you.”
“Are you carrying me?”
“You fell asleep,”
he states.
“Didn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”
He lowers me into the passenger seat of the car. Then—because of course he does—he reaches across and buckles my seatbelt before closing the door.
My brain short-circuits. Again.
I sit there, stunned, barely able to keep my jaw attached to my face, while he walks around to the driver’s side and gets in.
He doesn’t turn on the music; he doesn’t need to. The quiet is nice.
It’s just the road and the stars, and his hand sliding over to rest on top of mine. His thumb strokes the back of my hand in slow, easy circles, and I might actually combust.
We get back to the hotel, and it feels as though we’re a couple who always ends the night this way—as if my world being completely upside down is the most natural thing in the world.
“Do you want me to carry you again?”
he asks, grinning as he unbuckles.
I let out a quiet laugh.
“I can walk.”
“Wait,”
he says, already out of the car.
He jogs around, opens my door, and offers me his hand. I take it, and he helps me out of the car, steady and warm and impossibly gentle.
We walk to the hotel entrance, hand in hand, like it’s always been that way.
He reaches into his pocket for the room key as we approach the door, then opens it.
“After you,” he says.
I walk in, heart in my throat, nerves fizzing just under my skin. He follows and closes the door behind us.
“What would you like to do?” he asks.
“Shower,”
I mutter.
“I need to wash off today. In a good way.”
He nods, eyes soft.
“Of course.”