Chapter 11 #2
When Max picked me up from Mimi’s half an hour ago, I was wired with a sense of bubbly anticipation I’d been feeling since he asked me out over text the night before—a mix of first date nerves and excitement to be going on a date with someone I’d already met in person and hadn’t weirded me out.
It was an unfamiliar feeling after years of sporadic and disappointing dating app encounters.
He’d looked me up and down from the bottom of her front steps.
“I liked that tennis skirt yesterday, but I like this too,” he said of my green sundress.
It had thin straps, a straight neckline with a tiny cut-out that hinted at some cleavage, and a skirt that flowed to my knees.
When the woman at the boutique I went to after I left the café yesterday told me the color made my eyes look even more green, I was sold.
“I didn’t know you could be any more beautiful than when I first saw you,” he added when we reached his car. I blushed at the compliment. I couldn’t remember the last time a man called me beautiful, and he’d done it twice in under forty-eight hours.
I’d gone to the gym earlier, taken a long shower, and done my skincare routine meticulously.
The slightly purple bags under my eyes that had become nearly permanent the last couple of years were gone now.
I blow dried my hair and did my makeup, all while listening to music and puttering around in my bathrobe.
Mimi had clucked her admiration at the dress and my hair.
I felt good. Sure, I still had stress dreams where I was back at work sometimes, and I still wanted to get even stronger and leaner to undo some of the damage the stress of the last six years had done to both my mind and my body, but I already felt so much better than I had at any social event in recent memory.
The result was that I was actually excited about this date.
By the time we ordered our drinks and some oysters, we’d counted two salmon-colored pants and three Lilly dresses.
“Tell me more about the sabbatical. What have you been up to? Have you traveled at all?”
I wrung my hands under the table, willing them not to start sweating.
My normal-feeling first date nerves converted to a trickle of familiar cortisol-laced embarrassment, settling low in my belly.
For some reason, I’d hoped I wouldn’t have to explain why I was on a sabbatical on this date.
It felt too soon to share how I’d actually had a big setback in my career, that it was a mental health break, not an earned extra-long vacation, and even calling it a sabbatical didn’t totally feel right.
I couldn’t quite regret using that term, though.
He looked so impressed when I told him I was a lawyer yesterday…
I met his gaze. His expression was casual, like he’d asked me a straightforward, easily answered question like have I been to Italy before.
At least his phrasing allowed me to skirt around the why of it all.
I schooled my face into a smile and said, “Not too much travel. I spent some time with my parents in New Hampshire, and I’ve actually been on island since early May.
I’ve been doing a lot of reading, long walks, gym. Clearing my head.”
“That sounds great, honestly. I’ve traveled a bunch, but nowhere really beats here anyway.”
“I agree! People come here from all over the world, and I’m just lucky my grandparents have a house here.
When my parents suggested it, I knew it would be the perfect place to spend the time off.
” Relief to be moving on to easier topics settled my stomach.
I crossed one leg over the other, ankle bobbing happily, ready for our drinks to arrive, ready for our conversation to continue.
He smiled. “It’s a special place. I feel super fortunate my parents have the house here, too.”
I wondered where their house was, what his parents did. Mimi had had her house since the early nineties, when homes on Martha’s Vineyard were relatively affordable. Now it would be nearly impossible to buy a place on the island unless you had over a million dollars to spend.
The waitress returned with our drinks.
“To…” He paused. “A great summer on the Vineyard.”
I clinked my wine glass against his near overflowing beer glass. “I’ll drink to that.” I held his gaze while I took a sip. One thing I should have done while I was puttering about getting ready earlier was remind myself how to flirt.
“So, what have you been reading?” he asked me.
I fought my smile while a blush surfaced on my cheeks.
“What?” he asked.
“Oh, um. Mostly romance novels right now. They’re…comforting.”
He barked out a laugh. “With that look on your face I thought you were about to say something horrifying. Don’t most women read romance? I feel like that’s totally normal, Val.”
“I love them. What can I say?” I lifted both shoulders coyly.
His grin widened. “Plus, I wouldn’t be here on Martha’s Vineyard if it weren’t for romance novels, so who would I be to judge.”
“What do you mean?”
“My dad is a writer. Romance novels.”
“Oh wow,” I said, not thinking it through at first. And then I remembered the last name in his text yesterday. Phelps. “Wait. Noooo.”
“Yup.” Max took a big gulp of his beer.
“Your dad is Edward Phelps? One of the most successful romance novelists of all time. The most successful male romance novelist.”
He blew out a breath. “The one and only.” I couldn’t read his expression.
“That’s incredible! What was it like growing up with a novelist father? Was he locked in a study writing all the time? Did you realize when you were younger how famous he was?”
He chuckled at my rapid-fire questions. I wondered if he regretted bringing it up.
“He definitely spent a lot of time locked in his home office. I remember that. And then when he was gone on book tours, it would just be me and my mom for chunks of time. Sometimes we’d meet him for a weekend in one city or another.
Did I realize he was famous?” Max looked out at the white, colonial-style town hall building across the street and drummed his fingers on the table.
“I think so, especially once I was eleven or twelve, and I started noticing the books with his name on them in every store.”
“Crazy. But cool, too. Is he a romantic in real life?”
Max smirked. I was sure he’d rather not spend the whole date talking about his dad, so I vowed this was my last question.
“Yeah. He’s always doing little romantic things for my mom, which I didn’t notice until I was much older.
And he used to give me speeches about what I should and shouldn’t do before I went on dates in high school and stuff.
So if I do or say anything right on this date, you’ll know where I learned it from.
” He leaned back in his chair, a glint in his eyes as his gaze roamed from my eyes to my lips and back again.
So unhurried, like he was indulging in something that fascinated him.
Even his body language was a compliment.
Naturally charming, that was what Max was. Whether he learned it from his dad or not.
The conversation meandered to other pleasant topics: our favorite restaurants on the island, other places we wanted to travel someday. We both lost track of the outfit counting game.
The air was charged in his car on the way home. Did we both have a good time? Would he ask me out again? Would he try to kiss me?
Did I want him to?
I think so. I wanted him to want to, at least.
Max tapped his fingers on the center console, steering with just one hand, stealing little glances at me here and there.
Mimi’s was so close to town we arrived in less than three minutes.
Max bolted around the front of the car to open the door for me, and I grinned.
He held his hand down for me to take, and when I stood up, he didn’t let go.
Instead, he used that hand to pull me toward him.
Smooth. I steadied myself with my other hand on his chest, looking up at him.
His blue eyes flashed to my mouth and then back to my eyes, and before I knew it, his lips were on mine.
Soft and pleasant and warm. He held the kiss for a beat, then two, before pulling back.
“Phew,” he said, his mouth tipping up in the corner.
“What?” A confused look spread on my face.
“I’ve been wondering if you’d let me kiss you all night. Now I don’t have to worry about that so much next time.” He squeezed my hand, still clasped in his.
I bit my lower lip and raised my eyebrows. “Next time, huh?”
His look of surprise made me proud of my teasing. “Well, I certainly hope there’s a next time, Val,” he said, adamant, staring me down with that ever-present glint in his eyes.
I stepped back onto the grass, holding his gaze as I slipped my hand out of his. “Me too.” I offered him one more smile and turned to head up Mimi’s front steps.