MAX
Charity galas aren’t my thing. They never have been.
I can deal with a locker room full of sweaty guys or a rink with twenty thousand fans screaming bloody murder, but in a ballroom with too many chandeliers, I’ll be counting down the minutes until I can leave.
Grace had asked – no, begged me – to come tonight, so here I was in my tux, nursing a whisky like it was the only friend I had left.
The foundation’s annual fundraiser was a big deal.
It was all about art, books and education, which is a worthy cause, but all the extravagance was a bit much for my taste.
We were in one of the fanciest hotels in downtown Toronto.
Round tables were covered in white linen, with huge floral arrangements in the middle blocking half of your view of the people sitting across from you.
Everyone looked like they had just stepped out of one of those ridiculously glossy magazines.
I could handle it. A night of smiling, small talk, and watching Grace do her thing. I was simply here because she loved this kind of event and I loved her.
Grace had disappeared about ten minutes ago, and when she returned, she looked like she had just hit the jackpot. Her eyes sparkled, her curls bounced more than usual, and she squealed with joy as she sat down next to me.
She could hardly contain herself when she said, “You will not believe who I just met in the bathroom.”
I raised an eyebrow and took a slow sip. “No idea.”
“One of my all-time favourite writers. And she was so nice, Max. I mean, insanely nice. Don’t laugh, but my strap broke and she fixed it for me. With a safety pin. Can you believe that? Who still carries a safety pin in their purse?”
I smirked. “Seems like your new best friend does.”
“Yes! Exactly. And we talked, and she was so down-to-earth. She’s here in Toronto for a while, and guess what? I invited her over to our table.”
Of course she did. I sighed and drank the last of my whisky. Books. They were going to talk about books.
Grace shot me a look, reading my thoughts just as easily as always. “Don’t you dare roll your eyes. Max, she’s amazing. You’ll see. Please try to be nice, all right?”
I snorted. “I’m always nice.”
She gave me the kind of look only an older sister can give, the kind that said don’t push it, kid, I know every embarrassing thing you’ve ever done.
Fine. If they were going to spend the next half hour dissecting Canadian literature or whatever, I was going to need another drink.
“Be right back,” I said as I stood up.
The bar was on one side of the ballroom, looking like it belonged in a movie. It was all dark wood and mirrored shelves holding bottles of different liquors. I leaned against it, ordered another whisky, and took a deep breath.
The bartender, a guy with slicked-back hair and a look that told me he wanted to be anywhere but here, poured generously. “You look like a man in need,” he said.
“You have no idea,” I muttered, accepting the glass.
“Let me guess,” he went on, polishing a glass like bartenders do when they want to talk. “Dragged here by a sister, a date, or guilt?”
I raised an eyebrow. “Sister.”
He grinned. “Always the sisters. Mine drags me to yoga.”
“Which one’s worse?” I asked, nodding around the room.
“Depends on the wine list,” he said dryly, and we both laughed.
I stayed there a little longer than necessary, enjoying the break and how the noise of the ballroom faded into the background. But I couldn’t avoid Grace forever, so I tossed back the last sip, put the glass down, and walked back to the table.
And that’s when I saw her.
I almost missed it at first. Grace was leaning forward, her hands moving wildly, talking a mile a minute. Across from her sat a woman in a green dress, laughing, nodding, looking very interested. For a second, I thought that it was just another one of Grace’s bookish colleagues.
Then she turned a little, and I just froze.
Emma.
The woman from the bookstore.
God, she was real.
For weeks, I had been replaying that afternoon, wondering if I’d made too much of it. Wondering if maybe I’d built her up into something she wasn’t. But no. Reality wasn’t just matching memory, it was knocking it sideways.
She was breathtaking.
She had her hair up, with a few curls left loose around her face.
It was that effortless kind of pretty you can’t fake.
The dress was a dark green that hugged her in all the right places and the fabric shimmered a little every time she moved her shoulders.
She looked like she belonged here, like she could have come from one of those glossy magazines I had made fun of before.
And she was laughing.
That laugh – warm, alive, easy.
I kept walking but I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
And then she looked at me, her eyes widening in surprise, before she gave me the most beautiful smile.
A lightning bolt. That’s what it felt like. Straight through me.
Grace looked up, practically glowing. “Emma, this is Max, my brother.”
She blushed, just a little, but enough to notice. “Hello, Max,” she said, her voice smooth, familiar and so damn welcome.
“Hi, Emma,” I answered.
For a second, we just looked at each other, and I swear I forgot that Grace was right there, that there were dozens of other conversations going on around us. It felt like being in the bookstore again, with the same jolt of awareness, the same pull.
Grace cleared her throat, which brought me back into the room. “So,” she said cheerfully, “Emma was just telling me she’s here in Toronto working on her next book.”
Emma smiled, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. “That’s the idea, at least. I can’t say I’ve got very far yet. Too busy settling in, teaching, trying to absorb the city.”
“Absorb the city,” I repeated, amused. “Is that the official term?”
She laughed, looking at me. “Something like that.”
God, that laugh. It hit me right in the chest.
“Speaking of books,” Emma said, turning a little toward me, “how did your niece like hers?”
I blinked for a second, caught off guard and then I remembered. Of course. Lucy.
I grinned. “She loved it. Read it cover to cover in just two days. Then she started again from the beginning. Carried it around the house like a security blanket.”
“I’m glad. Ten is a good age to fall in love with books.”
“She’s already there. Half the time I go over to Grace’s, Lucy’s lying on the couch with a book and a finger up like I should be quiet. Last week she told me I was ruining the atmosphere. Ten years old!”
Emma chuckled. “A serious reader, then. You’ll have to be careful, she’ll grow up correcting your grammar.”
“She already does,” I admitted. “She told me last week that ‘me and Lucas’ is wrong and that it should be ‘Lucas and I.’ Again, she’s only ten!”
“Sounds like she’ll be running her own seminar in a few years.”
“Probably,” I said, grinning. And then I caught Grace watching us, her eyes narrowing, a spark of something in her face.
Grace had heard me talk about Emma before of course. More than once, she had teased me about the “mystery bookstore girl”. And now that she saw how Emma and I talked to each other, she put two and two together.
Her smile turned sly. “Emma was just telling me she wants to write about something truly Canadian in her next book. And I was just about to suggest…” She paused on purpose, drawing it out.
I already knew what was coming and resisted the urge to bury my face in my hands.
“…hockey,” she finished, smiling.
Emma’s eyebrows arched. “Hockey?”
“Why not?” Grace said brightly, her grin giving her away. “It doesn’t get more Canadian than that.”
Emma shook her head and let out a small laugh. “The problem is, I don’t know the first thing about hockey. Aside from the fact that it takes place on ice and involves a stick and a puck.” Her green eyes sparkled with amusement as she looked back at me.
I leaned back a little and smirked. “Well, that’s a start.”
Grace wasn’t finished yet. “You’re in luck, then, because my brother here happens to be a hockey player. A professional one, in fact. Can’t you, Max, explain it to her?”
I swallowed hard, trying not to look like a deer in headlights. “Uh,” I said, dragging out the word. “Sure. If Emma wants to.”
She looked at me with curiosity, maybe even a little caution. “I’ll think about it,” she said.
Of course Grace wasn’t satisfied with maybe. “Or,” she suggested, “you two could exchange phone numbers. That way, Emma can call you if she wants to learn more.”
Emma thought for a moment before nodding. “All right.”
Grace beamed like a cat with cream.
I fumbled my phone out of my pocket and handed it to Emma with what I hoped was a casual smile.
The room seemed absurdly loud while she typed – cutlery against china, a nearby table breaking into applause for a speech I hadn’t even noticed had started.
She gave the phone back to me, and I saved her number immediately.
Emma tucked her own phone back in her purse and stood up gracefully. “I’m sorry, but I need to go back to my table,” she said. “It’s been lovely meeting you both.”
“Go on, before someone at your table files a missing person report.”
I stood up too, instinctively, and that’s when I saw it – the slit in her dress. Long, high, and revealing just enough to set my brain on fire.
I stood very still, as if moving would give me away.
As she walked across the room, her hips swayed a little and I couldn’t look away. The green fabric caught the light, and her legs moved smoothly and confidently under it.
Christ. This woman.
I forced myself to take a breath, but it didn’t help. My body was still wired, as if I had just finished overtime on the ice.
Grace, of course, noticed everything. She leaned in and smiled, her eyes sparkling. “Well,” she said, still smug as hell, “that was interesting.”
I dropped into my chair, running a hand over my face like it might ground me. “Don’t start.”
She didn’t even try to hide how happy she was. “You really like her.”
“Grace.”
“You really do,” she repeated, singsong, practically glowing. “Emma. The bookstore girl. The one you’ve been going on about for weeks. Don’t bother denying it.”
I groaned and threw my head back. “I didn’t ‘go on about her.’”
“You did. You absolutely did. Max, this is amazing. She’s brilliant, she’s gorgeous, and she clearly likes you back.”
“She was being polite.”
“No,” Grace said firmly, “that was not polite. That was spark. That was chemistry. I’ve seen you on dates, remember? This was different.”
I slumped back, trying to act cool, though my chest was still tight. “Even if it was… she’s got a lot going on. A new city, writing another book. She doesn’t need me to barge in.”
Grace’s grin only got bigger. “Maybe it’s exactly what she needs. Lucky for her, you’re not shy about barging in.”
“Christ… You’re impossible.”
“And you like her… a lot.”
I gave her my best glare, but she just sipped her wine, looking excited.
The truth was that she was right. That bookstore moment had stuck with me, and seeing Emma tonight – how reality not only lived up to the memory but went beyond it – had knocked me off my feet.
I’d gone on three dates. Three. Melissa with the cats.
Jill with the phone. Zoe with the aura talk.
And none of them had even gotten close. But one woman – one damn woman in a green dress – made me feel like a teenager again, my heart pounding and staring at her as if she was the only thing in the room worth looking at.
Grace elbowed me in the side. “You’re already gone for her.”
I shook my head, but even I could tell my denial was weak. “She’s just… something else.”
“Good,” Grace said, sounding happy. “It’s about time.”
I groaned again and pushed my chair back. “I definitely need another drink.”
She laughed, far too pleased with herself, and I sat there, trying to ignore how Emma’s smile and the sway of that green dress were already burned into my brain.