20. Max
Thepast few weeks had been a blur of relentless activity and mounting pressure for me. Between my intense study sessions for the upcoming AdvancedSommelierExam and the myriad responsibilities at the MirageGuild, every moment embodied a race against time. My exam, now three days away, had consumed me, my mind constantly replaying wine regions, grape varieties, and tasting notes.
Tosay I was stressed would be an understatement. The exam was a massive hurdle, but even clearing it meant only a brief respite. Just one week later, the grand opening of the MirageGuild loomed on the horizon.
Thelounge of the club still resembled a work in progress. Furniture lay unboxed, strewn around haphazardly, while some wires dangled ominously from the walls, awaiting the elegant sconces Emma had carefully chosen. The club’s transformation was underway, but there was still so much to be done.
Andso I’d been dividing my time between the two clubs. Helping bring one to life and passing over the baton to the new staff at the other. Every day I could feel the flutter of pressure beating in my chest, but I knew only time would ease it.
Isabella, meanwhile, had been engrossed in finalizing the RSVPs for the grand opening. The guest list was a who’s who of the city’s elite, and every detail had to be perfect. I wanted to ensure they would be walking into a club that lived up to its hype and promise.
Thisafternoon, Izzy and I were at the MirageGuild. I was engrossed in studying my flashcards and occasionally muttering wine-related terms under my breath. Isabella, on the other hand, was tracing lines on architectural blueprints, mumbling about the arrangement of tables for the grand opening. I felt guilty for all the time my studying was taking out of my schedule. As much as I wished I could fully focus on the excitement of the grand opening, my brain was currently swimming in pop quiz questions.
“That layout looks incredible, Izzy,” I said, leaning in to get a closer look at the blueprints. “Our clients are going to be thrilled with your designs.”
Sheglanced up, a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. “You really think so? I was thinking that maybe I could move some of these arrangements around?—”
“Iz,” I cut in, hoping to ground her swirling thoughts. “You’re doing great. The way you’ve envisioned the space, it’s going to bring this place to life. Trust in that.”
Asudden vibration from my phone interrupted my focus. The glow from the screen lit up with a message from my sister: “Hey, FancyBoy, remember family dinner tonight. You better not be late!”
Ilet out an exasperated groan, rubbing my temples. “Damn it,” I whispered, having completely forgotten about my familial commitment amidst the chaos of work. I glanced at Isabella, debating internally.
“You okay?” she asked, looking up from where she stood.
Ihesitated. “I completely forgot about my family dinner tonight. AndI’m nowhere near prepared for it mentally.”
Isabellachuckled. “I take it this is something you can’t skip out on?”
Inodded. “Not a chance. My phone would probably overheat with all the calls and texts my sisters would send my way if I didn’t show.”
Noticingthe growl in my stomach and the way her eyes had started to glaze over, I smirked. “You know, it’s a well-known fact that plotting grand openings works better on a full stomach. How do you feel about gate-crashing a slightly intimidating, always unpredictable, family dinner?”
Isabellacaught the playful glint in my eyes. “IsMaxKingsley actually inviting me to meet the fam? I mean, I don’t usually do dinners until the fifth . . . work meeting.”
Ichuckled. “It’s . . . uncharted territory for me too. But, given how the day is going, I thought, why not? Besides, it could be fun, watching my three sisters trying to decipher the enigma that is Isabella.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere.” She flirted back. “All right, I’m in. But two conditions: one, there has to be copious amounts of wine, and two, you have to show me at least one picture of baby Max.”
Igrinned, the tension melting away. “Deal. And thank you. Truly. Having you there might just make the evening bearable.”
“I hope that’s not all I bring to the table,” she replied with a wink, her voice a mix of jest and sincerity.
“You know it’s not, sweetheart,” I said, eyebrows raised.
“We have an hour or so before we need to leave. So, before we brave the familial battleground,” I began with a smirk, shifting my gaze back to Isabella, “how about a quick taste test? I’ve been working on a signature cocktail for the grand opening.”
“Oh, now you have my attention. Show me whatcha got,” she said as she stood and headed over to the bar, sliding into one of the new chairs that had recently arrived.
Iselected a few ingredients, a shaker, and two champagne glasses. “Okay, I’m thinking this could be called MidnightCarousel. It’s a blend of elderflower, crème de violette, lemon, and Champagne. We could always sub out the Champagne for sparkling soda.”
“Okay, that sounds amazing,” she said.
Ifelt her eyes on me as I added the ingredients to the shaker, popped the lid on it, and shook it vicariously.
“Oh, Max, it’s beautiful,” Isabella said as I poured the concoction into our glasses, the purple liquid swirling with a smidge of activated charcoal I added to give it a deeper purple color. I rubbed a few flakes of edible gold over the top and slid a glass over to her.
Shegripped the stem. “Cheers,” she said, raising her glass.
“Cheers, Isabella,” I responded.
Iwatched her reaction as she parted her lips and tasted the drink. Her eyes widened. I was hoping for a good reaction, and the way her eyes widened told me I’d hit the mark.
“Oh my god, Max, this is so good,” she said, taking another sip.
“You think it’ll work for the signature drink?” I asked. “I have this one planned and some other mocktails, too.”
“Absolutely,” she said, “This is amazing.”
Isabella’seyes landed on the stack of flashcards. “I’m sorry if my drink requests distracted you from studying. I know your test is coming up.”
Ishook my head. “It’s no problem, really. It gave me something other than tannins and wine notes to think about.”
“Okay, I feel like I’ve taken up a lot of your time lately. With the event and . . .” Her cheeks flushed, no doubt remembering about what we’d done on the stage last time we were here. “I shouldn’t be distracting you when you need to focus.”
Iset down my glass and rested my palms on the bar top. “You are not a distraction, Isabella. Not in the least.”
Shesucked in her bottom lip. “Okay. I just don’t want anything to compromise your focus for your exam. This is a big deal.”
“Trust me, you help my brain calm itself. In the same way that I think it helps you,” I said.
Shetilted her head. “You mean, you stress out about being a thirty-five-year-old single woman with no clear path for the future, too?”
“I know there’s a lot of overthinking that goes on in here.” I came around from the back of the bar and walked over to where she sat. “And, right now, it sounds like you’re in your head. And as beautiful of a place that would be to hang out, I don’t want you overthinking about our time together.”
“It also seems to me,” I continued, “that you’ve achieved quite a bit since you got back not that long ago. Do you give yourself credit for your achievements or do you just focus on the things you haven’t perfected?”
“Fair point,” she said.
“Is this your way of asking me to help you refocus?” I asked as I slid my palm over her thigh.
“You do have a knack for that,” she said, holding my eyes as my hand pushed up under the fabric of her dress.
“You could just ask me though,” I said teasingly. “You could just say, ‘Hey, Max, will you get me off real quick so I can stop overthinking?’”
“Oh, is that what I can do?” she asked as she widened her legs.
“I wouldn’t mind hearing it,” I admitted.
“Max, will you slip your fingers inside me so I can come before meeting your family?” Isabella asked.
“I know you think you’re being cute, but, Isabella, that is music to my ears,” I said as I pushed the fabric of her panties to the side. I tugged her hips toward the edge of the leather seat and pushed her knees out wide.
“Mmm, already wet for me, huh?” I asked.
Itrailed a finger down her middle, and I grinned as she gasped when I slipped past her folds. I added a second finger and began pumping them in and out as my thumb pressed down on her clit. Aware of what she liked now, I knew what would get her over the edge.
Shegripped the bar top with one hand and my shoulder with the other. I hooked my fingers to hit the spot to bring her there.
“Are you close? Are you going to come for me, baby?”
“Yes, oh, I’m almost?—”
Hervoice cut off as I slid my fingers out of her and out from under her dress. Her eyes darted in confusion as I wiped my fingers on a cocktail napkin.
“I want you to start practicing asking for what you want,” I said as I leaned down close to whisper in her ear, “and trust that I will give it to you.” Her mouth fell open as I took a step back.
“But we’re going to dinner at your mom’s house. I’m all worked up now,” she said with a whine.
Ishrugged. “I don’t think it’ll take long for you to get up the nerve to start verbalizing what you need then, huh?”
Ichuckled as she let out an aggravated sigh. Family dinner was about to get entertaining for me.
Onour way out through the secret bookcase, I brought out my phone, thumbing quickly over the screen. “Just need to give them a heads up. You know, so they don’t, uh, ambush you or anything.”
Izzypeeked over my shoulder and saw the text I was composing for the family chat:
Max: Hey, bringing a friend over for dinner. Please, do NOT make a big deal out of it. And no teasing. Seriously.
Almostinstantly, there was a reply.
Lara: Ooh, a “friend”! Must be serious if you’re warning us in advance.
Ellie: Oh, I promise to be on my best behavior. winking emoji
Naomi: No promises here.
Isighed, rubbing my forehead. “Well, I tried.”
Isabellachuckled. “ShouldI be worried?”
“You? No.” I smiled as I held open the tavern door for Isabella. “Me? Abso-freakin-lutely. My sisters are ruthless.”
“Oh, I love ruthless women,” she said as she followed me down the sidewalk. “How far away did you have to park today?”
Istopped abruptly. “Uh, I don’t typically drive out to my mom’s. I was just heading to PennStation on autopilot, but we can call a taxi or a car if you?—”
Sherested her hand on my forearm. “Max, it’s fine. I’ve taken the subway plenty of times. We don’t need to call a car.”
“I’m sorry, I should’ve thought about it,” I said.
“Thought about what? ThatI might think I’m too good for the subway?”
Ichuckled. “Well, I mean, look at you. You’re all dressed up and fancy. Not that the subway isn’t full of all kinds of people, but?—”
Shesmirked, nudging me lightly with her elbow. “Oh, so now I’m too glamorous for the subway? Better be careful, Mr. Sommelier. Next thing you know, I’ll start demanding my wine be poured from a golden decanter.”
Ilaughed, visibly relaxing. “Just remember, once we get to my mom’s, you’re drinking that fancy wine from plastic cups. So, soak up all this fanciness while you can.”
“I’ll make sure to savor every single moment then,” she quipped, giving me a playful wink.
Thesubway ride was a blend of casual chatter and comfortable silence. As we swayed with the rhythm of the train, I found myself enjoying the mundane normalcy of it all, the simple way in which Isabella and I existed together. We stepped off at the designated station, the city’s pulse humming around us as we ascended to street level.
Emerginginto the fresh air, we were greeted by the charming residential character of JacksonHeights. The transition from the hustle of urban streets to the serene ambiance of a residential neighborhood was almost instantaneous. Tree-lined avenues unfurled before us, each brick home nestled against its neighbor like chapters in a storybook.
Iguided Isabella, my hand wrapped around hers with an ease that spoke of years walking these streets, each step taking us closer to my childhood home. The familiar sights eased some of the tension from my shoulders, my steps becoming more assured as we approached.
Iled us up a short set of stairs to a modest, welcoming home. Its warm, golden lights glowed from the inside, illuminating the porch. BeforeI could even knock, the door flew open to reveal a bubbly young woman with a shock of curly hair similar to mine.
“Maxie!” Lara squealed, wrapping me in a tight hug.
Isabellachuckled from behind us, stepping back. AsLara’s eyes landed on the woman beside me, Isabella lifted her hand and waved. “Hi, I’mIzzy.”
Mysister’s eyes widened, and with an impish grin, she said, “I’mLara. And it’s Izzy? As in Isabella, Izzy?”
“Yep, that’s me,” Isabella replied, slightly taken aback but smiling nonetheless.
Lara’seyes danced with mischief. ”Oh! Isabella! Are you the one who Max couldn’t?—”
Ibody-blocked my sister as I pushed her back inside, mumbling against her head. “Lara, I told you all to be nice.”
Isabella’sgaze flickered between us, clearly intrigued.
Iwas flustered and tried to steer the topic elsewhere. “Where’sMom? And the rest of the chaos brigade?”
Lararolled her eyes, escaping my grasp. “Inside, getting the roast out. But, oh boy, are they gonna be excited to meet Isabella.” With a final wink, she turned and sauntered back inside.
Fromthe heart of the kitchen echoed a lively voice, “Max, is that you? Don’t just stand there trying to impress. Come and set the table!”
Myeyes rolled dramatically. “I’m on it, Mom!” Yet, the warm, playful smile I exchanged with Isabella was a testament to the deep-rooted affection I held for the playful ribbing.
Thescent of a roast, mingled with the heady aroma of various spices, filled the air, prompting a subtle rumble from my stomach. AsIsabella ventured further into the cozy space, a broad smile stretched across her face. Walls adorned with memories showcased a younger me and my sisters, captured haphazardly in a collection of mismatched frames. I heard a chuckle as she smiled at the little kid with glasses staring back at her.
Myparents’ home, even though it was just my mother’s since my dad passed away all those years ago, had always exuded a vintage charm. Nearly every surface was decked with trinkets, quaint curios stood in corners, and lace runners elegantly laid over a polished wooden buffet. Here, my sisters, already engaged in a lively chat, looked up and beamed as Isabella entered. The round of warm introductions culminated with her being ushered to a seat directly across from them.
Ipulled out her chair and gave her a soft smile that hopefully conveyed my apologies for the barrage of questions my sisters were, no doubt, about to pepper her with. I pushed through the swinging kitchen door to help my mom. Our tiny galley kitchen was muggy from the steam of pots on the stove and warmth of the oven toasting my mom’s handmade rolls.
Igrabbed trivets and dishes to take out to the dining table after kissing my mom on her head as she added salt to the pot of stew.
“I brought Isabella for dinner, Mom, don’t make a big deal out of it,” I said as I grabbed a stack of linen napkins.
“Isabella? TheIsabella?” she asked teasingly. “It’s about time, Maxwell.”
Throughoutdinner, it was probably evident to Isabella that I played the role of the beloved but often teased youngest brother even if it was against my will most times. My sisters soaked it up and had me summoned for the most trivial tasks: from sending the basket of rolls around to being the one to fetch the forgotten butter. Her eyes twinkled with laughter to see me bending to every whim and fancy of my family without a hint of reluctance.
AsI went to open another bottle of wine, this one a CaymusCabernetSauvignon from NapaI’d brought from the bar, my mother shooed me away. “Max, you don’t need to waste that stuff here. I’ve got plenty of red back in the kitchen.”
“It’s not a waste mom. It pairs well with the roast,” I said as I twisted the cork out. “Besides, your red comes from a box.”
“Well, we wouldn’t be able to tell the difference if we tried. No sense in wasting such an expensive bottle on us,” she said. “We don’t need any of that fancy wine here.”
Ischooled my mouth into a grin and poured my mother a glass anyway. My mom liked to distance herself from the world I worked in and the friends I kept. A lot of it stemmed from insecurities about our house, our lifestyle, but now that it was part of my world, her separation hurt.
“Speak for yourself, Mom,” Lara said. “I personally enjoy the wine that FancyBoy here brings.”
Fromacross the table, I caught Isabella’s eye, raising an eyebrow to ask if she was surviving the family onslaught. She nodded once, smiling behind her raised glass. It was odd having her with me in this element. I don’t know why I didn’t think she’d fit in, but it was a pleasant surprise to see her interact with my loud family with such ease.
Asthe clock chimed, signaling the late hour, I began gathering empty plates, and Isabella, eager to help, joined in. We could still hear my sisters’ laughter from the dining room as we moved into the kitchen.
Withplates washed and the counter wiped down, I turned to her, my eyes filled with gratitude. “Thanks for coming tonight,” I murmured. “It means a lot.”
Shesmiled gently, placing a reassuring hand on my arm. “Thank you for inviting me. It was . . . enlightening.” With a playful wink, she added, “I’ve got enough stories to tease you for a lifetime now.”