Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
M id-morning the next day, while working at her desk in the bedroom, movement beyond the window drew Sloane’s attention.
It was Max, walking purposefully through the drizzly weather toward the staircase to the garage apartment. That jolted her with what felt like an instant caffeine rush.
Clearly, he was coming to see her.
Darth wanted an audience.
Frustration muscled to the front of her emotions. Also self-consciousness because she hadn’t forgotten one millisecond of their kiss. Also grim determination. After two weeks, it was past time to rip the Band-Aid off.
Sloane made her way to the door with resolute strides, her sandals visible beneath the hem of her blue sundress. It was highly unusual for Max to be at home at this time of day, and she certainly hadn’t predicted he’d initiate a conversation with her on this ordinary Friday morning at the end of August. Thankfully, though, she prioritized dressing and doing her hair and makeup before driving Ivy to school each morning. Which meant she was not at the disadvantage of having to speak with him, once again, in pajamas. Earlier, she’d knotted a strip of blue floral cloth into a headband and now adjusted the knot’s jaunty tips.
Remain cool and calm. Hold your own. Don’t let him ruffle your feathers. Do not, under any circumstances, mention that you noticed the parade of women he’s been romancing.
After sucking in an energizing breath, she opened the door. He wasn’t yet visible on the landing, for which she was glad. The sight of Max, close-up, was going to be an onslaught.
He mounted the final stair, turned toward the door, and came to a sudden stop, his expression showing surprise to find her already standing there.
Good. Let him feel off-balance.
Their gazes locked and held.
Behind him, a storm shifted across the sky, gray and rumbling. Max’s thick, black hair was damp with rain. His fingers had left tracks as he’d combed the strands up and back on the sides. Tiny droplets clung lovingly to the tops of his shoulders.
She stepped back and, wordlessly, he walked inside. She shut them in, which muffled the sound of the weather yet exaggerated the lightning that existed between them.
He’d dressed slightly more formally than usual today, as if taking extra care with his appearance. His sweater appeared to have been made on a loom by the hands of cherubs. If not, it was certainly as expensive as if it had been made that way. The beautiful, simple crewneck was a shade of green somewhere between jade and gray and brought out the matching color of his eyes. He had on dark jeans and retro Adidas with flat soles and three black stripes on the sides.
Her hormones had become more and more enamored of him as the summer had gone on—as evidenced by her behavior the last time they’d interacted. Sadly, the last two weeks hadn’t obliterated those hormones, but they had succeeded in reminding her why she couldn’t put her faith in him.
His face was closely shaven. His features set in serious lines. “Hello, Sloane.”
“Hello, Max.”
“How have you been?” he asked as if he genuinely wanted to know.
“Very well,” she replied, crisp. “How have you been?”
“Not great.”
Now she was knocked off-balance. She’d expected smooth, sardonic Max. “Not great,” she repeated. “Why?”
“Because of what happened between us. I’m here to talk to you about it.”
“Ah.”
“Real talk?” he asked.
She’d forgotten that the phrase “real talk?” had once been their prelude to discussions about sensitive or uncomfortable issues regarding Libri.
“Real talk,” she agreed.
He took a moment to gather himself while looking right at her. “I really, really liked kissing you.”
Goosebumps eddied over her skin. All indications had been, during their kiss, that he liked it. But hearing him say it was another thing entirely. Validating. Also confounding. “You liked kissing me?—”
“—I really, really liked it?—”
“—Yet have a strange way of showing it because you followed up kissing me with two weeks of silence.”
“And you followed up kissing me with two weeks of silence,” he pointed out calmly.
He wasn’t wrong. “I was trying to sort out my thoughts.”
“Same here.”
“Though only one of us has spent the last week on a dating bender.” Why had she said that? She’d expressly decided not to mention it.
He cocked his head. “How did you know about that?”
“Ivy follows your adventures on social media and shows me all her findings.”
“Okay. I admit that my dating bender was not a good look.” He raked a hand through his hair, dropped his arm. “Our kiss rattled me.”
“Why?”
“I’m not used to being that affected or . . . caring for the other person as much as I care about you. I ran from it. I was trying to distract myself—with all those nights out. It didn’t work. In fact, it made me feel lousier.”
Her brain spun. She had not anticipated statements like these and didn’t know what to do with them.
“Just so you’re aware,” he went on, “I didn’t . . . do anything, physically, with those women. I didn’t so much as kiss any of them.”
She narrowed her eyes skeptically.
“I didn’t, Sloane.”
He looked earnest but it seemed foolish to believe him wholesale.
“Where is your head at regarding our kiss?” he asked.
“I also really, really liked it,” she acknowledged, rewarding his truthfulness with some of her own.
A masculine grin flashed across his lips.
“I was also rattled by it,” she continued. “I’ve categorized it as fleeting lunacy. We argued for a month after I arrived in Maine. Kissed. Then avoided each other for two weeks. This is not rational behavior.”
“ We sparred in a flirtatious way for a month after you arrived in Maine,” he corrected.
She scoffed. “Turning off my water was flirtatious sparring?”
“I found it highly flirtatious when I watched you march out to the valve and turn the water back on yourself. And our kisses were world class , so who cares if they were rational?”
“Me. I care. Obviously, we shouldn’t do that again.”
“I disagree.”
She raised her brows.
“I want more,” he said.
“More?”
“More.”
Desire curved in her abdomen, urging her to answer with an undignified YES, MORE! but she was much too self-controlled for that. “What do you mean by more?”
His eyes glittered. “I want you to be with me.”
What was going on here? What alternate dimension was this? “Be with you?”
“Yes. Be in a relationship with me. Give dating me a try.”
“Why?”
“For the same reason that any two people get together. Enjoyment.”
Her mouth went dry because he had this new, wild power over her that she didn’t understand. “That would not be wise.”
“Because?”
“Because I had a front-row seat to your romances for years. Women enter your life for the sake of enjoyment but then exit through a revolving door that’s probably not very enjoyable for them at all. I have no desire to be one of them.”
“With you, it would be different. I would be different.”
“Different how?”
Before her eyes, he switched into business-tycoon mode. She knew why. He’d perceived her question as the opening salvo in a negotiation and Max excelled at negotiation. She’d seen that calculating glint enter his expression numerous times in the boardroom. She’d never fathomed that he’d direct it toward the goal of winning her . Never imagined he’d state so frankly that he wanted to be with her?—
“Here’s how I’ll be different,” he said. “I’ll give up going out, except to events you’re interested in attending with me. I’ll cut down my work hours as much as I can to spend time with you. I’ll only travel for business when necessary. I’ll show you how well I can treat you and how much you can count on me.”
This was Max talking. It was astonishing and worrisome and a tiny bit thrilling and she really needed to keep her head. “I’m not asking you to make those changes for me.”
“I know. I’m making them for myself because I know those things are prerequisites to you giving me a chance.”
“The fact is . . . I’m nowhere near ready to give you a chance, romantically. You’re still the man who kicked me out of Libri. You’re still the man who’s spent his adult life idolizing success, money, and power. I can’t snap my fingers and suddenly forgive you and trust you.”
“Tell me what else I can do to earn your forgiveness and trust.”
“I think . . . I mean, it’s just going to take time. Time hanging out with each other. Time to be certain we can be civil to each other and, more than that, genuinely good for each other.”
“Done. How much time do you think you’ll need?”
“I can’t guarantee I’ll ever be up for a romantic relationship with you.” She broke etiquette by placing her hands on her hips. “Honestly, I don’t understand what’s going on here. Where did your interest in me come from?”
“From our history. From you coming back to Maine.”
“Your interest will likely leave as suddenly as it came.”
“It didn’t come suddenly, Sloane. It’s been thirteen years.”
Wait. Was he saying he’d been romantically interested in her since they met?
“I’m being honest with myself and you. I admit, that’s unusual for me. But now that I’m being honest, I can see clearly what I want.” Max moved in closer the way he’d done that night on the patio before they’d kissed. “And I’m going to put my single-minded focus into getting what I want,” he said in a velvet tone.
“Oh no you don’t.” She stopped him with a hand on his chest. Then took a healthy step backward.
His gaze twinkled. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t scramble my head by getting close to me.”
His mouth tipped up. “I have the ability to scramble your head?”
She didn’t answer that. “Stay where you are. Two yards of distance between us feels about right.”
He chuckled. “Shall we agree to terms? I won’t go out with anyone else while we’re figuring this out. Will you do the same?”
She hesitated.
An indent formed between his brows. “You and Nate haven’t gotten together, have you?”
“Nate expressed an interest in taking our relationship to the next level, but I told him I’d prefer for us to remain friends for now.”
“For as long as you keep me in the friend zone, will you keep Nate in the friend zone, too?”
“No, I won’t agree to that. It’s not logical for me to refuse dates with other people on the off chance you and I might one day start dating each other. It’s not logical for you to refuse dates for that reason either.”
“I won’t go out with anyone else while we’re figuring this out,” he reiterated. “I’ll be too busy showing you why I’m miles more desirable than Nate.”
“And miles more difficult.”
“Will you say yes to Ivy’s idea of sandwiches and etiquette lessons?”
When Ivy had come home from Max’s house last night, the girl’s sandwiches-and-etiquette plan hadn’t seemed feasible. Sloane had bought time by telling Ivy she’d think on it. This exchange with Max had shifted the landscape. “I’ll say yes.”
He made his way to the door. “See you tomorrow morning during your devotional time.”
“See you then.”
Lightning flashed between them again. The moments spun outward, heavy with awareness. She had just enough time to register her libido yelling, YES MORE! before he walked out and left her in the quiet.
Nicole
Because I love you, and only because I love you . . . I will talk with Fiona.
Max
Thank you.
Nicole
You’re welcome, Yios. Tell her to meet me at the playground at Lake St. George Park at 10 a.m. on Monday.
Days had passed since Ivy and Sloane had written an email to Anna Thomas’s mother, Stephanie—which was driving Ivy crazy. So many days! And, still, no response. Aunt Sloane did not seem bothered by this. She was totally content to wait around, which Ivy did not understand at all .
It was 10:00 p.m. and Ivy was in her room, cuddling Ricky while Kevin chewed on an applewood stick.
Ricky looked up from her cradled palms, whiskers twitching.
“I’m too impatient to wait forever to find my sister,” Ivy told him.
I understand completely , his tiny face seemed to say.
“I feel like I should do something.”
You should .
She rubbed a fingertip on his forehead, then gently placed him back in his cage and handed him an applewood stick of his own. “You boys are the cutest things ever,” she whispered, her heart filled with love.
She leaned into the stack of pillows on her bed, opened Instagram on her phone, and typed “Anna Thomas” into the search bar. Dozens of accounts matching that name appeared and she began making her way through each one.
It was easy to rule out most of them. These Annas were all too old to be her Anna. Near the bottom of the list, she clicked on an account that took her to the profile page of a pretty, brown-haired teenager.
Anna’s bio read, Washington High School. Class of ? —
“Oh my gosh!” She sat bolt upright.
This Anna was graduating from high school the same year as she was. Her bio went on to say that she lived in Newburyport, Massachusetts. A Google search for Newburyport revealed that it was located north of Boston near the Maine border. Very believable to think that a baby who’d been born in Boston would be living there with her adopted family now.
Ivy tapped on the most recent picture Anna had posted, two weeks ago. It showed her and a friend with their arms around each other on a city street. Ivy resembled her biological father, Seth. But Anna looked a lot like how Ivy remembered Harper looking. Anna and Harper had the same shade of brown hair. The same sharp, beautiful features.
Ivy rushed to her feet and began walking a track from one side of her room to the other. The rats watched, heads going from side to side like spectators at a tennis match.
She clicked through photo after photo that Anna had posted. Read the captions. It seemed Anna was the middle child of three kids. She had an older sister, a younger brother, and really friendly-looking parents. She went on trips to places like Mexico and Ireland and didn’t seem to be hurting for money. She had lots of friends and had even had a boyfriend for a while last year. She was on the drill team at her school and sang in the choir.
I have found my sister myself! And it hadn’t even been hard.
If she told Aunt Sloane and her mom about this, she knew what they’d say. They’d say to go through the proper channels, to wait until they received an email back from Anna’s mom, Stephanie.
She peered again at Anna’s profile. Then hit the Message button and started writing a DM to her.
Ivy
Hi! I think you’re my twin sister.
No. Geez. That was too much. When they’d communicated with Seth and Stephanie, they hadn’t come right out with the truth like that.
Delete, delete, delete.
Ivy
Hi! I think we might be related. I’m Ivy. I live in Groomsport, Maine. I’m the youngest of four kids and am adopted. This summer, I’ve been looking for some of my biological relatives. I know I have a relative with your name who is your age. So, yeah! I think we might be related.
She read it out loud, which sometimes helped her spot typos.
Was this fine?
She said a prayer. Read it again. Hit send.
Nervousness and excitement were tugging upward in her midsection like helium-filled balloons. Some people had their notifications set so that they got an alert every time someone left a DM. If Anna had her notifications set like that, Ivy might hear back soon.
She went to the kitchen to pop microwave popcorn. Standing at the counter, she ate it obsessively while staring at her phone. When she’d almost reached the end of the popcorn, a reply arrived.
Anna
No way! That’s so cool. How can we find out if we’re related?
Ivy
I could come by your hometown one weekend to meet you. Do you like frozen yogurt?
Anna
I do.
Ivy
Let’s get yogurt!
Anna
Yay. When?
Ivy
When are you free?
Anna
Next Saturday afternoon?
Ivy went to the monthly calendar that Sloane kept filled with her schedule and Ivy’s. Her aunt would be giving an online etiquette class that day so it had already been arranged that Ivy would spend the day with her friend Corrie, then sleep over at her house.
Ivy
You’ll never believe this, but I think I found my twin sister.
Corrie
WHAT?!
Ivy
Do you think you can drive me to meet her next Saturday in Newburyport, Massachusetts?
Corrie was already sixteen and had gotten her license two months ago.
Corrie
How far away is that?
Ivy searched it up.
Ivy
Two hours and forty minutes.
Corrie
My parents will never let me drive that far.
Ivy’s spirits dipped.
Corrie was the bravest girl in their friend group. She was always up for anything and loved a dare. Corrie had screamed, then practically danced a solo when “We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together” by Taylor Swift had come on at the school dance in the spring. She was the one who’d jumped, spinning in the air, off the diving board at the Groomsport pool last weekend. Usually Ivy was the one keeping Corrie in line. But she had to meet up with Anna, and Aunt Sloane would never be willing to take her.
Ivy
What if we don’t tell your parents or Aunt Sloane that we’re going? I’ll send Sloane some pictures of us doing things in town. You’ll send your parents pictures of us doing things in town.
Corrie
I like the way you think, but my parents can track my location.
Ivy
We’d have to turn our locations off. So long as we keep in touch with them and send them pictures of what we’re “doing,” they might not check our locations. But if they do, we’ll play dumb and say we don’t know why our phone disconnected from tracking.
Corrie
Ingenious. Girl, you know I’m up for anything.
Ivy
You’ll drive me to Newburyport? We won’t stay long. We can be back before dark.
Corrie
YES! I’m excited to meet your sister.
Ivy returned to her conversation with Anna.
Ivy
Next Saturday is perfect. Can’t wait to meet you!