Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
D uring the first week of September in Midcoast Maine, Sloane, Ivy, and Max gathered twice at The Gables. They ate muffaletta sandwiches and discussed the etiquette of sitting. Then reuben sandwiches and the etiquette of standing.
The second week of September, they enjoyed club sandwiches and banh mi sandwiches and etiquette lessons on shaking hands and air kisses.
The third week of September, they paired chicken salad sandwiches with clothing etiquette and Cuban sandwiches with the etiquette involved in performing introductions.
The fourth week of September, they enjoyed French dip sandwiches and hoagie sandwiches while Sloane tackled the topics of cocktail party and networking etiquette.
For Sloane, September gradually revealed itself to be a gilded month. She would remain here in Maine with the niece she loved until early November, and had the deep sense that she was right where she ought to be.
Now that she and Max had buried the hatchet, the stress he’d elicited in her during her first two months on his property had lifted. Which meant The Gables was free to become the fairy-tale place to live that it had always had the potential to be. Beauty winked at her from every plant, tree, and blossom on his acres. From the lines of his Victorian house. From each string light that glowed at night. From every cheerful inch of their apartment.
Near the end of the month, the daily high temperatures dipped into the sixties and Sloane pushed her short-sleeve tops and sundresses to the back of her closet in favor of sweaters and lightweight jackets and closed-toed shoes. The leaves began to change color—a taste of the lavish fall foliage that would arrive in October. This year, Sloane would be present to see it.
Sloane was set on making the most of her stint Down East and, to that end, became more proactive about planning things for herself and Ivy on the weekends. They loved eating breakfast out at a bakery named Savory—Sloane favored the scones, Ivy the donuts. They went to the beach or hiking or shopping. Both Ivy and Max accompanied her on a whale-watching excursion that left them all awed, and to an oyster extravaganza featuring a shucking contest, local bands, and oysters priced at two dollars.
Max had told her, “I’ll show you how well I can treat you and how much you can count on me.” And for five straight weeks he’d dedicated himself to doing exactly that. Which reminded Sloane why he’d become her friend in the first place. He was quick-witted, generous, and charming. Strong-willed, yes, but also reliable. He was Sloane’s champion, as well as Ivy’s. He showed Sloane in dozens of ways that she was his top priority. Social Sophie stopped posting photos of Max because he stayed home. He scoured Groomsport for ingredients for their sandwich dinners. He drove Ivy’s carpool when the water pump in Brooke’s car broke and the Suburban had to be towed to a repair shop. Sloane chatted with him outdoors at her café table every morning. Their twice-weekly dinners at his house simmered with laughter. He sat next to Sloane on Sundays at church.
Sloane relaxed around Max more and more. Liked him more and more. Thought about him more and more when they were apart. The bitterness toward him that had been lodged like a stone between Sloane’s ribs began to shrink. He didn’t pressure her to date him. However, she knew he hadn’t changed his mind on that because she saw banked fire in his eyes when he looked at her. Max was simply doing the thing she’d asked him to do. He was giving her time.
If September had held any disappointments, it had been these.
One, their search for Ivy’s twin sister had stalled. Or maybe failed altogether? Definitely, it had stalled. Anna’s mother, Stephanie, had never responded to Sloane’s initial email. After two weeks, Sloane had sent a gentle follow-up email. That, too, had gone unanswered. It could be that Stephanie was no longer reachable via that email address. Or it could be that she had received the emails but decided against communication with her daughter’s biological family.
Sloane and Max had both done additional research into the other channels available to Ivy. Because Anna had been placed through a closed adoption, their next options for finding her lay with the Central Adoption Agency and petitioning the courts. But both of those avenues would need to wait until Brooke and Jared returned.
Two, Max’s search for Empress Eugenie’s tiara had likewise hit a wall. Sloane had spent many happy hours reading about the tiara and its fabled history. As an experienced British royal watcher, she’d relished her deep dive into French nobility. However, her newfound knowledge of Eugenie and her Greek-inspired meander tiara had furnished zero ideas regarding how to find the missing artifact.
Three, Sloane’s weekly visits with her father always left her grappling with a fresh wave of loss. Even though the loss of a good relationship with him wasn’t fresh. On the contrary, it was one of the earliest and deepest losses of her life.
“Remember that we have a few things coming up,” Sloane said to Ivy and Max on the night of Tuesday, October first. They’d just finished straightening up after their dinner of Monte Cristo sandwiches. She and Ivy would be returning to their apartment soon and before they left Max’s kitchen, she wanted to make sure everyone was on the same page regarding their schedules.
She consulted her phone to ensure she was relaying the correct information. “Are we on for Thursday dinner?” she asked Max.
“Definitely.”
“Then on Saturday, the three of us are going to the Pumpkin Festival and Regatta at eleven.”
“Oof!” Ivy slapped a palm to her forehead. “I think I’m volunteering with the youth group Saturday. Here, I’ll check. They texted me . . . Yep. I told them I’d volunteer that day so I can’t go to the pumpkin thing.”
“Oh, what a shame,” Max said.
Ivy was still looking down at her phone so couldn’t see that the expression he directed to Sloane indicated that he viewed Ivy’s inability to attend as the opposite of a shame.
“I know.” Ivy tutted sympathetically. “Sorry.”
He lifted an eyebrow at Sloane like, I dare you to go to the festival and regatta alone with me .
Ivy’s presence during their dinners and outings had been like training wheels on a bike. Was Sloane ready to take the training wheels off? “You don’t have to come with me,” Sloane told Max. “I don’t mind attending by myself.”
“I can assure you I do have to come. I must.”
“Why?” Ivy raised her face, confused. “Do you love pumpkins or something?”
“Yes, that’s it,” he said. “I love pumpkins. I’ll drive us, Sloane. And I’ll be ready to go at eleven.”
“Very well,” she said in a businesslike tone. “Finally, the total solar eclipse of the sun is happening a week from Thursday. Ivy, you’ll be at school during the eclipse, and I’ve already confirmed that they’ll provide protective eyewear.”
“Jude invited me to watch it with him and Jeremiah and their girlfriends,” Max said. “Will you join us, Sloane?”
“Thank you, but I wouldn’t want to intrude.”
“You wouldn’t be intruding. You’d be making it an even group of six. Three guys, three girls.”
“I think you should go with them, Aunt Sloane. I mean, Jeremiah Camden! He’s so famous and he and his brother are really handsome.”
“They’re actually not that handsome in real life,” Max told the girl. “They only look that way in pictures because of their heavy use of photographic filters.”
Sloane chuckled.
“Look,” Max said to Sloane, “if you don’t want to watch the eclipse with Jude and Jeremiah, I’ll tell them no and you and I can watch the eclipse here or on the beach.” He shrugged.
“I don’t want you to miss out on time with them on my account.”
“Good, then come with me.”
She weighed whether or not she should agree. She’d like to see Jude and Jeremiah again. On the other hand, she couldn’t be sure if she really was a welcome addition to their eclipse-watching group or if Max was overstepping by inviting her.
“Come with me.” Max focused on her so intently that butterflies circled upward euphorically inside her stomach. “I will supply protective eyewear.”
“All right,” she relented, “but only because, mark my words, Ivy.”
“Yes?”
“Jude and Jeremiah actually are that handsome in real life.”
Max was not the sort of man who ordinarily spent his Saturdays at pumpkin festivals.
In fact, he’d been living in Groomsport for the past four years and had never once attended the annual event. Yet, he’d spent the past three hours of this cool, cloudy day looking at a bunch of pumpkin art. Also eating lunch at the festival’s food court followed by pumpkin cheesecake. Also watching a parade celebrating the pumpkin that had won the weigh-off—a piece of produce that was the pumpkin equivalent of Jabba the Hutt. His grandparents had marched in the parade with other members of the Greek Heritage Society. When they’d spotted him and Sloane, they’d rushed over to pat Sloane’s cheeks, thank her repeatedly for returning to Maine, and assure her she had their undying devotion.
Currently, he and Sloane were standing on the edge of the harbor with spectators on every side, observing the regatta. Several people had hollowed out huge pumpkins, turning them into makeshift boat hulls. Those people had then plopped their pumpkins in the water and climbed inside. A woman dressed as a mermaid was rowing her pumpkin boat. Two men—one dressed as a Viking and one dressed as a gnome—had fitted outboard motors to the backs of their pumpkin boats and putted by.
This was a far cry from what he’d called entertainment before Sloane came back into his life. In the past month, he hadn’t been to any clubs. Nor fancy restaurants. Nor sporting events. He hadn’t traveled except for one necessary two-night business trip to New York. He’d insisted his assistant cancel every other trip, preferring to stay home. Needing to be near Sloane.
He was aware that some of his high-level managers worried about his sanity and his priorities. But his sanity had never been better nor his priorities more certain.
He’d had a lot of years to put himself first. He’d achieved a great deal with his career. He’d amassed money. He’d lived as wildly as he’d wanted. He’d indulged himself.
And none of that had made him half as content as he was right now at this small-town festival with Sloane. The restlessness that had hounded him most of his life had been quieting over these last weeks. His driving need to succeed, to win, was receding. He no longer felt desperate to prove himself. Why would he? He’d earned back Sloane’s acceptance of him. And her acceptance was better than the admiration of a thousand strangers.
These realizations were life-altering, seeing as how he’d never planned to love someone. Never, even, viewed himself as capable of that. These past weeks had given him time to wrap his head around his feelings. And from this vantage point, looking back at his whole life, his destiny was clear.
Of course he loved Sloane.
Of course he did.
He’d loved her since he was a boy halfway through his college years. He was now a thirty-two-year-old man, and his love for her was the one constant since college.
As tremendous as the last four years had been for him work-wise, they’d been pale and lonely without her in them. So grim, in fact, that he’d lured Sloane into his garage apartment. He felt sheepish now about his tactics. The end had justified the means, but he could admit that the means he’d used to land her on his property were more than a little underhanded.
He’d said none of this to Sloane.
It might scare her if he told her he loved her. A possibility that, in turn, scared him.
A raindrop plopped against his cheek. Simultaneously, Sloane looked upward and held out a palm.
Rain in Groomsport typically moved from west to east and so Max glanced over his shoulder to the west at the ominous clouds racing toward them. “It’s about to start pounding rain. Should we make a run for the car?” He offered his hand.
“Yep.” She interlaced her fingers with his.
They zigzagged fast through the crowd. Max was trying to focus on getting them to their parking spot, but it was hard to think beyond the fact that Sloane had let him hold her hand. Her touch was warm, intimate.
The rain intensified. No point asking if she had an umbrella because she’d brought nothing but the debit card and ChapStick he was carrying for her in his pocket. His jacket was waterproof, but she had on a patterned skirt and a gray turtleneck sweater that definitely weren’t waterproof. Her knee-high boots were flat but slick—not made for running. He let go of her hand just long enough to whip off his jacket. “Here, hold this over your head.” He didn’t wait for her to comply, just took back her hand and drew her forward as quickly as he dared.
They were rushing past businesses toward Main Street when the downpour hit. If they kept forward through this, they’d both get soaked. To the side, cobblestones lined an alley between red-brick buildings. He drew her along the alley and into an alcove dotted with moss that housed two metal doors held together with a padlock and chain. The rain pelted the cobblestones, nature creating a temporary fourth wall for the alcove.
“Making it to the car seemed like a lost cause,” he explained, not letting go of her hand.
“Sheltering here until this passes seems like the best call.”
“You okay?”
“Totally fine.”
“Cold?”
“No. Here’s your jacket back.”
“You keep it.” He used his free hand to settle the jacket over her shoulders. She looked beautiful with her dark eyes and luminous skin. For once, he had her to himself, which was setting off all kinds of predatory instincts.
“If you don’t take your jacket back,” she pointed out, “ you’re going to be cold.”
“Which is why I suggest we stay alive by sharing body heat.”
She laughed. “I don’t think we’re quite at the level of urgency that would mandate sharing body heat to survive.”
“Fine. Then I suggest we share body heat just for the fun of it.” He tugged her forward.
She landed with both palms against his chest and released that breathy “ Oh ” that he loved.
He shook out his hair, sending droplets flying.
Sloane shrieked.
He smiled crookedly down at her.
“What’re you doing?”
“Reminding you that you’re the one who put me in the friend zone. And I’m the one who wants more. Every single day, I’ve grown more certain of that.” His hands settled against her lower back. “Sloane?”
“Yes?”
“Please stay in Maine. Be my girlfriend. And come back to work at Libri.”
She peeked toward the rain as if needing a second to compose herself, then slowly returned her gaze to him. “I’m not willing to commit to any of those things at this time.”
“The fact that you said ‘at this time’ makes me think you might be willing another time.”
Her pink lips bowed upward, and need swamped him. He adored her. Yearned to show her and tell her how much. “What’s the etiquette around kissing?” he asked.
“This posture of ours is a bit too personal for a lesson on etiquette, don’t you think?”
“If you were giving me an etiquette lesson on which knife to use for steak, then yes. But for an etiquette lesson on kissing, I happen to think this posture is perfect.”
“You are experienced at kissing. I can’t imagine why you’d need a lesson.”
“Because I have very little experience at kissing you. Have pity on me, Sloane. I don’t want to be a good-looking heartthrob?—”
“No worries there since you’re neither of those things?—”
“—who doesn’t know how to kiss you properly. Spell out the etiquette for me. Please.”
Clearing her throat, she lifted her arms and twined her hands behind his neck.
The sensation of that shot his body heat upward.
“Well,” she began, “consent is of the utmost importance. Some would say asking if you may kiss the other person kills the mood, but I contend that asking is the height of good manners.”
“Makes sense. You should feel free, Sloane, to ask me if I’m open to letting you kiss me.”
Her jaw dropped. “I’m not the one who initiated this posture or broached the subject of kissing!”
“But you want to kiss me.”
“You have no idea if I do or if I don’t because you haven’t asked.”
He unstuck a tendril of hair from her temple and smoothed it back, then used his thumb to trace the edge of her jaw. He heard the cadence of her breath quicken. “Can I kiss you?”
“I think you mean ‘May I kiss you?’”
He growled. “May I kiss you?”
“Before or after I conclude this lesson?”
“Depends on how much longer this lesson will last.”
“Not long.”
“Good.” He spoke in a low timbre. “I’m a fast learner.” Their profiles were close. He could smell her shampoo. See the water droplet caught on her eyelashes.
“Telegraphing your intentions before a kiss through eye contact is important,” she said.
“Check.”
“Body language is important for the same reason.”
“Not sure how my body language could be any clearer,” he whispered.
“Most of all, it’s key in this, as in every aspect of etiquette, to show respect toward the other person.”
“I have all the respect in the world for you. I care about you more than I care about myself.”
She pulled in air that wobbled.
“Why are you nervous?” he asked.
“Because it worries me to think where this might lead.”
“Me too. But that’s not going to hold me back.”
“Let’s just . . . No commitments. This is just for fun. Okay?”
“Okay,” he agreed, though he was definitely going to want a commitment. For him, this was not just for fun. All in good time, though. “Now. May I kiss you?—”
She shocked him by pressing her lips to his.
His heart knocked against his ribs. She splayed her fingers into his hair, then a rushing river of joy and physical bliss swept him away.
Tectonic plates shifted inside him in the best way. As if those plates were shifting into the places they’d always been meant to fill. He was hers in a way even he didn’t fully understand. “The one” was a phrase he would have scoffed at before. Yet Sloane was simply, mysteriously that for him. She just . . . was. The one.
His person. His favorite. His other half.
He drew her body against his and the rain cascaded down, whitish gray when everything inside of him was shades of orange and red. Minutes spun out. One became ten. Maybe more? He didn’t know or care because nothing mattered to him beyond this alcove.
“I think,” she eventually said against his lips, “the rain is over.”
“No,” he said, not because she was wrong but because he didn’t want this to end.
“Yes,” she said, humor in the word.
“Stay with me longer.”
“All right.” She gave him a reassuring, sun-coming-out-from-behind-the-clouds type of grin and it was so sweet that he almost couldn’t stand it.
Max hugged her and Sloane placed the side of her face against his throat, and he could feel her pulse on his skin.
He kissed the top of her head.
They stayed there, holding each other while the rain turned from drips to silent puddles. “Will you hang out with me back at my house?” he asked.
When she didn’t answer right away, he died three deaths.
“Sure. Until Ivy comes home.”
It was hilarious, how commonplace things befuddled Sloane in the wake of those alcove kisses.
For example, on the car ride back to The Gables . . . What was she supposed to do with her hands? Should she make conversation? No, thankfully Max was doing a good job of that. When they reached his house . . . Where was she supposed to sit? Ah, the sofa with feet on the cushioned ottoman. He got her ice water and handed her a throw blanket and lit a fire. Max took the spot next to her and they angled onto their sides toward each other, arms bent beneath their heads to form pillows as they smiled at each other, whispered, talked. They toyed with one another’s fingers. They kissed.
Sloane heard Corrie’s mom’s car on the drive when she dropped Ivy off at the garage apartment. But och . Ivy was fifteen years old. She could certainly spend an hour or two alone at the garage apartment.
Sloane was as giddy as if she’d guzzled a bottle of champagne. She and Max had crossed over the boundary between one land and the next. Though they’d known each other for years, this next land was one they’d never seen or explored until now and yet this whole place was abounding with wildflowers and beauty and excitement.
She’d felt very alone almost all her life. But for this golden afternoon and evening, she wasn’t alone. Max was with her. She understood his flaws, his strengths, his personality, the twists and the turns of his history. Neither one of them had enjoyed an easy, comfortable, or traditional family life growing up. Both had been raised by single parents. Both had known hardship and shame. He had wounded her. She had made serious mistakes.
It would be wildly dangerous to assume that this new land would lead to something long-term. So she didn’t assume that. He’d assured her this could be for fun and so why not? Why not embrace the enjoyment of this for now?
She leaned forward an inch, halting with a sliver of air and sizzling heat between them. He met her halfway, his lips against hers.
He was Max. The college student she’d met long ago. Her friend. Business partner. Enemy. Friend again.
And now . . . this.