“You cook?” she asked, the edge of her mouth curving up.
He shrugged. “A little. Are you hungry?”
“Guess we know who’ll be making the grilled cheese during our next impromptu lunch.”
He nodded vigorously. “One hundred percent, most definitely.”
“Hey,” she laughed, tossing a pen at him. “And no, I’m not hungry. I ate before I got here, but you go ahead.” Paloma turned to Drake. “Would you mind going back to that first website you showed me?”
“Sure,” he said. The soft tapping of keys filled the momentary silence. Then he pushed the laptop toward her.
Finding the spicy miso ramen from the other day, Max removed the lid and leaned against the counter. Paloma was focused on the screen, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. He was mesmerized by the simple gesture, needing to know if her locks were as soft as they looked and how it’d feel to run his hands through her hair.
He squared his shoulders, forcing his wandering mind to heel. Her unwavering commitment to the job deserved his professional admiration, not this . . . distraction. Yet, he couldn’t look away, his gaze tracing the cascade of her raven hair, the elegant column of her neck.
Drake tipped his nose in the air, then smirked. “You smell divine, brother. Are you wearing cologne?”
Max narrowed his eyes and mouthed, “Fuck you.”
Drake laughed, and Max couldn’t help doing the same. The sound seemed to pull Paloma from whatever she was reading. Her gaze jumped to him and stayed. “You do smell nice.” She pulled that delectable bottom lip between her teeth.
Drake cleared his throat and muttered something about sexual tension. Paloma dropped her gaze from Max to his brother. “If you have time while visiting, could I show you my social media branding? I’d like to see if it’s on point.” She rested a hand on his arm. “I’ll pay you for your time.”
“For a friend of Max, I’ll do it for free.” There was a flirt in his voice. He gave her that smile that made women and men swoon. Some days Max really disliked his perfect brother.
He twisted around, staring out the window over the sink, finishing his food, the tangy flavors as hot as his irritation. He shouldn’t care, but did his brother have to flirt with Paloma?
“You charged Jackson,” Max said, looking past his porch, lawn, and empty road to the dense forest.
Drake snorted. “One, he wanted the full package: help with advertising, website, and branding for all five of his hardware stores. That’s a lot more work than looking at a few socials. Two . . .” When he didn’t continue, Max turned, raising an eyebrow. “I should’ve been quarterback of the football team. I was two damn grades above. The jerk stole it from me.”
Max laughed. “Did you charge him resentment tax?”
“I’d never do that!” He tugged on the cuffs of his button-up, then winked. “But I thought about it.”
“So, you were a senior when Max as a sophomore?” Paloma asked Drake.
“Yup.”
“No wonder we’ve never met. I was a year under him and Jackson in high school.”
“I figured. Because Idefinitelywould have remembered you.” Drake’s signature smile widened, and Max’s hand tightened on the edge of the counter, knuckles whitening.
Paloma’s lips twitched. “Aren’t you a charmer.”
“Yeah, of snakes,” Max muttered, dropping the empty food container in the sink.
“Did you know my sister, Emmeline?” Paloma asked. “She was in your grade.”
Drake tapped his chin. “Emma?”
“Yeah, but recently she’s going by her full name. Emmeline.”
“Did she drop that asshat she was dating back then too? Henry Foster?”
“Like the nickname, recently. She’s divorcing the asshat.”
Drake chuckled. “Not a fan?”
