Three hours of wondering what changed and if she should try to fix what she must have broken.
Chapter Twelve
September 13th, 1:15 p.m.
“Hey, Sleeping Beauty, you alive?” asked the sultry voice that visited Max’s hottest fantasies often.
Opening his eyes, his heartbeat quickened, and warmth spread through him. Paloma stood a few feet from him on his porch in a summer dress in her signature red that he couldn’t help admiring. The color was stunning on her.
He shook his head. She’s a business partner, not a daydream.
The comfortable rocker squeaked as he stood. He stepped toward her before catching himself and moving back, and grabbing his duffle. “Shit, sorry. I know you wanted to get on the road to beat the rush hour traffic. My plan was to wait here and be ready as soon as you pulled up.” A yawn overtook him, and he covered his mouth, his jaw cracking.
Her brows rose. “Seems like you needed a catnap.”
More like he needed to hibernate. For the last week, he’d been getting up before the sun and working until it set to carve out time for this overnight trip to the Sterling house in Traverse City.
“I’m good,” he lied. “Ready?”
She nodded and stepped off the porch, walking toward her red car. He slid into the passenger seat and rubbed his eyes, debating whether sleeping the three-hour trip would be rude. He was exhausted, and things between them had shifted since the run-in with Asher. The easy camaraderie they once shared had given way to an uncomfortable formality, leaving an almost palpable tension in its wake. Yet underneath it all, the constant current of attraction was a struggle to ignore.
The only time things weren’t strained was when they talked about work—which was for the best. And that’s what he’d focus on. “Since they’ve asked me to design the landscaping as well, I’ve been thinking about the garden layout. How do you feel about bringing some of the outdoor elements inside? Like extending the natural stone from the patio into the living room.”
“Oh, I love it,” she exclaimed. “Blending the actual outdoors with the interior space would create such a beautiful flow. Can you imagine how stunning it would look, especially with the right lighting?”
Her eyes sparkled with excitement, causing a warmth spread through his chest. Damn, she was beautiful. But she wasn’t his to admire. She was hung up on Asher. The reminder was a bucket of cold water, dousing the spark of desire that had flared in his chest.
“I’m glad you like the idea,” he said, his voice carefully neutral despite his internal conflict. He turned his gaze to the road ahead, hoping the passing landscape would distract him. Silence settled between them, heavy with unspoken words. Or maybe all this angst was one-sided, and she didn’t notice his mood shifts.
The hum of tires on asphalt filled the car, punctuated by the rhythmic click of the turn signal as Paloma merged onto the highway. His eyelids grew heavy, but her voice cut through the white noise. “You know, you’ve got that same faraway look my dad used to get on long drives.”
His sleepy brain jolted awake, curiosity piercing through the fog of fatigue. Dad? She’d mention her mom and siblings but never talk about her dad. He shifted in his seat, turning toward her. The sunlight between the trees cast fleeting shadows across her profile, kissing her cheeks and lips in a hypnotic pattern. “Were you a road-tripping family?”
“No. We were the kind who traveled first class, vacationing where my dad worked.”
“What’s he do?”
“He’s a hospitality design architect,” Paloma said. “He designs luxury hotels and resorts all over the world, creating lavish, one-of-a-kind spaces. His projects took months, sometimes even years. That’s why we’d always vacation where he was working.”
He raised an eyebrow, intrigued by this glimpse into her family life. “That sounds interesting. Did you enjoy it?”
“Mom called it ‘mixing business with pleasure,’ but I think it was more about keeping the family together.”
There wasn’t a change in her body language or facial expression, but he caught a hint of something in her voice—a subtle undercurrent of melancholy that tugged at his heart. The lavish vacations and worldly experiences suddenly seemed less glamorous, tinged with longing. A pang of sympathy tapped at his heart.
A thoughtful silence settled between them, broken only by the steady hum of the engine and the occasional whoosh of a passing car. She merged onto the fast lane and then glanced at him. “What about you?” she asked, her voice quieter, almost hesitant. “What are your parents like?”
That familiar tightness banded around his chest. Images flashed through his mind: his father’s smile, the sound of his laughter in the kitchen, the screaming beep of machines in his hospital room. He swallowed hard, pushing the memories away. How could he possibly explain the weight he carried,the guilt that gnawed at him every time he thought about his family?
Moreover, what were they to each other? Colleagues? Friends? Their attraction was undeniable, but he wasn’t sure if it went beyond physical desire. The thought of baring his soul, of sharing his pain with someone passing through his life, had him hesitating. His dad wasn’t a casual anecdote to chase away boredom during a long car ride.
“They’re . . . my mom and Drake, they . . . we’re all trying to navigate things the best we can. It’s not always easy, but we manage.” He sighed, then said, “It’s complicated. They worry a lot. Especially about me.”
“And your dad?” Paloma asked, her voice gentle, tinged with curiosity and concern.
His gaze remained fixed on the passing landscape, his jaw tightening. After a moment, he replied, “He . . . he’s not with us anymore.”
Her quiet gasp filled the car, and a moment later, her small hand covered his. He turned his and squeezed before letting go, even though he wanted to keep holding her. He was ridiculous—into a woman who wasn’t interested in him.
