He jutted out his chin. “I saw you at the coffee house.”
“Another emotionally stunted male,” she muttered. “I wasn’t pining after Asher. I was being a petty bitch. There’s a huge difference. I was pissed at the way he discarded me.” She dropped her hand and shrugged. “Which is dumb because we didn’t have anything special. And he was right to break it off since he’s obviously interested in Lilith. But . . .”
“But what?” Max asked.
“But I did text him and apologize.” She shrugged again and smiled. “I’m petty but not stupid. He’s good for my business. I’m on speed dial for him and Hope when any of their clients need a home designer.”
The ground tilted under him. He’d read the situation completely wrong. “I’m sorry for jumping to conclusions. I should have known you better than that. It’s just . . . when I saw you at the coffee house, I thought . . .” He shook his head, stepping down two of the porch steps. “Never mind. You’re right; I shouldn’t make assumptions about your feelings.”
The tension seemed to drain from her body. She moved in front of him. Still on the porch, they were now eye level. “It’s okay,” she said softly. “I get it. It probably looked bad from the outside.”
They stood there, the air between them thick with unspoken desires and lingering tension. His gaze dropped to her lips, and he swallowed hard, suddenly very aware of how close they were standing.
“Paloma, I . . .” His pulse thundered in his ears, and he leaned in, her lips tantalizingly close. The world had narrowed to this single, perfect moment—her warmth, scent, the promise of a kiss hanging between them like a gossamer thread.
He leaned in, intending to close the final distance between them. Then, the bass from a car boomed, shattering the delicate silence.
His stomach lurched as if the ground had liquefied beneath his feet. Reality crashed between them with brutal force, leaving him reeling. Headlights, harsh and unforgiving, pierced the darkness, pulling alongside Felix’s house.
Shit. Jamie.
He stepped onto the sidewalk, the space between them suddenly vast and aching. A cold emptiness settled in his chest where anticipation had burned mere seconds ago. He summoned a smile that was probably more like a grimace, hyper-aware of Paloma’s proximity, of the moment slipping away like water through cupped hands.
They walked to Jamie’s car, and Max introduced Paloma. His skin prickled with frustration, desire thwarted and unresolved. “Give me a second to grab my duffle,” he told his friend.
He turned to Paloma. Her body language was closed off. “I guess this is goodnight then,” she said, her tone neutral. Her car was parked a little farther down the street, and they walked toward it.
“Yeah, I guess so,” Max replied, searching her face for any hint of the connection they’d shared moments ago. “Thanks for inviting me tonight. It was . . . fun.”
She nodded, her expression guarded. “It was. I’m glad you met my brother and Abigail.”
He hesitated, wanting to address what had almost happened between them. “Paloma, about what—”
“We got caught up in the moment.” Her gaze focused on her car, now a few feet away.
A pang twisted in his chest. “Right,” he said, failing to keep the disappointment out of his voice.
He went to the back of the car to grab his bag. The trunk popped open, and their gazes snagged over the hood. A spark of electricity passed between them.
“Max, I—” Paloma started, then stopped, shaking her head slightly.
“What is it?” he asked, his hand pausing on the handle of his bag.
She opened her mouth, then closed it again, clearly struggling with what to say. Finally, she managed, “Have a good night. I’ll . . . I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning on the way to the Sterling house.”
He pulled out his bag and closed the trunk with a soft thud. “Yeah, see you tomorrow.” All the way to Jamie’s car, the weight of Paloma’s gaze followed him. Hand on the passenger door, he turned and caught a glimpse of conflict in her eyes before she quickly looked away.
Climbing into Jamie’s car, Max tossed his bag in the back seat, his mind whirling with unanswered questions and unresolved tension. As they pulled away from the curb, he watched Paloma in the side mirror. She stood rooted to the spot, her expression unreadable in the dim streetlight.
“Everything okay, man?” Jamie asked.
Max tore his gaze from the mirror. “Yeah, everything’s fine. Just . . . complicated.”
Chapter Fourteen
September 14th, 10:15 a.m.
Max held open the massive wooden front door, still reeling from the two-hour client meeting with the Sterlings that had upended all his conservatory design plans. Paloma stepped past him, the faint scent of her perfume teasing him.
