“What is it?”
I blinked and set the delicate vase back on the table, looking over my shoulder at Max. “Hmm?”
Today was the first time I’d been back to the store since the incident with Todd’s mom. Max had stopped in a few times to handle some things with Erica for the upcoming fundraiser because it was crunch time, but he always managed to coordinate those stops when I wasn’t with him. I was honestly surprised when he’d told me we were going to pop in today on our way back from deliveries, but maybe he was finally convinced that the McCormicks were going to let this go—let me go.
With every day that passed, I grew more convinced that Mrs. McCormick was lying about having spoken to Todd. That it was just one more attempt to hang onto control of a situation that she had no control over.
“I know that look,” Max said, coming closer. “What are you thinking?”
How did he…My stare slid back to the vase. Nox had made a handful of vases in various sizes—practice rounds for him and free decor for MaineStems.
“I was thinking this would be pretty as a perfume bottle,” I paused when he stopped beside me, his look making me shiver. “Do you think Nox would make bottles for you?”
He took my hand and brought it to his face, pressing his nose right to my wrist and breathing deeply from my skin. “For your perfume.”
“Yeah.” I swallowed. My hobby—my distraction from the raging urge to nest—had ballooned. I knew it was a consequence, a side effect of avoiding asking Max what was going to happen with the house, with us, but I wasn’t ready to give up this bubble. The one where we couldn’t keep our hands off each other. The one where, when I was too exhausted to come again, he’d rub my back or my feet or my head until I was sound asleep. The one where I woke up to a home-cooked breakfast every morning. The one where we sat on the back deck every night and watched the sunset.
The one where I was wholly in love with my husband.
“If you ask him, probably.”
Nox had warmed since that first dinner. There was still a general frostiness and edge to his demeanor, but he seemed satisfied that I was here to stay.
Before I got a chance to reply, Max got a message. Something about the way he checked his phone bothered me. Maybe it was how his eyes flicked to mine like he wanted to see if I was watching him. Or maybe it was how he turned his screen away from me, even though there was no way I could see it.
“Everything okay?” A tremor betrayed my worry.
“Yeah. Let’s go home,” Max said, brushing off the questions as he tucked his phone away and took my hand in his, my grip just a little looser as we walked back to the truck.
“Didyou know peonies are theking of flowers?” I asked after we’d driven a few minutes in silence.
Something was wrong. Max was too quiet, too focused on something else. And I felt the familiar noose tightening around my neck—the one that whisperedI told you soas it cut off oxygen to my heart. So I scrambled for a thread of conversation and found this one. I’d meant to ask after the shower last weekend, but I’d been so exhausted, I’d fallen asleep on the ride home, waking only when Max carried me inside.
How this man kept carrying me, like the added weight of the home stretch of this pregnancy made no difference, I had no idea.
“I did,” he admitted. “They’ve been called that for centuries. Why?”
“The jar of jam Gigi gave me hadpeonywritten on the label.”
“Your favorite.”
I looked at him. “Because you’re the king of flowers.”
His eyes pierced mine, desire flaring deep in them, and then he quickly boarded it up and looked back at the road as we turned onto the driveway.
Max parked the truck to go out and open the gate. Meanwhile, I watched him, feeling panic bubble up in my stomach, dislodging all the questions I’d been afraid to ask sooner. I needed to know—needed to get it over with.
“When are you going to put the house back up for sale?” I blurted out when he got back in the driver’s seat.
He jerked. “What?”
“The house. You wanted to sell it. I know you took down the sign while we’re staying here, but I just wanted to know when you’re going to put it back up for sale.”
“Daisy, what are you?—”
“I can even go back to the apartment if you want. I think it’s safe to say Mrs. McCormick isn’t going to come back there.”
Max stopped in front of the house and threw the shifter into park. “Is that what you want?”
