“You’re the first.”
Max looks pleased by that, which in turn makesmepleased. It shows me he’s invested in my passions.
Grabbing my hand, Max tugs me toward the front doors. “You’ll like this place.”
He doesn’t let go as we step into a restaurant with dark wood and mint green accents. Pale curtains against huge square windows overlook a field in the back. I’m guessing it’s quite pretty in the summer with the wildflowers, but the white blanket of snow is picturesque as well.
A plethora of mirrors give an undeniable elegance to the place. Candlelight, and plenty of it. Fresh cut flowers on the tables. Soft music and softer conversation. Blessedly warm air. My shoulders relax. It’s busy, but not enough to make me uncomfortable.
“Hello,” greets the hostess, a perky college-aged girl wearing a flowy white dress. “Do you two have a reservation?”
“Yes,” says Max. “Last name Carter.”
Another surprise. He must have called one in right before driving over. It’s hard not to be impressed. Or maybe impressed isn’t the right word. Maybe I meant grateful? No.
Cared for.
It’s a strange feeling. Of course I know my family loves me. My brothers would, for the most part, do anything for me, but as someone who doesn’t have many friends, I’m not used to kindness. I keep to myself, and I’m happy with that. Sometimes I talk to other students in my classes, and if there are group projects I work well with most people, but I don’t go out of my way to socialize. That’s been fine for me. Or it was. Now that Max is showing me what it means to connect with someone on a deeper level, to show someone their needs matter, I feel safe.
“Right this way,” says the hostess with a beaming smile. She grabs two menus and leads us to a really nice booth near the windows. After placing the menus on each side of the table, she says, “Your server will be with you momentarily.”
After removing my winter coat and scarf, I take one side of the booth. Max does the same, but instead of taking the opposite side, he slides in next to me, his hard, warm thigh pressing against mine.
I freeze, try to unscramble my brain, but the warmth of his body seeping into mine is distracting. “Don’t you want your own space?”
“Does it bother you if I sit next to you? I can move if it does.”
It doesn’t bother me that he’s sitting next to me. It bothers me that itdoesn’tbother me, if that makes sense. He’s one of the few people I can stand to have in my personal space. Whatever it means, I’m not ready to analyze it yet.
“It’s fine. I don’t mind.”
The next thing I know, he’s settling his arm over the back of the booth, effectively creating a well with his body, the perfect shape for me to rest against. “You’re cute when you’re flustered,” he says.
Before I can answer—not that I would know what to say—our server arrives.
“Hello, gentlemen.” The woman is all smiles. Her dark hair is pulled back into a sleek knot. Her uniform is immaculate, her demeanor confident, warm, personable. Growing up, my family dined at some of the richest restaurants in the world. More often than not, there’s a stuffiness to them all. Sebastian loved it. Kellan enjoyed it, though mostly so he could order the most expensive thing on the menu. Mav could take it or leave it. I counted down the minutes until it was over. There is nothing special about caviar. This place holds none of the arrogance that money brings. I relax against Max. “How are we this evening?”
“Great!” is Max’s response. Max is always great as far as I know.
I nod to her.
“Have you dined with us before?”
“I have,” says Max, “but Kellan hasn’t.”
“Oh, well then you’re in for a treat!”
She goes over the specials, the wine menu, and leaves with the promise to bring our drinks and fresh bread.
“This place has the best bread.” Max squeezes my shoulder, his fingers trailing across my neck and playing with the ends of my hair. Tingles spread toward my chest, up to my ears so they’re burning. I have half a mind to arch and purr like a cat, but that’s something Kellan would do. Which means maybe I should just do it, but I don’t want to change who I am either.
“So.” Time for some small talk. “How do you feel about the upcoming game?” It’s this Friday. I’ve been texting Kellan, asking him about the team we’re playing for discussion purposes with the guys. Apparently, Clemson is one of the more difficult teams.
Max’s expression is quietly contemplative. Concerned, even. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”
Right.
As if sensing my hesitation, he pushes onward. “I’m still worried about you, Kellan. Something’s going on. I want to be sure you’re okay to play this week. If you’re not, tell me. I’ll talk with Coach and have you sit this one out.”
