Isn’t there a saying about cowards living to fight again? I don’t want to die of embarrassment.
You would have already died if that was possible. Just get it done.
Cookies make any apology easier to swallow. But what kind?
Picking a cookie feels like deciding who he is. Chocolate chip means he’s a traditionalist. Sugar cookie means he’s boring. Coconut pistachio means he’s a little hippie—which, with those long curls of his, it’s a definite possibility.
You’re stalling!
I slip a cookie out of the tree nut case.
If Max hates it, I can grab him another one.
With poise and confidence I don’t feel, I walk over to his table. Those warm blond curls have fallen into his face as he types on his laptop faster than I’d have thought humanly possible. But a man like him breaks all the rules of nature. It isn’t fair to all the rest of the men in the world who have to accept that they won’t ever meet a woman’s expectations like Max.
And now I’m waxing poetic.
Before I can say a word, his head raises slowly until our eyes meet again.
Don’t fall down.
Instead, I should be reminding myself not to get lost in his eyes. It should be impossible anyway. Simply rhetoric or something they say in books. But his baby blues have me completely caught, like whirlpools spinning around with dozens of emotions I’ve only seen swirling between people in love.
My mind is playing foolish games that I don’t wish to play.
Next thing I know, I’ll be tumbling to the ground again if I don’t pull my gaze from his.
Would that be such a bad thing?
Idiot, do you really want security showing up a second time with guns drawn? That’s enough for me to break free. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry about almost getting you shot.”
He blinks twice and then starts to glance down, freezing when his eyes hit the floor.
Why isn’t he responding?
Is something wrong?
Is he mad at me?
Max didn’t seem upset earlier. Maybe that was because his daughter was there. People have more control around children.
Wonderful. Just wonderful. “Well, anyway, I’m um, really sorry. Thank you for saving me. I thought you might enjoy a little snack while you wait.”
He sits silently, staring at the floor.
What do I do?
“This cookie is one of the kids’ favorites. They dubbed this one ‘Leftovers’ and it stuck—basically because it’s true. Sometimes we’d have odds and ends remaining from the cookie mix-ins, and I didn’t want to add them into the new containers, so the ‘Leftovers’ was born. It’s one of our top-selling cookies by far.” Slowly, I place the little dish down by his computer, not wanting to startle him. “Hope is doing fantastic.”
His hand shakes and starts moving towards mine, stopping a millimeter away. “I’m sorry I scared you.”
“You didn’t.” The words slip out of my mouth before I can edit them.
Max’s head jerks up until he’s looking me in the face. “Don’t lie to me. Not about this. And not ever.”
He didn’t…He really did, and that felt far more intimate than it should have. My mind is so messed up. This is going to be one more weird thing I’m going to have to try to explain to my therapist. At this rate, I should book the whole evening with her.
But what I can’t do is let Max think that any of this was his fault. “You didn’t scare me. Thank you for coming to my rescue.”
