I nod. “You can come in.”
He does, leaning up against my sister’s crib, sorely out of place among the chic white furniture and frilly pink linens. He’s wearing jeans and a plaid button-down in shades of blue, and he’s hatless again, which I love.
I lay Ally in her crib. She does that funny twitchy thing Meredith calls startling, and Max does a poor job of stifling his laughter. I drag him out of the nursery before he wakes her.
He stops me in the hallway. “You’re the greatest big sister ever.”
“Oh, really? What would your big sisters have to say about that?”
“Who cares? They were borderline abusive when I was a kid. Ivy still is, sometimes. You’re, like, gentle and caring and sweet.”
“I can be gentle and caring and sweet with you, too.”
“Yeah? Prove it.”
I lift up on my toes to kiss him. Pressing his hands against my back, he eases me closer. He lets go of a sigh when I tease his mouth open, and then we’re full-on making out in the hallway—until the dainty sound of Meredith clearing her throat interrupts us. Max shoves me away like I’ve burned him.
“Just checking on the baby,” she says, breezing past. She avoids my eyes, but she’s biting her lip, hiding a smile.
Max tugs me toward the front door, muttering, “So much for sweet and gentle.”
Out in the truck, he cranks the key in the ignition. “Islands in the Stream” blares from the speakers. I wince. He waves his hand toward the stereo. “Go ahead.”
I fiddle with the music while we drive north on I-5. When I can’t find anything I like that won’t send his head into a spin, I turn the radio off. “Quiet’s better than Hank or Johnny or Merle.”
“You shouldn’t talk about the legends that way. I’ll convert you to a country girl one of these days.” He combs his fingers through my hair. “Happy Valentine’s Day, by the way.”
“Thanks, Holden. Back at ya.”
“What’d you do this morning?”
“Made fondant.”
“What the hell is fondant?”
“Heated powdered sugar and water, like Play-Doh for decorating cakes.”
“Teach me how to make it someday?”
I laugh. “Okay, but I’m not sure you’ll ever use the knowledge.”
“Oh, I definitely won’t, but you’ve educated yourself on all things football. The least I can do is get a handle on fondant. Despite my recent track record, I can be a pretty decent boyfriend. You’ll see.”
My heart skips a beat, but I keep my voice light as whipped cream. “Oh, you’re my boyfriend now?”
He pulls his attention from the road to blink at me. “Uh, aren’t I?”
“I guess? I wasn’t sure we were doing the boyfriend-girlfriend thing.”
“You don’t want to?”
“No, I—”
“Because I can look somewhere else,” he interrupts, reaching over to tweak my hair. “If you’re not willing to step up to the plate, there’s gotta be someone who is.”
I roll my eyes. “You can be really idiotic.”
“And you can be really dense. Are we on the same page?”
