"I believe you." She reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. "I'm just saying, be patient with him. Men like Max, they build walls so high they forget there's a world on the other side. Sometimes they need someone stubborn enough to climb over."
I think about the way he looked at me in his apartment. The heat in his eyes before he shuttered it away. The way his whole body went rigid when I stepped close, like he was fighting himself.
"I can be stubborn," I say.
Sarah laughs. "Good. You're going to need it." She stands, brushing off her jeans. "Eat. Sleep. And tomorrow, come to Sunday dinner at Logan and Erica's place. Everyone will be there. Including Max."
"He won't like that."
"Probably not." Her smile turns mischievous. "But he'll come anyway. He always does."
She's gone before I can protest, leaving me alone with enough food to feed three people and more questions than answers.
I eat until my stomach hurts. Then I curl up on top of the quilt, still fully dressed, and stare at the ceiling.
Max's face swims behind my closed eyes. Those intense green eyes. The hard line of his jaw. The way his voice dropped to gravel when he said my name.
He's not the man I remember.
But he might be the man I need.
CHAPTER THREE
MAX
Logan's house smells like roasting meat and chaos.
Kids run screaming through the living room while Erica shouts something about washing hands before dinner. Dan Whitmore stands in the corner nursing a beer, looking about as comfortable as I feel. Miguel has his arm wrapped around Sarah, whispering something that makes her laugh and swat his chest.
This is my weekly torture. Sunday dinner with the veteran community Logan has built in Grizzly Ridge.
I used to skip these gatherings. Stayed holed up in my shop, convinced I didn't need anyone. Then Logan showed up at my door one night, didn't say a word, just sat with me until the shaking stopped. The next Sunday, he dragged me here whether I liked it or not.
Now it's habit. Uncomfortable, awkward habit.
But tonight is different.
Tonight, Claire is here.
She's standing by the fireplace, a glass of wine in her hand, laughing at something Erica said. The sound cuts through thenoise of the crowded room and lodges somewhere beneath my ribs.
I haven't seen her laugh before. Not since she was a kid, anyway. Back then, her laugh was high and bright, full of the uncomplicated joy that belongs to children who don't yet know how cruel the world can be.
This laugh is different. Deeper. Richer. A woman's laugh.
She's wearing a soft green dress that skims her curves and stops just above her knees. Her hair is down tonight, a halo of dark coils framing her face. Silver rings glint on her fingers as she gestures while she talks.
She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
And I have no right to notice.
"You're staring."
Logan appears beside me, two bottles of beer in his hands. He passes one over without comment.
"I'm not staring."
"You've been standing in this doorway for ten minutes watching her like she's a bomb about to detonate."
