Delight at waking up with Max.
Confusion about the promotion.
Anger at him for leaving.
Surprise at finding Warren at his place and then pleasure at having a conversation with Max’s friend, feeling like I was getting another glimpse into his life.
And now, when the door shuts behind Warren, I feel a rush of unbridled lust at being alone with Max. I turn to face him, and though I know we should talk about what happened last night — and the fact that I just got offered my dream job — the only thing I want to do is jump his bones.
“I really like it here,” I say instead, because jumping his bones is probably the wrong move. And also, I can’t pinpoint the moment when I started using the phrasejump his bones.
His face shifts, and I wish Max was one of those people who wore his emotions on his sleeve, rather than being so damn hard to read.
I go on, “I really like it here, and I’m not ready to leave yet.”
“Okay,” Max says, but it sounds likeI don’t know what that means, Lacey.
Well, I don’t know what it means, either.
I want to tell him that I’m scared. That I’ve spent the past few years dedicating all my time and energy to this career, and now two weeks in Montana have made me question everything. I want to tell him that the entire bedrock of my life has cracked, and I feel unsteady.
That if I don’t have my relentless passion about Gaia and Citadale, I don’t really know who I am.
Instead, I say, “The fall festival is today.”
The reminder popped up on my phone when I was rushing out the door, looking for his Jeep, realizing he had taken off and really left me nothing but a little scribbled note about feeding Dona.
That he’d obviously been bothered by me taking that work call, and that he might even have heard what happened on it. And if he didn’t, I need to come clean to him about the promotion. About how appealing it is to me, and how impossible it feels to turn it down.
And how, despite everything, I’m thinking about doing exactly that.
“I think I’m going,” I go on, and I don’t even have to mention Liam, because Max’s face is already darkening at the memory of the hardware store owner saying he would take me.
“We’ll go together,” Max says, and a shiver runs down my spine at the sound of the possessiveness in his voice. At the definitive way he said it.
Like always, he’s managed to say a lot with a few words. That he doesn’t want me spending time with Liam, or maybe even that Max wants my time all for himself.
“Okay,” I say, grinning. “But you’re going to have to give me a ride back up to my place. Someone ran out before I could even get dressed this morning.”
The fall festivalin Low Pines is exactly as cute as you’d think it would be.
Kids laugh and run around us, their faces painted, parents calling after them, telling them to be careful and stay close. The air hangs sweet and rich with the scent of cinnamon and cloves, roasting nuts and sharp, steaming apple cider. The main road is a patchwork of orange and red — pumpkins and apples and an array of fake and real fall foliage littering the storefronts.
“I can’t believe you haven’t saidoh my Godor even anunrealyet,” Max says, and when I look up at him, he’s smiling down at me, those dark eyebrows high on his forehead.
A few years ago, right after I got back from Tokyo, Jasper took me to a concert in Santa Rosa. Afterward, a bad storm came through, and we ended up stranded in a motel. That night, we watched a lot of TV, and in one of the episodes, someone was talking about the idea of taking mental pictures. Jasper made me promise that I would stop to take mental pictures of the good times in my life, even with how excited I was for my career.
I didn’t keep that promise to him. Over the years, as work got more and more hectic and time felt scarcer and scarcer, the idea slipped almost completely from my head.
And now, standing on this street with Max, I’ve remembered it.
Feeling goofy, I lift my hands up to my face and pretend to take a picture.
“What was that?” he asks, laughing, his eyes shining in the bright sun as he looks at me.
Max is always handsome, but he’s especially so at this moment. His wardrobe is perfect for a fall festival — all flannels and rough jeans. Some of the tourists turn to look at him as he walks by, and I can’t figure out if it’s because of how handsome he is, or if they’re trying to determine if he’s an attraction.
Take a picture with the rugged Montana man. Good with his hands…in more ways than one.
