I laugh at my own joke and say, in response to his question about the mental picture, “That was way better than anoh my God.”
Then, surprising myself, I reach out and take his hand. It’s slightly cool and dry in mine, large and rough, and I feel him tense up for a moment.
He clearly wasn’t expecting it. We still haven’t really talked through that call or what it means forus. Or if there is an us. But I want to hold his hand, and as much as I’ve been trying to slow myself down, I’m not going to deny myself this small luxury.
Max might, though. Sleeping with me is one thing. Holding my hand, publicly, in the middle of town, that’s another.
But then, Max relaxes and adjusts his hold, lacing his fingers through mine. It makes my heart turn completely over in my chest, and to distract myself from the feeling of it, I tug him down the street and toward more of the good smells.
The road is closed to cars and lined with booths, different townspeople offering various fall goodies. We look through one booth selling essential oils and another with crocheted critters holding leaves, baskets of produce, or pumpkins.
When we stop by Warren’s store, which is packed full of tourists, he spots us and says, “Well, this day is getting better and better.”
We try apple cider, shoot some Red Delicious from a cannon, and take pictures in the cut-outs, even though Max resists, shaking his head until I finally get him to smile through the hole.
“You’re having fun,” I insist when he scans the crowd, clearly not pleased with the number of people here.
“I’m happy that I’m with you,” he says, and I ignore the way my heart jumps at that.
Back in San Francisco, the problem was always guys who didn’t want to commit. Wouldn’t go official or stop dating other people. Vanessa went through her fair share of finding other girls in a guy’s phone.
But here, I have a guy holding my hand, doing all this dumb stuff with me.
A guy who lives in Montana, and who won’t be looking to move to California any time soon.
I know, in the back of my mind, that it’s a problem. That I can’t ignore the obvious conflict here. But this day is gorgeous, and Max is smiling at me, and I decide that I can at least take this time to enjoy myself before dealing with the reality of our situation.
CHAPTER 18
MAX
Lacey is in the passenger seat of my truck, where I like her to be, and we’re halfway back up the side of the mountain when her phone rings, and she takes it out quickly.
“Can you pull over?” she asks, flashing a look at me before bringing the phone to her ear. “It’s Vanessa, and I don’t want to lose the signal.”
I’m already doing what she wants and pulling over to the side of the road. I’m also realizing that I will, pretty much in any situation, do what Lacey wants me to.
That’s clear after the way I went from booth to booth today, not really bothered by the crowds or the rampant consumerism. Lacey bought tea and baked goods, a shirt and a skirt, loaded up bags with beeswax candles and vintage finds, and I did nothing but follow along behind her, carrying her things.
“Vanessa?” Lacey says, answering the phone as I punch the button to turn on the hazards. “What’s?—”
Her friend’s voice bursts out from the phone’s speaker, staticky and bright, and Lacey laughs, pulling it away from her ear for a moment so she can turn the volume down.
But not before I catch Vanessa saying,“want to come up there to make sure you’re alive!”Then I hear her say something about AI, and Lacey puts the phone back to her ear.
“Fine, fine — I’ll ask.” She glances at me, her cheeks pink. The moon is high in the sky tonight, and on either side of the road, the trees have exploded into a frenzy of orange, yellow, and reds, the leaves rustling in the wind. “Yes. Well, I think it’s a plan. He’s a guy from town. Max’s friend.”
I realize, listening, that her friend knows who I am, and that Lacey has already told her about the dinner planned for me, Warren, and her. Surprising myself, I say, “You should invite Vanessa to come, too.”
Lacey blinks at me, her eyes going wide. “Really?”
The pleasure on her face is enough to convince me that offering was a good idea. Smiling, I say, “Yeah. It would be cool to meet your friends. You’ve met all of mine, after all.”
That makes her laugh, and she goes back to her phone call. Vanessa gets even louder on the other side of the phone, and Lacey laughs again, telling her to calm down. Then she’s off the phone, and we’re pulling back onto the road.
I check the ditches for deer, scan the road for objects, and go slow, taking the curves with a practiced and cautious hand.
When Lacey reaches over and slips her hand into mine, I swallow but try not to let on how the gesture makes me feel. Howit cuts right to the center of me, and alarms the part of me certain that this is going to hurt in the end.
