I roll my eyes. “Still, I’m sorry I didn’t give you the courtesy of a heads-up. I didn’t think it would be that big of a deal. At least it’s contained to local news only.”
I shouldn’t be shocked at how easy-going my mother seems to be about all this, but it’s sort of hard keeping a straight face.
“Besides,” she continues. “I wasn’t the least bit surprised, considering I already walked in on the two of you in the buff. Body parts just a-swinging and—”
“Mom!”
She waves me off. “You need to relax, Eli. Max told me it was all a ruse and that once she’s gone, it’ll all be cleared up.”
I catch the flicker in Mom’s eyes as she says it. There's a quiet shadow that tells me she already feels the sting of Max leaving, too. She isn't just losing a houseguest; she's losing the woman she’s clearly already claimed as hers. Like me.
I shake my head and lean there, pretending not to be affected by how natural this all feels. Like this could be...real.
Like it could be forever.
I haven’t given Drake’s tabloid leak much thought lately. Mostly because I can't stand looking at those photos on social media—at least, not for the reason I should. In the shots, we look like we’re actually enjoying each other. We look like a hell of a lot more than just business alliances or like she’s just a consultant.
The truth is, I genuinely love those stolen moments Drake caught, and I’ve caught myself staring at them longer than I care to admit. To keep my head straight, I’ve had to shut the whole thing out. I tell myself once Max is gone, the headlines will disappear right along with her.
And, quite frankly, it sucks.
Eventually, the bottles are sealed and set aside. Mom wipes her hands and turns to Max, who’s already rising from her seat.
Max steps in, hugging her tightly. “Thank you so much for letting me help. I had the best time.”
Mom hugs her back with the kind of warmth she usually reserves for family. “Come any time, sweetheart. I mean it.”
I swallow down the knot in my throat and motion toward the door. “Come on, Lil Mama. We’ve still got another stop to make.”
Out at the truck, I walk Max around and open her door, helping her in. Before I round to my side, I turn back, lean down, and press a kiss to my mother’s forehead.
And that’s when I hear her whisper, soft but clear.“She’s a good one, Lee. I like her.”
I can’t stop the smile tugging at my mouth as I kiss her cheek in return. “I know, Mom. Me too.”
The Grumpy Bear is Back
Max
I’ve been here long enough to start losing track of what day it is.
Not because I’m buried in work. Not because I’m swamped with investor calls or launch decks or legal reviews. But because something about this place—the soft hush of the pines in the morning, the way the clouds seem to hang lower here like they’re trying to touch the trees—has made me forget the rush. The constant forward motion I used to crave about being aboss ass bitch.
Timantha’s been blowing up my phone about missed meetings and project updates. And while she did tell me to take this time off for myself, that I deserved it, I should technically be home by now. Lexy is still getting the hang of the duties she was only meant to cover temporarily, and as a result, Reese is also taking on extra work. Thankfully, though, Reese hasn't complained to me.
Yet, I’m here, getting quietly seduced by a kind of peace that doesn’t require a calendar invite. And I swear this must be howit starts in all those small-town romcoms. The big-city girl goes home for a minute, falls for a ruggedly handsome lumberjack, and somehow just…stays. Trades power suits and boardrooms for soft flannel and slow mornings with coffee on a porch swing.
And if I’m being honest? Eli is dangerously stay-worthy. Even though something in me senses he doesn’t quite believe that about himself. Not the way I do.
I want to tell him everything I see when I look at him. That he’s beautiful. That he’s cultured and rare and already more than enough. That he doesn’t have to tuck his vulnerability behind temporary arrangements or borrowed time. That he deserves all of it—the love, the choosing, the staying.
That he could have me.
As bold as I am—or can be—I get tongue-tied around him more than I care to admit. There’s something about his silence, his discipline, the way he holds back, that makes me second-guess every move. Maybe it’s his hard exterior. Maybe it’s just how he’s wired. But I can never quite tell if he’s exercising restraint because he feels something too deep…or if he’s just trying to keep enough distance to make sure I don’t.
And I hate that I like his mother. Hate that she seems to like me right back. She’s sister locs and hippy soul with a warm smile and an even warmer heart. Her house smells like serenity, and her voice always sounds like it’s been steeped in honey and peppermint tea.
Helping her bottle oils this morning—listening to her stories, laughing like we’ve done this a hundred times before—felt less like helping and more like being soothed. Like a balm. Her house, the energy of it…it felt like home. And for one dangerous second, I let myself imagine what it would be like to stay.
