“It’s an old-fashioned word thatmeans ‘lover of the bow’.”
The word “lover” hangs between us.
I clear my throat. “How do you know that?”
She shrugs a shoulder. “Words are my business.”
“I thought you were more into words like ‘man-child’ and ‘himbo’ rather than anything quite so technical,” I say in retort, and to my surprise she lets out a laugh. It’s girly and cute and totallynotwhat I expect from her. “What’s so funny?”
“I really bothered you with those names. Didn’t I?”
“Not in the least,” I lie, because let’s face it, being called a man-child by her burrowed deep under my skin like a mole.
“Max, I—” she begins and then breaks off.
“What?”
She lifts her chin, pushing a stray lock behind her ear. “I’m sorry I called you those names.”
I blink at her in surprise for a beat. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why are you sorry?”
“Because I was wrong. You may have man-child tendencies, but you have other qualities, too. I overlooked them.”
I look into her big, emerald eyes, half expecting some snarky quip to follow. But nothing does.
“Thank you,” I say in reply, not sure what else to say.
She pulls her full lips into a smile. “You’re welcome?”
I smile back at her. This concession is like one step closer to us burying the hatchet completely. “What name would you give me now?”
“Oh, Mr. Grumpy for sure,” she replies, and I bark out a startled laugh.
“Please don’t.”
“You have been rather grumpy.”
“Fair call.”
“But I won’t call you it.”
I hold her gaze for a beat, my belly going all kinds of crazy.
“See? We can get on, Max. We can do this project together now that you’ve stopped hiding from me.”
“You might be right,” I concede, not quite sure what to do with my newfound camaraderie with this woman I’ve despised for so long.
She holds up Sofia’s bow and arrow. “How do I do this?”
“Not that way,” I say, gesturing at the arrow she shot into the ground.
“That much I know.”
“The first thing you need to understand about archery is that it's not about strength. It's about being precise and controlling your breathing.”
