“I have been known to have some great ideas” I say, stretching an arm over the edge of the tub. “There are more where that one came from.”
“I’m sure there are.” She sighs, with a smile tipping the edges of her lips. I tilt my head, watching the faint color rise in her cheeks. “What?”
She lifts one brow. “Are you always this way with women or is it just me who gets the cocky, unserious side of you?”
“I’m pretty much like this one hundred percent of the time,” I admit with a shrug. “It’s part of my charm.”
“Well,” she says, swirling her hand through the water, “I’m surprised that it works.”
“Why’s that?” I ask. I’m genuinely curious now. If charm and confidence don’t do it for her, I want to know what does.
“Because I can see it coming a mile away,” she says, meeting my gaze steadily. “The lines. The charm. The act.”
I laugh, but inside, something twists.She sees right through me. It’s always the same thing with the women I meet—the jokes are charming at first, the confidence is a little intoxicating. But give it time, and they realize the humor is just armor, a way to keep people from getting too close. Madeline figured that out in under a month. I can’t decide if I should be impressed or terrified.
“Then enlighten me.” I tilt my head, looking at her. I want to know what she likes in a guy. What actually gets through that cool, perfectly composed exterior. Because I’m into this girl. It’s not just the way she looks—though, hell, that’s part of it. It’s the way she thinks, the way she calls me out without hesitation, like she’s not even slightly intimidated. Most people don't do that. They let me coast, and she doesn’t. “If charm and confidence don’t do it for you,” I continue, watching the water ripple between us, “what does?”
She looks at me, meeting my gaze straight on. “I like honesty. Not a guy who’s trying so hard to be liked that he forgets how to actually be someone real. A guy who says what he means, who looks at a woman like she’s the only person in the room and isn’t afraid who sees it.”
I consider that, letting her words sink in. “So…less charm, more honesty is what you’re saying?”
“Something like that,” she says with a small smile. “Don’t get me wrong, Jesse. Your charm is one of the most endearing things about you. And your quick wit is impressive. But I think most women — me included —don’t need the performance. We just want to feel something that’s real, not rehearsed or perfect. Just…honest. Like you were earlier.”
For a second, I can’t think of a damn thing to say, and the sound of the bubbling water fills the silence between us. It’s always been easier for me to crack a joke than to let anyone get close enough to see what’s underneath. “Guess I’ll have to test that theory.”
Her brows lift. “Oh, you will, huh?”
“Yeah.” I shift my arm along the edge of the tub, careful not to brush against her. “Starting right now.”
She studies me for a moment, suspicious but curious. “Okay. So, what does that look like…you being real?”
I shrug, but my voice softens. “Maybe it’s me admitting that I like this. Sitting here with you. Talking like this.”
Her teasing smile falters, just a little. “You like talking to me?”
“Yeah.” I let out a quiet laugh. “Don’t sound so shocked. You make me think. You call me out. Being with you, it’s…nice.”
Surprise flickers in her expression. “That’s unexpectedly sweet.”
“I can do sweet,” I tell her. “Also, I’m really glad you let me come with you this weekend.”
I watch her lips curve but notice that it’s different this time. Her mind seems to have wandered somewhere else. It’s subtle, but the mood shifts, I can feel it. I wonder if it has something to do with the reason we’re here.
“How are you feeling about tomorrow?” I ask carefully,sensing that’s where she’s spaced off to. “Seeing your parents at the gala.”
She exhales and her shoulders sink. “Honestly?”
“Always,” I say.
She’s quiet for a moment, watching the bubbles drift across the water. When she finally speaks, her voice is quiet, “It’s never easy being around my mom and dad. My parents sent me to boarding school when I was twelve,” she says. “I think that was the day they stopped remembering I existed.”
The words land heavy between us. I don’t respond, not yet, afraid that she’ll stop talking if I do.
“They were always…busy,” she continues. “There was always a fundraiser, or a gala, or a dinner. They always needed to be seen, to be with people who could take them places. That’s what mattered to them, more even than me or my sister. That’s how it always felt. They didn’t even come to my graduation because it conflicted with some fundraiser my dad was hosting. They sent me flowers with a card.”
Madeline shakes her head, lost in the memory. She keeps her gaze on the water, like it’s easier to tell the story to her reflection than to me.
“The only good part of those years was Cara,” she says softly. “My sister and I always had each other. Still do. She’s the only reason I even make an effort with my parents anymore.”
