Her gaze skimmed over me like I was part of the display shelving.
“Max,” she said, voice sharp as a box cutter. “I thought I recognized your truck.”
Max didn’t turn around immediately. He drew a slow breath, shoulders squaring, and the stillness that came over him was the stillness of a man preparing for something unpleasant rather than something painful. Then he turned.
“Tiffany. What are you doing in town?”
“Believe me, I’m not here by choice,” she huffed, stepping closer and pointedly ignoring me. “Leo insisted. He’s got this whole small-town nostalgia thing about getting married here. I’d rather get married literally anywhere else, but he refuses to budge.”
I was new to Lone Mountain, having arrived only a few months ago, but people said a lot more around the hardware counter than they probably should have.
I knew Leo was Max’s cousin and was about to marry Tiffany. I also knew there’d been bad blood before that. Max didn’t look like a man who controlled half the timber industry in the state, but the Wilder name meant money — old money, the kind built with rough hands and logging crews. And everyone knew Max had ended up running the family empire because he was the tough enough, which left Leo to survive on a trust fund and resentment.
I felt the prickle of irritation at the back of my neck. The fact that Leo was marrying the woman who had once been Max’s — and was now dragging her back here to rub Max’s face in it — made my blood boil.
Max’s jaw tightened and I watched the muscle jump. He didn’t look hurt. He looked cold.
“And you want me to watch you marry my cousin?” he asked, voice flat.
She reached into her bag and pulled out a thick, cream envelope, tossing it onto the counter like it was trash. “His family — your family — really wants you to be there. It’s time to stop brooding, don’t you think? It’s been a year. We’ve all moved on.”
The words…except you, hung in the air.
She looked at him with a mix of pity and condescension. My protective instincts flared. She hadn’t just left Max, she’d stayed in the family, twisting the knife as slowly as possible. And now she was standing there, expecting him to show up at her wedding to another man.
Max didn’t say a word, just stood there with his arms crossed. He was a good man, a man who didn’t deserve to be looked down on by someone who thought the height of culture was a latte with a leaf drawn in the foam.
That was when my no-filter brain grabbed the wheel and hit the gas.
I wasn’t thinking about the fact that Tiffany was a size two and I was a size sixteen with a loud personality. I wasn’t thinking about the fact that my apron had a grease stain shaped like Ohio.
I was thinking about the way she’d dropped that envelope on the counter. Like she owned the room. Like she owned him.
“He won’t be alone.”
Tiffany’s gaze took a slow, deliberate tour of my apron, my hips, and my very obvious non-Tiffany-ness. “I’m sorry — were you speaking to me?”
“I was,” I said, walking straight up to Max. I moved into his space and confidently slid my hand around his thick bicep, feeling the rock-hard muscle beneath the fabric of his shirt. Sweet lord. The man felt like he’d been carved out of oak. I mentally shook my head.
Focus, Frankie, focus.
“Max won’t be alone at the wedding. We’re actually looking forward to it. Right, babe?”
I felt Max stiffen for a heartbeat, his entire body going rigid under my hand. I held my breath, wondering if I’d finally gone too far. Which, to be fair, was a line I crossed fairly frequently.
“Right,” he rumbled, his voice thick and dark.
And before I could tell myself that it was a bad idea, I stood on my tiptoes to press my mouth against his jaw.
But that’s not where my mouth landed.
No, Max turned his head just as I kissed him and my mouth landed on his.
I thought I would actually die.
Die in a really, really good way.
Max made a rough sound against my lips — half growl, half-groan — that sent a delicious spiral of need straight to those girly parts that had been screaming for attention. The dampness I’d felt earlier turned into a full-blown flood. And what had started as a polite performance kiss for the ex-girlfriend morphed into a hungry explosion of pent-up wanting.
