“Really?” Oona’s face stretches into a huge smile.
“Yes. Congratulations!” I throw my arms around her to buy me a few seconds.Go away, tears. Go away.She pulls back, but I hold on to her for a moment longer before embracing my dad. He seems so happy, and I wish his wonderful news didn’t have a sharp edge to it.
The three of us hug once more, and I congratulate them again before hiking the path to my car. The tears I’ve been holding onto cascade down my cheeks once I reach the safety of my truck. I hate myself for crying over this. My dad deserves happiness, and Oona makes a good partner for him. But I miss my mom. A laugh bubbles up at the thought of calling her right now to tell her how everyone is moving on.
Everyone except me.
Gwen’s pregnant. My dad’s remarrying. Even Max, with our complicated friendship rekindling—he’s had his life turned upside down, and he’s in the process of righting it.
And me? If I keep doing the same thing I’ve been doing, the hotel will disappear. I won’t have the casita—the place I grew up. No amount of missing her can save The Mirage. This may not be the career I envisioned for myself, but it’s all I have. I’m the only one preserving her memory, and I can’t lose something she loved so much without a fight.
I freshen up using the rearview mirror, swiping on lip gloss and redoing my ponytail. With the car in drive, the windows down to dry my eyes, and Sheryl Crow blasting through the speakers, I’m ready.
Big risks.
Driving past the hotel, I pull up to Max’s parents’ house and don’t even turn off the truck once I park. I can’t give myself a moment to reconsider.
After a few knocks, I wait. Nothing. I knock again, this time louder.
“Damn it,” I mutter and spin on my heels. I pull out my phone to call him right as the front door opens. My eyes scan Max up and down, and my neck warms when I notice his bare chest. He’s wearing plaid pajama bottoms and nothing else, with the long, lean lines of his arms and torso on full display. His hair is a twister of short curls. He leans to one side with an arm in the doorway as he towers over me.
“Hi,” I say. “Hey.”
“What’s up?”
“Um.” I rip my gaze from his taut stomach and the trail of hair that begins just below his belly button. “Did I wake you up?”
“At six in the morning? Absolutely.”
“Sorry,” I say, whipping around. “Text me, okay?”
A warm hand encircles my wrist, whirling me back almost directly into his half-naked body. I’m so close I could lick the curve of his biceps.
“Is it Freddie?” he asks, his brows furrowed.
“No, he’s fine. I just…I wanted to tell you—let’s do it.” I give him one brisk nod. “The exhibit. The museum, I mean. At The Mirage.”
“Really?” He crosses his arms—and does Max Weber have the most subtly defined pecs? For the briefest of moments, I picture myself nuzzled against his chest, running my hands up his smooth skin and around his neck.
I steer my thoughts back on track. Max said that this project would be a risk, but I sense the weight of a risk greater than that, too. We’ll be working together, and I’ll have to let him back into my life. I’ll have to get used to him being here, and I’ll have to be okay when he goes.
The museum won’t just be for me, though. I’d be helping Max get back to what he should be doing, and that makes the leap worth it.
“What made you change your mind?”
I exhale and stand up straighter, taking in the zesty scent lingering on Max’s skin. “I guess I needed some time to come around to it.”
“When do you need those renovations done?”
“End of August?”
The whole summer. Just under three months for a lengthy list of repairs and a museum.
His gaze lingers on me, his expression unreadable, like he’s not yet ready to agree. My stomach flip-flops because maybe he’s changed his mind. Maybe the timeline is too rushed. But then the corners of his eyes crinkle, and that cheeky smile on his lips makes me feel like I swallowed a butterfly.
“Alright, Daze. I’m in.”
Chapter Twelve
