“I almost puked on live TV.”
“It’s fine. Maybe you’ll get made into a couple of memes.”
I groan at this, and he laughs.
“Some pregnancy rumors, perhaps? But you know what they say. There’s no such thing as bad press.”
Max wouldn’t remind me that bad press is something he’d especially like to avoid, considering what happened with his last job and all the negative coverage they got. That has to be at the forefront of his mind.
“I let you down,” I mumble. No wonder Max got out of Harlow—he’s nailing every part of this, carrying the whole project on his shoulders, and I can’t even keep my morning coffee down.
“You didn’t.” He steps into my space, and for a moment I don’t know if he’ll lean down to kiss me or just let me exist in his orbit for a while. He goes with the latter, and I tell myself I’m not disappointed. I inhale him, the scent settling my stomach. “We’ll find other opportunities. We’ll get on other websites, we’ll do other features.”
“We still have the fundraiser,” I say, grasping at straws.
“Exactly. With a bit more public-speaking practice with Dawn, you’ll be set.”
“Okay,” I manage to say, wishing his suggestion made me feel better. I can’t admit the truth out loud. The success or failure of the pop-up may very well affect whether The Mirage survives, but it affects more than me. He won’t admit that I’ve let people down, but I did—not just myself and my mom and the hotel, but him.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Daisy, 18 Years Old
“Mom, I said I’m fine.” I told her twenty times already, maybe more. All I wanted was to be left alone to watch Netflix in bed under Freddie’s judgmental gaze. He normally followed my mom around, but cats are intuitive, and he spent the evening lying with me instead.
“You have a visitor, sweetie,” Mom said, opening the door.
Anger thundered inside me. Why would I want to see him after he decided to take some other girl?
“Tell him he can—oh.” I saw the curls on Max’s head before I saw him, and as much as the comfort of him made my throat tight, I shoved the emotions down. My mom disappeared into the background, and I waved at him. “Hi.”
“Surprise,” he said, holding a bouquet. He’d put on a tux—a nicely fitted one so he looked quite grown-up. “Got you a corsage, too.”
“But…” I softened at his thoughtfulness, and the corner of my mouth tilted up. “You hate prom.”
“I’ve technically never been to prom.”
“You said it was for all the popular kids who peaked senior year.”
“You agreed.”
“Sure, but…you hate dancing.”
I could list the other reasons he gave me for why he was skipping out. He hoped to get a shift that night at the thrift store to save up for college. He and Lily had ended things in January, and he didn’t have a date. He was here, though, flowers in hand, tux pressed, and ready to take me to one of our last-ever high school events.
“If you don’t wanna go, we won’t,” Max said, sitting on the edge of my bed. “But if you’ve got a dress, then it’s a shame for you not to wear it tonight. Let’s just have a good night together.”
I felt foolish for making such a big deal about prom—I didn’t even like my ex-date that much. But with school ending, and everyone seeming so certain about their career paths and their futures, I found myself getting oddly sentimental. If I could just have one more night before people started college or a business or a family…or left Harlow. Nostalgia gripped me because whatever came next scared me senseless.
But the boy—the young man—sitting next to me pulled my head out of all the concerns over the future. All he wanted was a nice night with me.
I was so glad he was here.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Max, Now
I park the car, and Daisy suggests for the hundredth time that I drop her off and spend my evening doing anything else.
