“Does this make me your muse?” I lift my shoulder, playing coy.
His arm wraps around my waist, pulling me to him, and his lips effortlessly find mine. The kiss is a tantalizing vertigo—I don’t know which way is up, and I don’t know who’s watching, but I really don’t care.
“If you only knew,” Max mutters against my skin before grabbing my hand and leading me down the sidewalk.
That zip of a new relationship, or a newsomething, shoots through me. I want to dip into an alleyway and get even better acquainted with his mouth and every other part of him, but we’re here with flyers in our hands for a reason. I’ll just have to enjoy this delicious in-between—exciting, unknown—and not think about the end.
We start down the dusty sidewalk, heading for the gas station. We’re on the cusp of golden hour, so the day’s heat lingers, although the temperature at dusk will drop by the minute.
“The kids like you,” I say, holding a sheet of paper in place against a light pole for Max to staple-gun.
“They like extra credit.”
“Only the best teachers get nicknames.”
“They talk too much. And they ask too many personal questions.”
“But they like you.” It’s not a question—I can tell they worship him, even if he won’t admit it himself. “And you like them.”
“They’re not bad.” He shrugs, clearly trying to play cool. “I enjoy seeing them excited. They’re not jaded or full of themselves—they just have this passion for creating. And I like helping them.”
“They’re lucky to have you. They looked stoked about getting their artwork featured, too.”
“I have you to thank for that.”
My brows furrow. “You made that happen.”
“The town is a big part ofDesert Dazebecause you stood by what you believed in. And I’m glad for it.” He sticks both hands in his pockets and clears his throat. “If this had happened when I was in high school, it would have been the coolest thing.”
I think of young Max participating in an exhibit like ours, and how he wouldn’t have been able to contain his excitement. How would that have changed Harlow for him if he didn’t have to travel halfway around the world to pursue the career he deserved? It’s an opportunity that’s years too late.
We make the rounds on the far side of town. Shonda’s at the gas station, and she shows me photos from her recent vacation to Aruba. Dr. Feines greets us at the vet and asks how Freddie is doing. María at the taco stand doesn’t let us leave without a couple specials of the day. I like the chance to catch up with everyone, and I loop Max into all the conversations.
With ten minutes left before we need to meet with the students, we turn around and walk shoulder to shoulder on the sidewalk toward our last stop.
“Harlow’s one big Daisy Johnson fan club,” Max says.
“Please.”
“People light up when they see you.”
I shrug. “Sometimes I get so preoccupied with the hotel that I don’t feel like a great neighbor.”
“You show up for the community. You have conversations that go deeper than surface-level small talk. That’s its own form of support.”
My insides fizz. “Well, it’s how we all thrive.”
When we reach Gwen’s gem store, I stall the last few steps to the door. Max’s hand hovers over the handle, but he pulls back once he notices my hesitation.
“I texted her about the other night,” I admit.
“And all the other nights? And this morning?”
“Max.” Thank goodness for his humor, but also, thoughts of his head between my legs before my morning coffee send a fire to my cheeks. I peer inside to see if Gwen’s working the counter, but a shelf of chunky, jewel-toned rocks blocks my view.
“What’d she say?”
“A bunch of emojis.” A long string of them that could be good or bad—I couldn’t tell and didn’t ask her to clarify. But if she’s upset with me, I shouldn’t let that fester.
