Page 62 of Whispered Promises

I drop the receiver slightly harder than necessary into its cradle, then paste on a smile and greet the woman who strides up to my desk.

“Welcome to Mairweather Recruitment Services. How can I help you?”

TWENTY-FIVE

ROSY

I knock on their front door, and my lip unconsciously slips between my teeth. Max had messaged this afternoon whilst I was at work, asking if I could pop over as he needed to talk about something with me. After the bad day with Brett and Peter, I hadn’t had the chance to check any messages. I’d only seen it just as I was leaving to drive home, and I was a nervous wreck the entire journey back. Has there ever been a positive “we need to talk” message?

No, because they don’t exist.

It’s always for something bad, and it’s throwing my mind completely trying to figure out what he wants to say.

Did I upset him by something I did or didn’t say? We had fun at the farm yesterday, but maybe I somehow did something wrong. I’ve started relaxing and not second-guessing what to say when I’m around Max, but now I’m regretting letting that part of me drop my guard.

It was stupid, careless.

So here I am, still in the teal silk wraparound dress I wore to work, hands clammy and feeling a little unsteady, wondering what he wants to discuss. It feels like no matter how you phrase those words, they’re always daunting and a clear sign something you don’t want to hear is going to be said.

The door swoops open, and the man himself is standing there, a strained smile gracing his boyish face.

It’s definitely not good news then.

That’s okay. I can apologise and learn from whatever mistake I’ve made. It can’t have been unforgivable, otherwise he would’ve reacted at the time.

Right?

Or perhaps he was just too nice at the time, and he held it in.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

“Hey, you, thanks for coming over. I know you’re tired, so I really appreciate it. Did you want a drink? Anything to eat?”

My brows crinkle at his understanding words. Perhaps he’s just disappointed rather than angry at me. A sliver of hope rekindles.

“Sure, no worries. No, I’m good, thank you,” I reply, stepping over the threshold and waiting as he shuts the door behind me.

“Come on through. Bry’s just in his room, I think. Noah will be back from work soon, and Nate’s still at the gym. How was your day?”

Dragging my feet reluctantly, I follow Max into his room, stopping to take a moment to look around. It’s completely what I’d expect…a little chaos. Clothes are dotted around, on the floor, on the bed, and a sock hangs off a window handle. How does that even happen?

A couple of signed football memorabilia pieces are hanging on the wall. The dark burgundy-and-white bedspread is unsurprisingly not made, and the curtains are mostly drawn back, but as if done in a rush. The wardrobe is partly open, as are a few of the clothes drawers.

And an open packet of biscuits lay on the bedside table.

But amongst all the chaos, it smells blissfully of Max; like being in the fresh air surrounded by bay trees. If it weren’t for the situation that pulled me in here, I’d be tempted to just curl into the bed and enjoy being in his space.

My attention is pulled back to him as he stares at me.“Sorry, did you say something?”

“I was just asking how your day was,” he replies, with a small smile that seems more purposeful than natural.

It’s strange to see him standing there so tense, compared to his usual confidence and ease.

“Oh. It was okay, thanks. Just usual work stuff…how was yours?” The social politeness that I’m so accustomed to using around others somehow feels false with Max. The words taste bitter and acidic on my tongue. It’s formal and impersonal, even if the question itself isn’t. I doubt he invited me here to ask about my day. It’s just a filler question, one to stall or soften the blow.

He starts pacing around the room. Picking things up only to place them somewhere else.

“Same as you. Usual pressure to pick up the pace, to get things completed quicker and quicker, so homeowners can move in,” he advises, adding a lacklustre laugh. If I hadn’t witnessed it with my own eyes, I would’ve sworn the sound was from someone else, not Max.