Falling for Max (10 page)

Using a single bristle snipped from a regular house-painting brush, he focused on the meticulous detail, trying to keep his shoulders and back relaxed. If he tensed up too much, which was easy to do, his hand would shake and there was no room for error with such a small scale.

Normally, he found his work soothing. He had since his uncle had discovered Max’s painting skills and brought him model cars and airplanes to paint. His quiet focus, need for accuracy and attention to detail had all been funneled into the childhood hobby that became his career.

His mind wasn’t in it today, though. He wasn’t able to lose himself in the details so completely that he lost track of time.

Tomorrow afternoon, he was going on a date with Nola Kendrick. She was attractive, as Tori had said, and she dressed nicely. She seemed kind. And, even though he’d felt awkward asking her if she’d like to have dinner at the diner on Saturday evening, she’d seemed flattered and hadn’t hesitated before accepting his invitation.

That was a good thing. And Tori had certainly been happy for him. When he’d left the town hall and told her how it had gone on the way back to his car, she’d whooped and high-fived him like a buddy would.

Then she’d retrieved her soup from his trunk, wished him luck and walked away.

With a sigh, Max put away the engine and cleaned up. Then he covered his work space with a drop cloth and took Josh’s tractor off a shelf. Years of grime were built up on the toy, so he took a wire brush and started gently sloughing it off. It required a light touch, but not much in the way of concentration, and at least he could still feel as if he was being productive.

About twenty minutes later, his phone—which was sitting on the top step where it could both get a signal and be heard—chimed. After dropping the brush and wiping his hands on a rag, he picked it up and locked the basement behind him. The text was from Tori.

Don’t wear the funeral suit tomorrow.

He smiled, having gotten that point when she laughed at him the night of their mock date.
I have a casual suit coat my grandfather gave me. It would look nice with khakis.

I’m coming over tomorrow. Don’t get dressed until I get there.

Before he could respond another text came through.

I mean get dressed. Don’t be naked. But don’t dress for your date.

It’s a nice coat. I think you’ll approve.

Fair warning, I’ll be going through your closet. If there’s anything in there you don’t want me to see, move it now.

He laughed, wondering what a guy would keep in his closet besides clothes, belts and shoes.
Considering myself warned. We’re meeting at five. Nola likes to eat early.

Six o’clock was his preferred time, but he knew flexibility was the way to go. Perhaps she had shows she liked to watch in the evening or pets to feed.

I’ll be there at three-thirty.

Max smiled and grabbed an apple to snack on before he went back to work. He already knew what he’d be wearing on his date and he was fairly certain Tori would approve of his choice, but he liked pushing her buttons.

And, to be honest with himself, he just wanted to see her. Poking through his closet was as good a reason for her to come over as any.

Chapter Ten

“You own an overabundance of long-sleeve button shirts.” Tori stared into Max’s closet with her hands on her hips.

“I like long-sleeve button shirts.”

She didn’t turn around to talk to Max because he was sitting on the edge of his bed. His very large bed, which was covered by a soft comforter in a dark sage green. The bed skirt, and therefore presumably the sheets, were a light taupe, as were the tiebacks on the sage drapes. Both colors were in the braided rug, along with some shades of blue, covering the hardwood floor.

It was all very attractive and neutral, except for the distraction of Max. As he’d very matter-of-factly led her to his closet, it had belatedly occurred to Tori that going through his closet would require being in his bedroom. With him.

Not the best planning on her part.

Now she was staring at his impressive collection of dress shirts while trying not to imagine him naked. It wasn’t the first time she’d had to resist, but from now on she was going to be able to imagine him naked
in his bed
.

“What about a sweater?” she asked, desperate to get her mind back on clothing. Clothing was good and the more layers, the better.

“Third drawer down.”

She laughed, putting up her hands. “I’m not rummaging through your dresser drawers.”

“Not all of them. But the third one down only has sweaters in it.”

Since it didn’t sound like he had moved, she sighed and moved to his dresser. There were a few ceramic steins on top that looked like some kind of railroad collectibles. Other than that, just the normal debris. Some change. A comb. A few buttons that probably came as extras with his fancy shirts. It was pretty boring as far as dresser tops went.

She pulled open the third drawer down and removed a heather blue-colored Irish knit sweater. It was incredibly soft and, with this coloring, it would look amazing on him. “This one.”

“There are quite a few sweaters to choose from in there.”

“Nope. This one.” She turned to face him, sweater in hand, and then froze.

He’d started out sitting on the edge of the bed, but at some point he’d leaned back onto his elbows. Stretched out like that on the comforter, he looked so very tempting. Max, in his element and totally at ease, was a delicious sight to behold.

And she was helping him dress for a date. With Nola.

“With jeans,” she said, not wanting to dwell too much on why she wasn’t happier about their plan being a success so far.

He wrinkled his nose. “Jeans? Doesn’t that seem rather casual?”

“You’re going to the Trailside Diner.”

“It’s still a first date. Our lack of dining options shouldn’t impact the thought I put into it.”

He was probably right. “You’re wearing this sweater, though. Let’s look at the pants.”

“There’s a reason that sweater was on top. And the shirt I usually wear under it is the freshly ironed one hanging offset from the others. You’ll find the pants with it.”

When she realized what he was saying, she threw the sweater at him. He caught it easily, but without his hands to prop him up, he fell back on the bed, laughing.

Tori’s breath caught in her throat and she turned back to the closet, hoping like hell the thoughts in her head didn’t show on her face. Her cheeks felt hot, though, so she took her time picking through to grab the shirt and pants he’d ironed.

“Why did you tell me you were wearing your grandfather’s hand-me-down suit coat?”

“Because I thought it was funny.”

“You already knew what you were going to wear.”

“It never hurts to have a second opinion,” he said, and his voice was closer.

She didn’t turn. He’d be too close to her and she was too unsettled to trust herself not to touch him. If she touched him, she wasn’t going to stop touching him until he told her no or she’d had her fill. Either way, it would mess up his date.

“So I came all the way over here for nothing?”

“No, you didn’t.” His voice was definitely close enough so she shouldn’t turn around. “Instead of sitting at my table being anxious and watching the minutes tick by, you’re making me laugh.”

There was something about the way he said it that made her shiver. Holding out the hangers for the shirt and pants in the direction of his voice, she stepped away from it so she could get the hell out of his bedroom. “Here. I’ll wait in the kitchen while you get dressed.”

She was gone before he could say anything else, practically fleeing to his kitchen. She poured herself a glass of water and drank the entire thing, and then she poured some more.

Sitting at the table, she closed her eyes and started listing off the single men of Whitford in her head. It wasn’t a super-appealing list, but she needed somebody to take her mind off Max. Some sweaty sex, a few orgasms and she’d be right as rain again.

“What do you think?”

She opened her eyes as Max stepped into the kitchen. He looked as hot in that sweater as she’d imagined he would, and it was just the right blend of casual and made-an-effort. “Perfect.”

He looked at the clock. “I wish you were working tonight.”

“I think me being at the diner would make it worse, not better.”

“If you were there, you could send me signals or something.”

“No.” She had no intention of spying on his evening out with another woman, whether it was at his request or not. “You’re going to have a good time eating a good meal with a very lovely woman.”

“I hope you’re right.”

She dumped the rest of her water down the drain and set the empty glass beside the sink and not in it, because that’s how Max liked it. “I’m going to get out of your hair. Just relax and be yourself.”

“I’m not very good at being anybody else.”

“You don’t need to be. Let me know how it goes, okay?”

She left then because there didn’t seem to be anything else to say and there was no sense in lingering. It was almost time for him to leave, since he planned to arrive slightly early and pick a nice table. He had the insane idea he might find a place for them to sit that would offer some privacy and shield Nola from the gossip.

Tori knew better. She’d probably be hearing about his date before he was even home, and she’d no doubt hear the details repeatedly during her shifts at the diner in the coming days.

And she’d smile and look happy for him.

* * *

Max would be the first to admit he wasn’t an expert on social niceties, but even he knew it would be rude to call another woman while sitting across the table from his date.

It was too bad he didn’t have spy gear that would enable him to communicate secretly with Tori, like a 21st century Cyrano de Bergerac, so she could feed him witty and charming lines to woo Nola with. He wasn’t doing a very good job on his own.

His life would probably be a lot easier if he just dated Tori. Unfortunately, she didn’t have the most important quality in a future wife, which was a desire to actually
be
a wife.

Nola was very nice. Pleasant, even. And she’d arrived only a few minutes after their arranged meeting time.

“What do you like to do in your spare time, Max?”

He moved some of Gavin’s lasagna around on his plate with the fork before forcing himself to set it down. “I like to watch sports, I guess.”

“I like watching tennis.”

Of course. One of the few sports he didn’t care for, along with golf and bowling. He picked his fork back up. “I don’t follow tennis, but I’ve seen a few matches. They’re amazing athletes.”

She smiled and some of the tension in his gut uncoiled. So far, so good. “I’ve heard all about your television, of course. And how you’re the haven for all the guys whose wives don’t care for the yelling at the TV.”

“I guess I’m the closest thing Whitford has to a sports bar. Maybe I should institute a cover charge.” He took a bite of lasagna, giving himself a few seconds to think. “What do you do when you’re not at the town hall?”

She talked for quite some time, requiring only slight encouragement from him. He liked her voice. It was quiet and she was well-spoken, and he found her to be very intelligent. And she had good table manners.

Frowning, Max looked at his plate. Those were all nice qualities in a woman—or in anybody, for that matter—but he thought he’d feel more...excitement. Anticipation. Something.

“Are you okay?”

He looked up and noted the worried expression on her face. With a sinking feeling in his gut, he realized he’d zoned out on her. “I’m fine. I apologize. This lasagna is so good, but it’s filling and I’m trying to decide if I should keep eating or surrender.”

She had a soft laugh, more polite than happy. “It
is
delicious. I’m going to take the rest of mine home and have it for lunch tomorrow.”

“Are you thinking about dessert?” he asked, since she seemed to have signaled she was finished eating.

“No, but I wouldn’t mind having more decaf. Unless you’re ready to go.”

“I’d like more decaf.” He didn’t want her to think he was eager to end their evening.

And he honestly wasn’t. Nola was nice company and, when he wasn’t overthinking things, he enjoyed talking to her. Lingering over another cup of decaf sounded like a good idea.

When Ava, the waitress who usually handled dinner, stopped by, he asked for two boxes and a refill. He wasn’t a big fan of leftovers, but she was taking hers home and he didn’t want her to think he was wasteful. Besides, he was confident that Gavin’s lasagna would taste just as good after a trip through the microwave.

“I’m glad you came into the town hall,” she said, once their cups were refilled. “It’s nice to get out once in a while.”

“I probably could have found the fees on the website, but then I wouldn’t have been able to talk to you.”

The blush of pink across her cheeks felt like a win to Max. He’d said the right thing. “You can come in and talk to me anytime.”

“I was afraid you’d say no because...well, I have a reputation, from what I hear.”

That made her laugh again. “Yes, you certainly do. But you know if anybody in town actually thought you were up to no good, somebody would have put a stop to it a long time ago.”

“This isn’t exactly the kind of place where everybody turns a blind eye.”

“No, it isn’t. I might have to take my phone off the hook tomorrow because everybody’s going to want to hear about my dinner with the mysterious Max Crawford.”

“I would have taken you somewhere else, where we wouldn’t be the center of attention, but I wasn’t sure you’d want to spend two hours in the car with a rumored serial killer.”

“That’s very considerate of you.” She was really pretty when she smiled. Not as sparkly as Tori, but...well, she wasn’t Tori. But she was still pretty when she smiled.

There was more small talk and then Max paid the bill. Once outside, he saw that they’d managed to park at opposite ends of the parking lot, which meant parting ways immediately.

He couldn’t kiss her good-night right in full view of everybody in the diner. And he wasn’t sure that, although they’d had a nice dinner, they were in a kissing-good-night stage yet.

Nola pulled her keys out of her jacket pocket, and he noticed her body was half-turned in the direction of her car already. She must not think they were in a kissing-good-night stage yet, either. “Thank you for supper, Max. It was fun.”

“Thank you for sharing your evening with me. I hope we can do it again.”

She nodded slightly. “That would be nice. You know where to find me.”

He waited in his car until she pulled out of the parking lot, since it was the gentlemanly thing to do, and then he headed toward home.

Nice. It was the first word that came to mind and it seemed to fit. The evening had been
nice.

Once he got home, he changed into sweatpants and brewed another mug of decaf for himself. Flipping through the television channels, he looked for something good—but not too exciting—to watch. It was time to start winding down or he’d never fall asleep.

Finally settling on a show about a pawn shop in Las Vegas, he settled back to drink his decaf. And thought about Tori.

* * *

Tori stared at her television, wishing one of her favorite comfort movies—
Armageddon
—was enough to distract her from wondering how Max’s date was going.

She was nervous for him and now she wished she’d urged him to make a reservation in the city. Even though it meant quite a drive for Nola to meet him, it would have been better than eating in a fishbowl. If he made a wrong move, all of Whitford would know by lunch tomorrow.

When her cell phone rang, she snatched it off the table and smiled when she saw his face and number on the screen. “Hello.”

“You said to let you know how it went. It didn’t occur to me until after I hit the call button that you might have meant tomorrow. Or some other day.”

She paused the movie. “Now is good. I’ve been thinking about you tonight, wondering how it went.”

“It was nice.”

Nice?
“Is that a good nice or a bad nice?”

“There’s good nice and bad nice?”

She laughed and stretched out on her couch. “It’s a very blah word that needs voice inflection to really have meaning.”

“It was a pleasant nice.”

Ouch.
That translated to boring in Tori’s mind, but she didn’t say so. “So what kind of things did you talk about?”

“She likes tennis.”

The way he said it, even filtered through the phone as it was, made it clear he didn’t share that interest. “And you said something nice about tennis, right?”

“I did. We talked about a lot of things and I complimented her and she blushed. It was very nice.”

Tori grimaced. Maybe she’d been wrong about Nola. The date sounded so bland, he might have been describing a business meeting. Of course, some of that might just be Max, but it definitely wasn’t
her
kind of date.

“Do you think you’ll go out again?”

“Possibly. I said I’d like to and she said that would be nice and that I know where to find her.”

“Everybody needs to stop using the word
nice.
It’s not a very exciting word.”