When I Fall in Love (Christiansen Family) (21 page)

“Sorry we’re late,” Max said. He’d retrieved a couple of his messages before hopping in the shower. One from his agent, who called with some interesting celebrity endorsement opportunities. He skipped over the three from Brendon, not willing to let his brother’s aspirations sour his vacation.

Sorry, Bro, but he wasn’t going to tear open the fabric of his dismal future for the world to pity him. For Grace to pity him.

He wanted her untainted admiration for as long as he could have it.

He held his hand out for Grace as she climbed over the edge onto the sailboat. Her blue eyes landed on him, wide, a smile telling him he’d chosen tonight’s dinner correctly.

“This is incredible, Max. Do we have the boat to ourselves?”

“With the exception of our skipper, Lio.”

Lio waved to her from where he was casting off, and Max helped her to the front of the boat. Netting stretched between the two hulls, but he directed her to the deck in front of the cabin. “We’re not going out far, just enough to see the lights and get some dinner.”

“Dinner?”

“Lio, along with being a talented skipper, runs a private dinner cruise.” He hunkered down beside her, watching as the boat slipped away from shore. “On the menu tonight: crab cakes with spicy aioli, tropical fruit salsa over macadamia nut–crusted basa fish, and grilled asparagus.”

“Yum.” She shook out her golden mane of hair. “I love boats.
We have canoes and a fishing boat, and once my parents rented a houseboat for a couple days on Lake Vermilion. But I’ve always wanted to have my own boat.”

For a second it tripped his lips
 
—the notion that maybe next year they rent a yacht, sail around Hawaii. Instead he leaned back on his hands, breathing in the scenery and the sense of her beside him, not letting his tomorrows steal his today.

“What do you think they’ll throw at us in the competition tomorrow?”

“I don’t know. Maybe star fruit. Or mahimahi. We haven’t had a lot of seafood to deal with yet.”

“How would we ever make a mahimahi dessert?”

“I don’t know. Maybe grind it up and put it in something with dark chocolate? Make a sea-salt caramel to go with it?”

She stared at him. “You’re so brilliant. Where did you learn to cook like this?”

He reached up and caught a strand of her hair when the wind twined it around her face. “I did mention I’ve been going to culinary school during the off-season for a few years now, right?”

“But . . . you have to have some natural ability. Does anyone else in your family cook?”

He hadn’t let her too far into his family, but maybe he could give a little more away, just a couple pieces. “After my dad died, my mom needed a way to provide for us, so she became a private chef. She liked to experiment with cuisine from different cultures, and she’d often try out recipes on us before she made them for her clients. She’d say, ‘Boys, what country should we visit this weekend?’ and then we’d dig up recipes from Thailand or China or even Russia and attempt to make them.” He shook his head, the memories savory. “
Attempt
is the key word there.”

“If there is one thing this competition has taught me, it’s that you just don’t know what will taste good. You have to throw things together and try,” she said.

Try.
He put the word behind him. “My mom could make anything delicious from what she pulled from the cupboard. Not me. I like to follow recipes.”

“I know, Mr. Get It Right the First Time.”

That was him, wasn’t it? But looking at her, he had the sense that letting go of needing it to be perfect might be okay.

“Yeah, well, we wouldn’t be in the final round without you, Grace, and your ability to take a chance.”

Take a chance.
His own words were lethal tonight, and he looked away at the darkening shoreline of Honolulu, the buildings quickly turning into spires of light jutting into the velvety sky.

He felt Grace’s gaze on him. “I wouldn’t have entered the contest if it weren’t for you, Max. You . . .” She swallowed. “You made me feel like a winner before we even entered. I don’t care if we win tomorrow. I’m just happy right now. Happy I met you.”

His throat thickened, his chest tight. “What if . . . what if . . . ?” What was he doing? But the words swirled out of him, already beyond his control. “Have you ever seen a Blue Ox game?” Oh, idiot. Of course she had
 
—her brother had played for the Blue Ox. Before Max destroyed his career, before Max
took his place
.

He should just throw himself overboard right now. Because he saw where this would end, yet he seemed unable to stop himself from barreling toward the catastrophic finale.

“Not live,” she said. “Amelia and Casper went last season, but Eden was always the one with the tickets, so . . .”

“Uh . . . well . . . maybe you could come to one of my games.”
Oh, boy, he sounded like a seventh grader asking a girl to the middle school dance.

“I’d like that. But only if you win. Because I’m not driving all the way down from Deep Haven only to sit there and watch you get creamed. That would be horrible. You’d be all grumpy pants and I’d have to make you soup to cheer you up. And fresh pineapple isn’t easy to get in Minneapolis in January.”

Her words tugged out a grin, and he glanced at her. She met his eyes with a smile. Oh, he loved the way she could take any situation and make it . . .

Perfect.

Everything dropped away. All the hesitations, all the reasons swirling in his head why he shouldn’t take her in his arms. Instead, he saw her sitting across from him in the convertible, feet up, with that silly blue toenail polish. He saw her eating shrimp, her chin smeared with butter, and chasing after a turtle, her eyes wide with fear as the ocean reached out to gulp her.

He heard her laughter as she parasailed with him and her determined voice as she fought to learn to surf. And he saw her in chef’s attire, that blonde hair trickling out the back of her hat as she bossed him around in the kitchen, bringing in the win.

He couldn’t stop himself. He cupped her face, ran his thumb down her cheekbone. “Grace . . . I . . .”

Her smile had dimmed, leaving behind so much raw emotion in her eyes, it tugged him right in. He let his gaze drift to her lips, then surrendered a small groan and kissed her.

He didn’t stop to linger, didn’t explore or nudge, just dove in, full-on, tired of holding back, of needing her. He kissed her like he’d dreamed about for a week or longer, with a sort of desperation he could no longer keep locked away.

She tasted of sunshine and sea salt, and he looped his arm around her waist, pulled her against him, his other hand curling behind her neck.

As usual, she fit perfectly into his embrace.

Best part of all, she kissed him back. Surrendering, giving, meeting him with hunger in her own touch.

Finally. Grace.

Oh, Grace.

He could probably devour her whole, but the sound of his own heartbeat thundering against his chest made him break away.

A smile slid up her face. “Took you long enough.”

He wanted to sing. “Sheesh, 9B. If I knew you could kiss like that, I would have flirted with you more on the plane.”

“You did enough flirting, Maximoto. Let’s not talk about the plane.” She leaned in and kissed him again, running her hand against his cheek, her touch so sweet, so right, he could die right now a happy man.

The stars had long since started to fall from the sky when Max returned Grace to her room. Lio had dropped them off at the dock, and Max cajoled her, without too much effort, to walk along the beach, finally pulling her into his arms in the soft, cool sand.

They just sat together, wrapped in an embrace, watching the stars, listening to the ocean cheer. He would have suggested they stay until sunrise, but they had a competition to win.

Although, like she said, he already felt like a winner.

A winner in denial, maybe, but even his future felt . . . Well, she had said that for the right man, she’d surrender her heart, even if she couldn’t have a lifetime. He couldn’t bear the idea that she might be telling the truth.

She simply didn’t know how Huntington’s disease destroyed lives. And not just the victims’.

But he didn’t have to think about that now.

He opened his hotel door to the sound of his cell phone chirruping where he’d left it charging on the nightstand. He crossed the room and picked it up.

Brendon? At this time of night? He answered it, worry sluicing through him. “What’s the matter? Is it Ava?”

“Huh? No, everyone’s fine.”

“Why are you calling me so late?”

“Oh, shoot, right. What time is it there?”

“After midnight.”

“Sorry, dude. I’m heading out for a jog and got the time mixed up. I was thinking you were ahead of us, not behind us.”

Max dropped his key on the nightstand and began to unbutton his shirt. “So what’s so urgent?”

“It’s you, Max! You’re all over the Internet with this cooking thing.”

Max stilled, sank down on the bed. “What?”

“Yeah, I saw you last night on the ESPN around-the-world segment. What’s this about a cooking contest in Hawaii?”

He pulled off his shirt, tossed it onto a chair. “It’s just a local thing.”

“Not anymore. Not when Maxwell Sharpe is involved. It made WGN news in Chicago.”

“How did they find out?”

“Seriously?”

Right. If his face was well-known enough to garner celebrity endorsement requests, then probably people would notice him on a local cable show. He hadn’t really thought about that.

“So, yeah, I’m in this competition. It’s no big deal.”

“You’re in the finale! You and Owen Christiansen’s sister? That’s sort of a big deal.”

“It’s not
 
—I don’t think we’re going to win.”

“Huh? Of course you are. Have you not seen the Facebook page for the contest? You’re the favorites. And that Grace Christiansen, she’s a cutie.”

“Yeah. Are you calling to wish me luck?”

“No. I mean, of course. But if you win, don’t you see? This is our perfect opportunity to raise awareness
 
—”

“Oh no.”

“Stop being so selfish. And narrow-minded. Has it occurred to you that God made you great at hockey so you could do something with it? Something beyond your Hall of Fame aspirations?”

“Brendon, let me figure out what God wants for my life on my own.”

“The world is going to find out someday, Max. Let them see what true courage is.”

He swallowed. “Okay, fine. If I win, I’ll let you write up something about it.” He winced at his words, but the chances of them really emerging the victors . . .

“You’ve got this competition in the bag, Max. The whole family is rooting for you. Thanks, Bro. You’re the champ.”

He smiled at that. “Thanks, Brendon.” Max hung up, resting the phone on the bed.

And again dreaded his tomorrow.

If Casper hadn’t gone into the drink before and learned how to manage his crew, he certainly would have driven them into a pylon
with Darek on board. “Look, dude, if you don’t want me helming this, just say so.”

Darek raised his hands, letting his paddle rest on his lap. “No. You have a strategy. Just because it happens to be different from mine . . .”

Every eye in the boat looked at Casper, sizing him up against Darek. Even his parents
 
—his dad sitting in the middle of the boat, his mother in the front.

Nice.

The seagulls onshore rose and began to call, as if adding to the mocking, the jeers. Not that anyone had said anything when Darek showed up for practice today, but they didn’t have to.

One look at Darek and his build, with years of knowledge under his belt, and the choice was clear. If they wanted to win, Darek should captain the boat.

But no one said it, and Casper’s pride wouldn’t let the suggestion leak out. He tamped it down and ignored the voices in his head.

This was his boat to captain.

A slight wind bullied the dragon boat and he reached down to grab the dock, lest it slip away from him and out into the harbor.

A rudderless ship. Darek would have a field day with that.

“I trust you, Bro,” Darek said, but his smile resembled shark teeth.

Casper couldn’t help it
 
—he cast a look at Raina. He needed, for a moment, the confidence she gave him, the belief. Call him a sap, but when she looked at him like that, he became a champion.

She smiled, something soft, kind, and it cut through the clatter inside.

“Let’s take her out for one last paddle.” The team had already
gone through their strategy twice, and now he got in the back, letting Kyle and Jensen push them away from the dock.

In the front, Emma kept time, slowly beating the drum as they paddled out to the imaginary starting line.

Eight rows in front of him, Raina, with her long hair in a braid down her back, paddled in beat. He wanted to run his hand down that thick braid, pull her into his arms, see her smile
 
—

“Casper! Are you planning on hitting that sailboat?” Darek turned in his seat, two places in front of him, his expression a growl.