Page 23 of Tickled Pink

“Busy?” I ask. “With what?”

Max wraps the leash around his hand without an answer. He simply gestures toward the door and gives me another one of those perfect smiles.

Oh, boy.

I press my lips together, still tingling from his kiss. “All right, then,” I say. “Where are we going?”

“I know a nice place nearby,” he says, still smiling. “Come on.”

He leads Stinky out of the office, but I linger in place as a paralyzing warmth latches onto my spine. It’s so foreign, yet beautifully familiar, reminding me of that day in my office a year ago. Just the two of us, back in Los Angeles, staring into each other without the rest of the world glaring back.

No judgmental parents. No Sally Sweet.

Not even Thad.

“Max,” I say, stepping forward.

Max turns around and gently snaps his fingers once to make Stinky kneel. “Phoebe,” he says.

I bridge the short gap between us into the darkened office space. Even in the shadows, I can see his bright green eyes shining back at me, seeing right through me, and I can think of nowhere else I’d rather be right now.

I hang my head and step forward into his open arms. Max embraces me as I rest my head on his chest. We stand still, surrounded by the mechanical hum of the city outside and the soft tap of Stinky’s tail wagging against the wall.

“Max,” I whisper, “is this really happening?”

Max kisses my temple. “Yes,” he answers, remembering our first moments all alone as I do. “I’m really here. You’re really here.” He kisses me again on the other temple. “This is really happening.”

Our lips lock in a deep kiss, and I practically fall to pieces. He wraps an arm around my waist to hold me up as my ankles sway. He smiles, knowing he’s got me.

“That’s my girl,” he says, his warm breath grazing my cheek.

Chapter Six

Phoebe

Max and I walk down the street hand-in-hand. It happens often nowadays, but I’m honestly not sure if I’ll ever get used to it. Back home in Los Angeles, I felt like Max’s dirty little secret, constantly dodging his father and co-workers so we wouldn’t spark the Belle Academy alumni rumor mill.

But not here. Not on the snow-covered streets of New York City.

Here, we can just be us.

Stinky hops along the sidewalk in front of us, having the time of her life in the small piles of snow. Max and I laugh with a constant grip on her leash to keep her from running off.

We turn onto our street. I assume we’ll stop to let the dog in before heading back out, but I instantly feel like something is off as we approach the door.

For one, we rarely knock on our own front door.

But Max pauses outside on our stoop and knocks twice.

“Did you forget your key?” I ask, reaching into my pocket for mine.

“No,” he answers.

“Then why are we knocking?”

“I told you I knew a good place nearby for dinner.”

“This is our house.”

---