Page 45 of Tempting Max

“Thank you,” she says softly. “But it was the best thing that could have happened. I went to therapy right away and she helped me see what he had been doing for our entire relationship and being so far away from him has cleared my brain. Even though it was embarrassing and hurtful, I know I’m growing from it. I know I deserve better.”

She sits up a little so she can look at me. “And, if he hadn’t been such an asshole, I wouldn’t have known that. I wouldn’t have moved to Paintbrush, and I wouldn’t have met this sexy,” she trails a finger down my chest, “Grumpy,” she kisses my lips, “Bear-man. So really, he did me a favor.”

I laugh, feeling like the king of the goddamn universe. “I wish you hadn’t gotten hurt in the process, but I am glad you’re here.” I tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear.

She meets my eye and I swear to Zeus that I see my entire future there. Diamond ring, white dress, babies, the whole shebang. I haven’t felt this much hope in…years.

And then she repairs my heart with two little words, “me too.”

Unable to hold back, I cup her face in my hands and kiss her. I’m not ready to say a lot of things yet, but I hope like hell she can feel it in my kiss because this is the woman for me.

“Do you still want to be a journalist?” I ask her after we settle back into the booth.

“Not really. I never wanted to be one in the first place, but when I had to choose a major, I just kind of blurted it out and went along with it. I used to jump into things like that all the time. Violin, ballet…I think my parents finally drew the line at figure skating for financial reasons and my record of changing my mind on a dime.”

I chuckle and kiss the top of her head again, loving the glimpse into her life. “Violin, huh?”

She grins proudly. “I was first chair in high school.”

“I bet you were,” as I imagine she was the best at everything she tried. “Do you still play?”

She wrinkles her nose. “Sometimes, usually around the holidays, but my skills are nowhere near what they used to be. I just do it for fun.”

Thoughts of watching her play Christmas carols in our future home warm me in ways I’m not prepared for so I change the subject. “So what do you want now?”

“I’m not sure yet,” she answers honestly. “But I know I want to do it here and for now, that’s enough.”

I smile and tighten my arms around her, my heart jumping for joy that she wants to stay in Paintbrush.

Now I just need to make sure she wants to stay with me.

27

GUS

“Holy shit!” I scream when I flip on the living room light in the wee hours of the morning and find Sally sitting on the edge of the sofa, eyes wide, a stern look on her face. I have to press my hand against my heart to make sure it doesn’t stop.

“Augusta Renee Carper it is five o’clock in the morning.” Her tone is clipped. “I know you’re an adult, but you can at least let your poor aunt know when you’re going to be home.”

I put a hand out to steady myself on the doorframe and catch my breath. “Oh God, Aunt Sally, I’m so sorry.” Once the adrenaline stops coursing through my body, my blush takes over. I can even feel it creeping over the tips of my ears.

I make my way over to the couch and sit next to her. “Really, I thought you’d be asleep, and I didn’t want to wake you.”

She purses her lips and stares at my face like she’s reading an Op Ed in the local newspaper. “Bullshit.”

I laugh. “What?”

She turns toward me. “Oh, come on, Gus, you’ve been a completely different person since you got back from Denver. Smiling all the time, humming to yourself, sending texts at all hours of the day.” She takes my hand and holds it in both of hers. “You don’t have to tell me about it or who it is that makes you smile, but I am worried about you. You know, so soon after Ethan.”

I smile, feeling touched that she cares enough to wait up for me. I weigh whether or not to tell her and though I probably shouldn’t do it this soon, I’ve been dying to talk to anyone about Max. Hell, I’d chat up a complete stranger at this point. “I’d like to tell you, but you have to promise that you won’t tell anyone. Not even Helen. Until it’s the right time.”

Her lips bunch involuntarily because I think even she knows what a struggle that would be for her. “Helen wouldn’t tell anyone,” she says, her voice getting weaker as the sentence ends.

“Helen would absolutely tell everyone,” I correct. “You have to promise.”

She nods and draws a cross over her heart. “I promise.”

“On God?”

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