Page 185 of Catch the Sun

With the weight of our past hanging between us, I seeMax—the man standing before me now, offering comfort and understanding. The specter of his twin brother’s actions may linger in my memory, but in Max’s arms, I find a safe space where the wounds of the past can heal, and where the promise of a shared future begins to take shape.

He is not his brother.

Just as I am not mine.

Max lets out a sigh of relief, and I pull him closer, the kiss gaining wings as we soar across a midnight sky, his hair between my fingers, our chests and hearts flush together.

When he pulls back for a breath, his forehead drops to mine. “We’re fixable,” he says huskily, pushing my hair back and kissing the top of my head. “I neverdoubted that. Not once. It’s always been you, Ella. Since the day I saw you in the schoolyard readingWinnie the Pooh, I knew I’d found my best friend.”

A small cry leaves me as I yank him back for another kiss.

We stumble, walking backward through the tree line, a clumsy trek toward the property. My hat slides off my head, my boots catch on sticks and branches, but our mouths hardly unlock. Max reaches down to scoop me up, his forearms linking underneath my thighs. I hang on to him as our lips and tongues tangle, our bodies drawing closer to my RV.

He presses me up against the siding, a breath leaving me as my legs circle tighter around him. His eyes pan up briefly, drinking in my decked-out RV that’s softly illuminated by an under glow and string lights from the adjacent property. “Wow,” he mutters, glancing back at me with a smile. “I’m impressed.”

Max stares at my little life on wheels, newly repainted in bright orange with a glossy finish. Large, vibrant decals cover its sides, showcasing iconic book spines that seem to stack upon one another. The title “Sunny’s Book Voyage” is emblazoned across the top in whimsical, flowing script. The vehicle has exterior under-glow lights in a soft gold, making it shine.

“The title is lame,” I admit. “I couldn’t think of anything clever.”

He shakes his head, eyes still sparkling and aimed at me. “It suits you.”

My heart squeezes as the words wash over me like dawn’s first blush. I nibble my lip and nod at the vehicle, an invitation for entry. “I can show you the inside,” I offer. “So we can warm up.”

He bites his lower lip. “All right.”

Max follows me inside and I try not to clam up, knowing what might come next. Max Manning is in Michigan. Standing in my RV. Inches away from me.

His tongue was in my mouth.

And I want it everywhere.

A familiar feeling races down my back as I feel him close in on me in the cramped quarters, and it’s the same feeling I had at the bar. That knowing, prickling feeling that revved my pulse and heated my blood. “How long have you been in town?” I wonder, moving to allow him more space.

His focus skips around the interior furnishings. “Not long.”

I walk farther inside, my gaze settling on the rumpled bed down the littlehallway, spotlighted with a plethora of flickering electric candles and wax warmers. My cheeks burn. The accommodations aren’t exactly primed for guests, and there’s nowhere else to sit. Just the super romantic-looking bed.

This is terrifying. And magical. And wonderful and scary and surreal. I have no idea what I’m doing.

I wring my hands together and peer up at him through timid lashes.

He’s fully lit now, free of shadows and nightfall. The sight of him steals my breath and strangles my lungs.

Max steps toward me with a similar expression, brows bent, eyes full of wonderment. He reaches for me and grabs hold of my coat zipper, sliding it all the way down until the fabric pops open.

I stare at him and wait.

He takes both hands and dips them inside the coat, up to my shoulders, then pushes it off me. It falls down my arms and lands at our feet.

My eyes close and my fingers curl into fists as I wait for more. I hear his own jacket zipper pull down, the rustling of his coat falling away. Warm body heat zaps me when he steps closer, his hands lightly gripping my hips, fingers dipping beneath my rust-colored sweater to graze my skin.

Then he leans forward and whispers, “We don’t have to take this any further tonight, Ella. I’m happy just holding you. Kissing you. Watching the sun rise in your arms.”

A tear slips out and slides down my cheek.

I think of all the times I made him leave before the sun came up.

The sun was harsh, unforgiving, too bright. It shone light on all of our shattered pieces that I couldn’t put back together, so I hid them away in the dark.

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