Page 19 of My Surprising Valentine

“I haven’t been avoiding your calls,” I lied.

“You have, too! I tried calling you three times last week, and it went straight to voicemail.” She turned to Max. “Please tell me she doesn’t pull that on you, too. Because that’s what Hannah does when she’s scared of her feelings. Remember that time in college when?—”

“Mom!” I finally managed to cut her off. Pointing to the stream of people entering the atrium attached to the lobby where the rehearsal dinner was taking place, I said, “Dinner is about to start. We should head in.”

As if on cue, my Aunt Bettina waved her sisters over. Without another word, my mom and Aunt Marie shuffled her way.

I sagged against Max’s side, beyond grateful for the reprieve.

He leaned down, his lips brushing my ear. “You okay?”

I suppressed a shiver. “Ask me after I’ve had a drink—or five.”

His low chuckle vibrated through me. “Come on. I think I see the bar.”

We made our way into the glass-domed dining room, Max’s hand never leaving my back. The space was gorgeous—all crystal chandeliers and red and white roses—their heady perfume mixing with the aromas of garlic and herbs drifting from the kitchen. Cutlery clinked against plates as the wait staff arranged place settings, their quiet efficiency a counterpoint to the rising chorus of voices as more people filtered in.

But I barely noticed any of it. I was too focused on the warmth of Max’s touch, on the way he kept me close as we navigated through clusters of my relatives. His fingers splayed protectively against my lower back, the pressure just firm enough to guide me while setting every nerve ending on fire. I found myself grateful for the growing dimness that hopefully hid my flushed cheeks.

“Manhattan?” he asked as we reached the bar, and my heart did a little flip at the way he raised his eyebrow at me.

“Please, and make it a double.”

He smiled—that devastatingly handsome half-smile that always made my knees weak—and turned to the bartender. “Two Manhattans, please.”

“Rough night?” the bartender asked sympathetically.

Max glanced over to where my mother was now regaling my aunts with what appeared to be the story of how he’d taught me to drive stick shift in his old Jeep if her wild gesticulations were anything to go by. “You could say that.”

The bartender slid our drinks across the bar, and I immediately took a generous sip, savoring the bourbon as it coated my tastebuds. Max’s hand found my lower back again as he guided me toward our assigned seats, which—because the universe truly hated me—were right next to Rachel and Jessica.

My cousin didn’t even try to hide her glare as we approached. She leaned over to whisper something to her sister, who at least had the grace to look uncomfortable.

“Twenty bucks says she brings up that dinner party,” I murmured, just loud enough for Max to hear.

His thumb traced a small circle against my back. “And here I thought you were done taking sucker bets after the great mini-golf incident of 2022.”

I had to bite my lip to keep from smiling at the memory. He pulled out my chair before taking his own seat. As he settled beside me, his leg brushed mine under the table, but I tried not to read anything into the contact.

“So,” Jessica ventured, trying to break the tension in our group. “Are you still at New England General, Max?”

“Youngest Chief of Pediatric Oncology the hospital’s ever seen,” I answered before Max could demur about this significant achievement. It was a position he’d worked hard for, and I was inordinately proud of all he’d accomplished.

Max shifted in his seat, and I recognized his tell—the way he always felt a little uncomfortable talking about his achievements. Many doctors I knew were in it for the prestige and loved to boast about their positions, but not Max. He genuinely wanted to make a difference in young patients’ lives, and when he spoke, his voice carried that intensity he felt when discussing them.

“The transition was challenging,” he admitted. “Of course, I miss having as much direct patient contact, but being Chief means I can implement programs that help more kids in the long run. For example, we’ve doubled our clinical trial participation, launched a support program for siblings of cancer patients, and we’re working on making our entire floor more family-friendly.” His expression brightened. “Actually, we just got approval for therapy dogs in the oncology ward.”

“That must be fascinating,” Jessica noted. From the way she was leaning in and hanging on Max’s every word, I could tell she was genuinely interested in what he had to say.

Not that I should have been surprised. Jessica was a teacher at a nationally recognized academy in the area, and last we’d spoken, she’d mentioned wanting to pursue her Master’s degree so that she could move into administration.

“Nothing could be as fascinating as the story of how these two finally got together,” my mother chimed in, suddenly appearing beside our table as if she’d materialized from thin air. “I mean, Hannah’s been in love with Max since?—”

I caught movement over my mother’s shoulder that offered the perfect escape from this conversation. “Hey, Mom. Aren’t you supposed to be on Uncle Tony duty tonight? I just saw him heading straight toward the bar.”

Unfortunately, she simply waved off my attempt at distraction. “He’s fine; the bartender knows not to serve him. Now, Max, tell everyone how you finally worked up the courage to ask my daughter out.”

I felt Max tense beside me for a fraction of a second before his usual easy confidence took over. He turned to face me, his expression softening in a way that made my heart skip. “Actually, Hannah made the first move.”

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