Page 9 of My Surprising Valentine

Max set down his paintbrush and joined me, his long legs stretched out beside me. “Only to someone who’s paying attention.”

I picked at a loose thread on my paint-splattered sweatpants, avoiding his gaze. There was something about his gentle probing that made my carefully constructed walls begin to crumble. “It’s just … even though I like to think I’ve made peace with where I am in life, being around my family sometimes makes me question everything. Everyone else is either married or in a serious relationship, but here I am, thirty-five and still single, with nothing really to show for myself except my job and a condo I haven’t decorated even though I’ve lived here for six years.”

“Hannah,” Max said softly, and something in his tone made me look up. His eyes were intense, focused entirely on me. “There’s nothing wrong with being single.”

Coming from anyone else, those words might have felt empty, like a platitude. But Max had turned being single into an art form. I’d watched him date his way through what felt like half of the North Shore’s eligible population, never staying with anyone long enough for things to become serious. At first, I’d written him off as just another commitment-phobic player, but lately, I hadn’t missed the way he sometimes went quiet at dinner parties when couples talked about how they met or the way his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes when people joked about him being a permanent bachelor.

There was a story there, one he kept locked away as carefully as I hid my feelings for him.

And that was the real reason I could never tell Max how I felt. Not just because he was my friend or because this whole fake dating scheme would implode, but because I knew exactly how this would play out, and I couldn’t risk the friendship we’d built. Some risksweren’tworth taking, no matter how much my heart raced when he looked at me like I was the only person in the world worth seeing.

“I know that,” I answered quickly—maybetooquickly—recognizing my response definitely had an air of “the lady doth protest too much” about it.

“I mean, logically, I know that,” I started again. “But try telling that to my family. They look at me like I’m some kind of sad charity case because I haven’t found ‘the one’ yet.” I made air quotes around the words, trying to inject some humor into my voice but failing miserably.

Max shifted closer, close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from his body. “You’re not a charity case,” he said, his voice firm but gentle. “You’re incredible. You literally bring people into this world every day, you make everyone around you laugh, and you’re kind to everyone you meet.” He paused, and I held my breath. “And you’re beautiful. So fucking beautiful. Anyone who makes you feel otherwise is an idiot.”

My heart thudded in my chest, and for a moment, I couldn’t seem to find my voice, so I poured myself another glass of wine from the nearly empty bottle sitting on the floor to my left to buy myself some time.

“Thanks,” I finally managed, my voice barely above a whisper. “That means a lot.”

Max gave me a small smile, but there was something in his eyes that I couldn’t quite read. “I mean it, Han. You’ve got nothing to worry about. You’ll knock ‘em dead.”

I chuckled, trying to lighten the mood before I did something stupid like cry. Or kiss him. “Well, I did buy an amazing dress.”

“Oh yeah?” His eyebrows lifted with interest, and he nudged my shoulder with his. “Care to share any details? You know, so that I can coordinate my tie appropriately.” He was clearly teasing—Max’s fashion sense was impeccable without any help from me.

“It’s green,” I offered, picturing the gown I’d bought the week before. “Dark green. Like forest green, but …” I waved my hand vaguely, the half bottle of wine I’d drank tonight dulling my senses. “Fancier.”

“Fancier forest green,” Max repeated solemnly, though his eyes sparkled. “Got it. I’ll make a note.” His smile widened, but there was still something soft in his expression that made my chest tight.

We sat there for a moment, the silence charged with an undercurrent of something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

Finally, Max cleared his throat and reached for the bottle to refill his glass. “So,” he said, his voice lighter now. “I call shotgun on the drive to the wedding.”

I laughed, grateful for the shift in tone. “You don’t get to call shotgun when you’re the only other person in the car, you dork.”

Max grinned, the familiar sparkle in his eyes pulling me in. “Sure I do. House rules.”

“Whose house rules?” I asked, unable to keep the smile off my face.

“Mine.” He nudged my shoulder again. “And since I’m your fake boyfriend, you have to respect them.”

I rolled my eyes, but my skin tingled where he’d touched me. Or maybe that was the wine? “Is that how this works? You just make up rules as we go along?”

“Absolutely,” he said, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Rule number two: you have to laugh at all my jokes.”

I wrinkled my nose and gave him my best skeptical look, the one I usually reserved for patients who swore they’d been takingtheir prenatal vitamins regularly despite their bloodwork saying otherwise. “Even the bad ones?”

“Especiallythe bad ones,” he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Rule number three: no making fun of my navigation skills when I inevitably get us lost on the way to the hotel.”

I snorted. “So you’re admitting in advance that you’re going to get us lost?”

“I’m setting expectations,” he corrected, pointing his wine glass at me. “That’s what good fake boyfriends do.”

“You’re such a dork,” I said again, shaking my head. “You do realize there’s this amazing new invention called GPS, right? My friend Siri is an excellent navigator.”

His lips quirked to the side in an amused grin I’d seen countless times over plates of nachos at our favorite bar or across the table at my mom’s house every time he joined us for family dinner. “Suit yourself.”

---