Page 11 of My Surprising Valentine

Max’s answering laugh was soft but rich, the kind that always caught me off guard despite having heard it for most of my life. “What I’m hearing is that youreallylove ice cream.”

I let out a heavy sigh, resting my cheek against the cushion. “Yeah, well, I don’t love the five pounds it adds every winter.” I scrunched up my nose, recalling all the holiday-themed pints of ice cream I’d devoured curled up right here on this very same couch. “Honestly, Hodgies being down the road from the hospital feels like a cruel joke.”

In the summer, it was easy to work off the extra calories with long walks along the rail trail or hiking at Old Town Hill, but when the temperatures plummeted to below freezing, curling up on my couch with a pint of ice cream to binge-watch all my favorite TV shows had become a problem. I probably needed to get a hobby or something.

“Okay, your turn,” I told him. “I remember your dog Snoopy, but was that your first pet?”

Max set his phone face-down on the coffee table and twisted on the couch to face me fully, one arm propped along the back cushion. “Nah, it was a goldfish named Stanley. He lived for approximately twelve hours before Jenny flushed him down the toilet. To this day, my sister is still freaked out by fish.”

I burst out laughing, the sound loud and unfiltered. “Poor Stanley!”

“I know, right? I was devastated; I wouldn’t speak to her for days.” Max smirked, his gaze lingering on me for a beat before his lips curled into that lopsided half-smile—the one that sent an unexpected, traitorous flutter through my stomach. He dragged a hand through his sandy hair, his movement unhurried, and I realized—too late—that I’d been staring. Again. “That’s when wegot Snoopy—a pet we both agreed on. Next question: what’s your biggest pet peeve?”

“People who don’t return their shopping carts,” I said without hesitation, my voice sharpening with indignation. “There’s a special place in hell for those lazy bastards. I’ve told you this before.”

Max grinned, wide and unapologetic. “True, but now I get context for why my fake girlfriend mutters obscenities in parking lots.”

I grabbed the nearest throw pillow and launched it at his head. His broad shoulders shook with laughter as he caught it, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“You’re impossible,” I pouted.

“And yet you’re dating me.” He winked as he shoved the pillow at me, his hand resting on my knee as he leaned my way. The touch sent a jolt of heat straight through me. “What does that say about you?”

“That I have questionable taste in men?” I shot back, though my voice betrayed the laughter I was trying to suppress.

Max pressed a hand dramatically to his chest, his expression one of mock heartbreak. “Ouch. I’ll have you know I’m quite a catch.”

“So you keep saying,” I teased, biting my lip to keep my grin in check.

For a moment, silence stretched between us. Max’s gaze softened—barely noticeable, but enough to send my pulse skittering. Then, as if snapping out of it, he shifted back against the couch, one leg lazily draped over the other.

I swallowed hard, turning my attention to the pillow in my lap, fluffing it unnecessarily. Whatever had just passed between us, I didn’t know what to do with it.

Max’s phone buzzed loudly then, sending it skittering across the table. Shaking his head slightly—as if he was trying to clearthe same sort of brain fog I’d also experienced—he reached over and picked it up. “Speaking of women with questionable taste, check this out.”

He turned the screen toward me, showing a photo of two of our mutual friends at a rooftop bar in Back Bay—Sarah perched on Tom’s lap, his arms wrapped possessively around her waist as they both laughed, utterly oblivious to the camera.

“Be nice. They’re cute together,” I said, ignoring the little pang in my chest. Sarah and Tom had danced around each other for years, their feelings for one another evident to everyone but them. Now they were talking about moving in together, and the pure joy on their faces in this photo was impossible to ignore.

“Yeah, they are,” Max agreed, studying the photo for a moment longer, his smile fading into something more thoughtful. When he looked up at me, his expression was unexpectedly serious. “But you know what this photo makes me realize?”

There was something in his tone and expression that made me hesitate, my stomach fluttering uneasily. “No, what?”

Max shifted slightly, his knee bumping mine, and then set his phone back down. “We’ve known each other so long that people at the wedding might think we’retoocomfortable together. Like, right now, for instance.” He tipped his chin down to gesture to where my sock-clad feet were nudging against his shin. “You’re literally kicking me while we talk.”

I immediately jerked my legs back, heat creeping up my neck.

“I’m worried people might think we give off more of a brother-sister vibe than …” His voice trailed off, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. He cleared his throat and looked away briefly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Than what?” I asked, not sure I wanted to hear the answer.

He turned back to me, his expression inscrutable. “Than two people who want to tear each other’s clothes off.”

The words hung between us like a spark in the air, just waiting to ignite. There was absolutelynothingbrotherly about the way I pictured Max suddenly tearing all of my clothes off.

My cheeks went scorching hot, and I felt panic rush through me.

“Relax, Han. I’m just saying we need to be more convincing.”

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