Page 26 of My Surprising Valentine

I hesitated, narrowing my eyes at her. “Nothing over the top?”

She held up three fingers in a salute. “Scout’s honor.”

“Okay, fine,” I relented. “But only because I know you won’t stop pestering me otherwise.”

Percy clapped her hands, practically bouncing with excitement. “You won’t regret this, I promise. Parisians will be askingyoufor fashion advice.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “I very much doubt that.”

Percy winked, pushing to her feet. “Let’s go find Max before he burns the risotto. He might be hot, but I still don’t trust that man’s skills in the kitchen.”

“Why not? You know Max is a much better cook than either you or me.”

She shot me an amused glance out of the corner of her eye. “That’s not saying much, and we both know it.”

“You’re in a mood today,” I observed as we linked arms and made our way down the hallway.

Percy sighed, the sound filled with resignation. “I know. I’m sorry. I got stood up again last night, and it’s put me in a funk. I thought this one had potential, but clearly, he didn’t feel the same way about me.”

“His loss then,” I said, leaning my head against hers in a show of support.

Percy’s fortieth birthday was fast approaching, and the closer we got to it, the more aggressively she’d thrown herself into thedating pool. At this point, I wasn’t sure there wasn’t an app she hadn’t tried, all with the same unsatisfying results.

My brother was going out of his mind listening to her describe all the horrible dates she’d been on every time the four of us got together. I thought he was going to keel over and die right there on the spot the night she’d told us about the one that hadn’t been a disaster—a wild, sexually adventurous night with a 25-year-old who’d approached her at a networking event saying, “I’m usually bad at math, but I’m pretty sure you and I add up perfectly.”

At some point, David was either going to have to tell Percy how he felt or accept that she was going to find someone else, but if anyone could understand why he was too afraid to admit his feelings, it was me. Until then, I’d promised I wouldn’t say anything, but at moments like this, it took every ounce of willpower I possessed not to suggest Percy give David a shot when clearly she was willing to date every asshole in Massachusetts.

Percy and I stepped into the kitchen to find Max standing at the stove, his back to us, stirring something that smelled absolutely mouthwatering. The rich aroma of garlic and white wine filled the air, and the faint hum of his favorite jazz musician played from the speaker in the living room. His broad shoulders flexed as he moved, the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt revealing muscular forearms dusted with golden hair. It was a sight I’d never tire of.

Percy’s heels clicked on the hardwood floors as she made her way to the island and hopped onto a barstool. “What’s for dinner, Dr. Dreamboat?” She sent a wink my way before resting her chin in her hand.

A few months ago, Max was featured in an article about the innovative work he’d done at the hospital, and the accompanying photo showed him out on his boat. As a result, anumber of the comments on the article had nicknamed him “Dr. Dreamboat,” a moniker he absolutely hated, while Percy and David couldn’t stop teasing him about it.

Max turned, a wooden spoon held in his hand, and shot her a playful glare. “Risotto. And yes, you’re welcome to stay even though you’re annoying.”

Percy feigned offense, placing a hand over her chest. “Me, annoying? Well, I never.”

I laughed, crossing the room to kiss Max on the cheek. “How’s it coming?” I asked, peeking into the pan.

“Almost done,” he said, returning his attention to the pot. “How’s the packing going? Did Percy let you finish, or did she hijack the whole process?”

“Hijack is a strong word,” my best friend interjected. “I merely stepped in to prevent a sartorial catastrophe.”

I rolled my eyes, leaning against the counter. “She’s convinced that if I don’t pack a trench coat and ankle boots, the Parisians will refuse to let me enter the city.”

Max chuckled, his green eyes sparkling as he looked at me. “You didn’t pack those jeans, did you?”

Had I packed the Levis I’d purchased almost 15 years ago that I’d worn so many times they were soft as butter against my skin with holes in the knees and frayed ankles? Why yes, yes I had.

“Not you, too!” I laughed rather than admit I’d done precisely that lest Percy run back to my bedroom and pull them out of my suitcase. She’d been threatening to burn them for years. “I thought you liked those jeans. You always tell me my ass looks great in them.”

Max’s expression turned molten, and he set the spoon down to step closer, wrapping his arms around my waist. “Your ass looks great in everything,” he said, his voice low, as he nipped at my lips.

My belly clenched, my core throbbing at the raw, needing tone of my husband’s words. Years later, I still couldn’t get enough of him. Thankfully, the feeling was entirely mutual.

Percy let out an exaggerated sigh from her perch at the counter. “You two are disgustingly sexy and adorable. It’s almost enough to make me believe in love.”

I smirked, turning to glance over my shoulder at her. “Almost?”

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