Page 6 of My Surprising Valentine

The soft buzzing of my phone pulled me from my thoughts. I ignored it, figuring it was my mom asking for the hundredth time if I needed her to find me a date. Eventually, the trilling stopped, but then my doorbell rang.

I frowned, wiping my hands on a nearby rag. I wasn’t expecting anyone, and in my current state, I certainly wasn't in the mood for company. My hair was tied up in a messy bun with stray strands falling out, my face free of makeup, and I could feel the faint stickiness of sweat under my arms from the effort of painting. I glanced at myself in the mirror by the door and grimaced. Definitely not my finest hour.

When I opened the door, my heart stopped. There was Max, looking like he’d stepped straight out of aGQspread in an expertly tailored charcoal suit that clung to his broad shouldersand tapered waist like it had been made just for him. The scent of his cologne—sandalwood and something citrusy—made my head spin.

“Hey,” he said, his lips curving into that easy smile I’d come to know so well. He held up a bottle of my favorite Cabernet Sauvignon, the embossed foil label catching the light from the overhead light. “Thought I’d stop by with this and help finalize our plans for the wedding.”

My mind went blank for a second. “Oh God,” I muttered, glancing down at myself and back up at him, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “I … uh …wasn’t expecting anyone.”

Max’s grin widened as he took in my paint-splattered sweats and what I was sure was a smear of paint across my cheek. “I can see that,” he teased, his tone sounding affectionate. “For what it’s worth, I think this—” he extended his pointer finger from the neck of the bottle, gesturing at me with a twist of the digit “—is a very good look on you.”

“Shut up,” I mumbled, crossing my arms self-consciously over my chest, suddenly very aware that I wasn’t wearing a bra under my ratty old t-shirt. “You’re just saying that because you’re standing there looking like a walking Tom Ford ad while I look like a slob.”

Max laughed softly, a deep, rich sound that sent a shiver down my spine. “I’m serious. You look cute.” He stepped closer, his gaze lingering on the streak of paint on my cheek. “Although,” he added, raising his free hand to brush his thumb against the smudge gently, “you’ve got a little something right there.”

My breath caught at the unexpected touch, and I pulled away, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he was standing. “I was painting.” Surreptitiously, I glanced down to make sure my nipples weren’t showing through my shirt. When I was satisfiedthey weren’t, I looked back up. “I’m sorry. Did I know you were coming?”

“Nope,” Max said, his lips popping on thep.“But I figured we needed to iron out some of the finger points of our ruse. And I know how much you like this wine, so …” He held up the bottle again.

I eyed the bottle and then Max. “Should I be concerned? Is this some sort of bribe?”

“Tell me with a straight face you want to do this sober,” he said with a wink.

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at my lips. “Fine.” I stepped aside and motioned for him to enter. “But don’t judge the mess. It’s been a week.”

Max stepped through the door, his mossy green eyes scanning the room. “I never judge,” he said, though his eyes were alight with amusement as he took in the drop cloths, the half-painted walls, and the small canisters from the many paint samples I’d tried scattered across the room.

“Liar,” I muttered as I shut the door behind him. “You’redefinitelyjudging.”

Max shrugged out of his suit jacket, hanging it on the coat stand by the door before turning to face me. “Okay, maybe I’m judging a little,” he teased. “Why didn’t you hire someone to do this for you?”

I snorted, grabbing two wine glasses from the cupboard in my small kitchen and setting them on the counter. “And miss out on all this fun?” I quipped drolly, gesturing around me. “No thanks. Besides, I like doing stuff like this. It makes me feel accomplished.”

Max watched as I uncorked the wine and poured us each a generous glass. “I admire that about you, you know,” he said, his voice sounding softer somehow.

I looked up, surprised by the sudden change in his tone. “What? That I’m too stubborn to hire someone?”

“No,” Max said, taking a step closer. “That you don’t wait around for someone else to make things happen—you just do it. I like that.”

My cheeks warmed, and I busied myself with picking up the paint supplies strewn around the room, trying to ignore how my heart quickened at his words. “Well, thanks, I guess,” I mumbled, unsure of how to respond.

He took a sip from his glass and leaned casually against the counter. “So,” he said, pausing for a moment as he rubbed his free palm over the stubble on his jaw. “You ready to talk strategy?”

I sighed, setting the paintbrush in the sink and grabbing my own glass, practically chugging half of it in one gulp. The wine was rich and smooth on my tongue, precisely what I needed to calm my nerves before launching into a discussion of the logistics for our weekend away. “I … um … I’ve booked the hotel for Friday and Saturday night.” I twisted the stem of my wine glass between my fingers, staring down at the deep red liquid as it swirled.

“Makes sense. Your brother mentioned you need to be there for the rehearsal dinner. I didn’t know you were in the wedding, too.”

“I’m not, at least not really. Melody asked me to do a reading; I’m filling in for one of her sorority sisters who backed out at the last minute,” I explained as I tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear with trembling fingers. I tried to sound casual even as my pulse quickened as I prepared to tell him that we’d also be sharing a room. “And since we’re supposedly dating, I thought it would look odd if I booked two rooms. But don’t worry—I made sure the room has two beds.” My stomach fluttered asI took another sip of wine and waited for his response, suddenly finding the paint splatter on my sweatpants fascinating.

Max was quiet for a moment—long enough that I forced myself to look up at him. The corner of his mouth lifted in a half-smile that made my heart skip. “Hannah,” he said, his voice gentle but amused, “you do realize nobody’s going to see how many beds are in our room, right?”

The heat that flooded my face could have melted steel. I pressed my palms against my burning cheeks. “I didn’t even … I mean, I just thought …” I blew out a breath and snapped my mouth closed.

“That you’d protect my virtue?” His eyes danced with suppressed laughter.

I groaned and covered my face completely with my hands. “Can we pretend this conversation never happened?”

“Not a chance.” I could hear him moving closer.

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