Page 76 of Smooth Sailing
“I love my parents, but they can sometimes be a bit much.” And him, at their table, makes her scary feeling for him all the more real.
“I get it. Believe me,” he said softly, “And don’t forget, whatever happens, we’ve got pizza. And each other.”
Her heart dipped. For now, they had each other.
Parking in front of her childhood home, she took a deep breath. The scent of Gino’s famous garlic knots mingled with the faint trace of Max’s cologne—each equally enticing. “Let’s do this,” she said, injecting a carefree lilt into her voice.
Everyone climbed out of the car, arms laden with pizza boxes. The cool evening air raised goosebumps on her arms as they walked to the door. Max’s warmth beside her was a stark contrast, his presence solid and reassuring. The porch light cast a soft glow, highlighting his straight spine and a slight lift of his chin. She recognized the posture as one he adopted before important business meetings. But the soft smile he gave her when their gazes met revealed the nerves behind his confident façade.
Before they reached the porch, the front door swung open. Her father’s frame filled the doorway, his expression unreadable in the gathering dusk. But then he lifted his chin and sniffed. His stern facade cracked.
“Is that . . . Gino’s?” he asked, a note of longing in his voice.
Paloma exchanged a quick glance with Max, a silent laugh passing between them. Maybe tonight wouldn’t be the weighty, relationship-defining dinner she’d feared. Maybe it could just be pizza and family and Max’s warm presence beside her—uncomplicated, for now, at least.
Chapter Thirty-Four
November 25th, 8:30 p.m.
Max stepped over the threshold and into Paloma’s childhood home. The warmth of the house was a stark contrast to the cool evening air outside. His grip tightened on the pizza boxes as he followed her inside, acutely aware of her father’s evaluating gaze.
In the entryway that opened into a spacious living room, Mr. Wagner offered his hand to Max. “I’m Clifton Wagner and you’re Max…”
“London,” Max filled in, “I, um,” he glanced at Paloma for help.
“Remember, Dad. I told you about him. He’s the Landscape Architect I’ve been working with.”
Max had hoped he’d also be introduced as more than a work partner, but they had just returned home and hadn’t had a chance to talk. He shook off his disappointment and glanced around the home. He noted the soft, warm lighting from strategically placed lamps, casting a gentle glow on the cream-colored walls. A large, plush sofa dominated the room, adorned with various throw pillows in textures and complementary earth tones. Above it, his gaze lingered on the abstract art, recognizing the garden pattern immediately. Paloma nudged his arm softly, a silent acknowledgment that she’d known he’d appreciate that detail.
They smiled at each other. He turned to her father and said, “You have a lovely home, Mr. Wagner.”
“Thank you,” her father replied with a nod.
A flurry of movement from the kitchen caught his eye. A woman who had Paloma’s eyes and smile emerged, wiping her hands on a dish towel. Her gaze landed on him, curiosity evident in her eyes.
“Oh, you must be Max,” she said, approaching with a warm smile. “Thank you for joining us. I’m Sophia.”
Max shifted the pizza boxes to one arm, extending his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Paloma told us you two have been working together on some projects,” Sophia continued. “You’re a landscape architect, right?”
“That’s right,” he nodded.
“I’ve heard the Sterling home was a success,” Clifton said.
“Who did you hear that from?” Paloma asked, glancing between her father and Max.
Clifton’s lips curved into a small smile. “From a few colleagues. It seems the Sterlings are very happy.”
Max looked at Paloma. Her eyes widened, sparkling with an unmistakable gleam of triumph. The corners of her mouth twitched upward, and she stood straighter, her shoulders squaring almost imperceptibly.
His chest expanded, filled with admiration for Paloma’s talent and the shared joy in their success. He caught himself leaning toward her, drawn by the triumph blazing in her eyes.
Her father gave his full attention to his daughter. “Which brings me to—”
The patter of small feet coming down the hallway captured everyone’s attention. A moment later, a blond toddler appeared in the doorway, his eyes widening at the sight of Paloma.“Aunt Oma!” he squealed, launching himself toward her.
Paloma’s face lit up as she caught the little boy, swinging him into her arms. “Max! What are you doing up, mister?”
