Page 75 of Smooth Sailing
Her gaze flicked between the road ahead and Max. His grin was wide, eyes twinkling with mischief, and her chest tightened. He looked so at ease, joking with her brother and Abigail—Paloma’s two favorite people. It was like Max had always been and would be a part of their little group.
The car gradually quieted, with occasional chuckles from the back seat breaking the silence. Max turned slightly in his seat, angling toward her. His voice was low when he spoke. “Hey, about the dinner . . .”
He didn’t want to go, and she couldn’t blame him. She should be relieved, not disappointed. They weren’t even dating, not really, so why would he want to meet her parents?
“My mom kind of pressured you into it. Don’t feel like you have to go,” she said.
He took her hand. “I’ll come if you want me there.”
“I . . .” Her heart did a little flip. She wanted him there. Desperately. The thought of him charming her mother and holding his own against her father’s interrogation warmed her insides. But she was jittery. Max, at her family table, would make what was happening between them real.
Felix leaned forward between them. “I want you there. Now that Lotte’s divorced, there’s too much estrogen at these monthly dinners. Help!”
Paloma laughed, grateful for her brother’s interruption of the heavy moment. “Last I checked, you and Dad manage just fine.”
“Sure, until you all start talking about your periods.”
“Oh, shut up. That’s not what we talk about at every dinner,” Paloma huffed.
“Yeah, we only do when we’re on them,” Abigail called from the back seat, her grin in her voice.
“And we can’t help that our times are all in sync,” Paloma finished, laughing.
“See what I’m dealing with?” Felix pleaded. “I need reinforcements.”
Max glanced at Paloma, and she saw his unspoken question. She nodded at him. “I’d like you there.”
“Good, glad that’s settled,” her brother said, clapping his hands once. “Because we might get there before midnight.” He pointed out the windshield at the moving traffic. She turned to the road, where cars were moving forward with more purpose.
“About time,” Max said, giving her hand one last squeeze before letting go.
They picked up speed. Conversation flowed easily, punctuated by laughter and the occasional grumble about the delay. The sun had long since set, casting the suburban landscape into darkness as they finally exited the freeway. She glanced at the dashboard clock—already past eight. No wonder her stomach was growling at her. But, damn, her parents would be annoyed, especially her dad. She hoped he wouldn’t make the evening unpleasant and tense.
“Hey,” Max said, his voice cutting through her worry. “That pizza place you mentioned earlier—think it’s still open?”
“Gino’s?” She clicked her tongue, considering. “Probably, why?”
“I was thinking we could grab a couple of pies,” he said. “You know, as a peace offering for being late.”
Felix leaned into the front seat. “Oh man, Dad would flip if we showed up with Gino’s. Remember when he tried to ban it because he thought it was ‘corrupting Italian cuisine’?”
“And then Mom caught him sneaking a slice at 2 a.m,” Paloma added, laughing. The knot of tension in her shoulders loosened a fraction. “You know what? Let’s do it.”
Instead of turning right, she made a left, and less than ten minutes later, they were pulling into Gino’s parking lot. She caught Max watching her, a soft smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “What?” she asked, suddenly self-conscious.
He shook his head. “Nothing. Just . . . I like seeing you happy.”
His simple honesty made her pulse flip. Before she could overthink it, she leaned over and kissed him. It was chaste, but it was the first time she’d done it in front of anyone. “Thanks,” she murmured, not quite meeting his eyes.
Felix made a gagging noise from the backseat. “No PDA.”
“Shut up,” she laughed, opening her car door. “Like I haven’t seen plenty from you and Abigail last summer when I visited. Now let’s get some food. I’m starving.”
They piled out of the car and into the restaurant. They entered Gino’s and were greeted with the warm, yeasty smell of pizza. The sizzle of cheese and the rhythmic thump of dough being kneaded created a comforting symphony. Max’s hand rested on the small of her back, a gentle comfort guiding her through the crowded pizzeria.
Fifteen minutes later, they were back on the road, the car filled with the mouthwatering aroma of garlic and melted cheese. They turned onto her parents’ street, and her grip on the steering wheel tightened.
Max reached over and took her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “What’s wrong?”
