Page 109 of Moonlit Nights & Northern Lights
Maxwell jumped back as if I’d slapped him, his hands flying up in surrender.
“I’m so sorry,” he blurted, eyes wide. “I didn’t mean to—I thought you wanted—”
“No, no,” I said quickly, hopping off the counter and reaching for him. “That was all great. So great. You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just…” I tore a hand through my hair, struggling to find the right words. “Is this just sex?”
He blinked at me. “What?”
“Is this just sex?” I repeated, my heart fluttering wildly, sending me dizzy.
Maxwell frowned, adjusting his glasses. “That’s what you told me it was yesterday.”
“I know, but I say a lot of things.” I sighed. “You might have noticed by now.”
He studied me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “What are you saying?”
I fidgeted with the hem of my shirt, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. “I’m not sure.”
Maxwell retreated further, exhalingloudly.
My eyes darted around the cottage kitchen, desperate for something to focus on that wasn’t Maxwell’s increasingly concerned expression. That’s when I spotted a bottle rack mounted on the wall near the window. I reached it in three quick strides, scanning the collection until I found a bottle of single malt whisky, about half empty, its amber contents glowing like liquid gold.
I brought out two heavy crystal tumblers that looked like they’d seen their fair share of Highland evenings, poured just myself a glass, leaving the bottle on the counter.
I turned to find Maxwell staring at me like I’d completely lost my mind, which, to be fair, wasn’t entirely inaccurate. “Well,” Maxwell said, “whatareyou sure of?”
“Why doIhave to be the one to put my cards on the table first?”
Maxwell rolled his eyes so far back I thought they might disappear into his skull.
“Let’s play truth or drink,” I suggested, swirling my whisky. “Three questions each.”
“Are we twelve?” Maxwell asked, voice dripping with disdain.
“Please?” I said, then stared at him until he sighed, reached for the whisky and poured himself the tiniest amount.
“I’ll go first.” I leaned forward, studying his face. “Do you still hate me?”
Maxwell frowned, a genuinely almost convincing display of puzzlement. “I’ve neverhatedyou, Rory. You’ve infuriated me. Made me want to bang my head against the wall. Made me want to shake you on more than one occasion. But I’ve never hated you. Not in the same way you hate me. I mean,hatedme.” He raised an eyebrow. “Do you still hate me?”
“No.” I took a tiny sip of whisky. “So… do you like me?”
A long pause. He stared at me through his glasses, his eyebrows a squiggle. “Do I… like you?”
“Yes. You have to answer, orthrow back that whole drink.”
He sighed, long and deep, a sound of resignation. “Yes, Rory. Yes, I like you.”
My heart did a weird little flip. It was a simple admission, but hearing those words in his serious, slightly exasperated voice made my skin tingle.
Though it wasn’t enough.
“But do youlike, like me?”
Maxwell looked to the ceiling and mumbled what might have been a prayer.
I moved closer, one hand on my hip. “Well?”
He met my gaze, his wide hazelnut eyes studying me carefully. The lusciously thick eyelashes I was so jealous of fluttered as he blinked slowly. “Listen, I’m going to be honest here. This is all quite… confusing for me. And very… sudden. Possibly I hit my head a week ago and I’m in a coma right now, and this is all one crazy dream. But… yes… I think— no, Iknow. I do like you.Like, like you. Which, considering you drive me absolutely mad, is quite frankly terrifying and completely impractical, but here we are. I think I mightlike, like you very much. What about you?”
