Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 135831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
I don’t tell him that. I don’t let on, either, that most good stories start with a woman. That most people change when they realize there’s someone worth changing for. I don’t tell him any of that because we’re still a secret. But if I can help her rather than create more problems for her, that has to assist our cause.
“You probably will,” I say, meaning it.
He asks a few more questions, and when he wraps up, she thanks him, then says I’m free to go. When I slide into my car, there’s a text waiting for me on my phone.
Everly: I could kiss you for those answers. They were so good! So natural, so real, so simple. The Real Max Lambert indeed!
My chest is warm. A little glowy even. I’ve made her happy. That’s something. No, that’s everything.
I don’t turn on the car yet. I stare at the message for a good minute, enjoying this feeling till I catch sight of her in the rearview mirror, heading to her car.
But that feeling in my chest shifts. Turns into a pang. An empty ache. I want to be the man to walk her to her car, open the door, and kiss her cheek—the kind of kiss you could give your girlfriend in public.
As she drives away, I mull on what it’s going to take to make that happen somehow. How many jerseys do I need to give to Elias to solve this? How many upbeat comments do I offer up to the press? And would all of that even be enough to counterbalance the weight of an unwritten rule that she has to bear?
Is she going to have to take a job someplace else for this to work? Could I ask her to? Could I schmooze Wilder Blaine on her behalf?
Not if you want to keep your nuts.
I shut down those ideas so fast. I can’t do either of those things. Or ask her for either of them. That’s not fair to her and all she’s worked for as she aims to live her best life.
I resign myself to figuring that out later. For now, I need to focus on something that’s in my control—winning her heart.
Without that, I’ve got nothing.
40
ICE KISS
Everly
I’m on my way out the door Friday night when Zaire stops me in the hall. “The documentary filmmakers are going to be stopping by next week for B-roll,” she says.
My ears perk all the way up. “Does that mean it’s officially happening? Are they going to feature Max in an episode?”
Zaire crosses her fingers. “It’s an excellent sign. It’s not a done deal yet and B-roll is the kind of thing they can toss if they decide not to feature him. But it’s a positive indication that they want to have it in the can. They said, and I quote, ‘We’re happy with how things are going so far.’”
I smile brightly. That’s what we’ve been working toward. “That is great news.”
“And let me tell you something, Clementine is happy, too, so you know what that means?”
“You’re happy?” I ask playfully.
“I am cautiously happy,” she says, then spins on her heels and leaves.
I’m glad she feels that way. I don’t want anything to destroy that happiness. I have a father who’s disappointed with me most of the time. I have a mother who barely cares. But I have a job that has given me a lot of joy and I don’t want to risk that.
That’s why this thing with Max has to stay a secret. Truly it does.
Even if I’ve started entertaining possibilities for the future.
Even if I’ve started wondering if we could make a go of it.
Even if sometimes I think about smashing unwritten rules to smithereens.
The more time I spend with him, the less I want to be hidden.
This woman has serious shutterbug skills. “These are amazing,” I say to Leighton a little later at Elodie’s Chocolates because why have business meetings anywhere else?
She already showed me the pictures I hired her to take at the gardening event yesterday. I posted some on the team’s social and one on Max’s, but now we’re reviewing the rest of them for a bigger photo drop over the weekend.
“I love this shot of all the guys huddled together planting,” she says, and I peer at it on her tablet. It’s such a cute picture of Max, Miles, Asher, and Wesley.
“The hockey players planting the seeds of victory,” she says, then laughs—at herself. “That’s super cheesy. Do not use that as a caption.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t,” I say with a playful smile, then pick the photos I like best and ask her to send them to me. After we’ve done our work, Maeve, Fable, and Josie sail into the chocolate shop. I smile even as nerves flutter in my chest. But they’re butterfly nerves.