After she’d disconnected the call, she had a brief chat with the real estate agent, who’d been waiting outside. Securing Sasha in the back seat, she got into her car and got on the road.
She pulled up to her parents’ house a few minutes after five. She parked on the side of the road, knowing the wide body of Maxwell’s SUV would be better suited for the open spot in the driveway.
Once inside, she set down Sasha’s car seat on the sofa. When the baby protested, she said, “I’ll be back for you in a minute, sweetie.”
“Von, come help me finish up in here,” her mother called from the kitchen.
Dutifully, she answered her mother’s call. In the kitchen, she helped set the table with her mother’s best white lace tablecloth, silver-rimmed china, and the fancy silverware Marissa’s wealthy spinster aunt had given her as a wedding gift when she married Gordon.
Holding up one of the forks, Yvonne inspected the roses carved into the handle. “Mommy, when’s the last time we used this silverware?”
Marissa paused, shifting her eyes up to the ceiling for a moment. “When Zelda graduated from high school, I think.”
Yvonne placed the fork in the proper spot. Daddy might not be impressed with this situation, but if Mommy has pulled out the good silver, I’ve at least got a leg up with her. She ducked outside to the car, bringing in the portable high chair she’d brought for Sasha, and set it up between her seat and her mother’s. “The baby’s not crazy about the high chair, so I’ll wait till Max gets here to buckle her in.”
A knock sounded on the door just as her mother set down the pitcher of iced tea.
“I’ll get it!” Her father’s voice rumbled through the house, and she could hear his footsteps as he shuffled past the kitchen’s swinging door.
She and her mother walked out into the living room, standing back as Gordon opened the door. Yvonne circled around the couch, unhooking the fussy baby from her car seat. “Goodness gracious,” she cooed, bouncing Sasha against her shoulder. “I left you in there too long, huh? I’m sorry, sweetie.”
Maxwell stood on the front porch, holding a bouquet of flowers.
He looked so handsome, Yvonne almost sighed aloud. He must have gone home and changed after coming from work. He wore black slacks and loafers, a red button-down shirt, and a red, gray, and black striped tie.
“Good evening, Mr. Markham. I’m Maxwell Devers.” He stuck out his hand.
She watched her father look him up and down for a moment before shaking his hand. “Evening, Mr. Devers. Come on in.”
Maxwell entered the house, shutting the door behind him. “You can call me Maxwell.”
Gordon’s salt-and-pepper brow rose as he quipped, “That remains to be seen.”
“Now, Gordon. Go easy on our guest.” With a shake of her head, Marissa stepped forward. “I’m Von’s mother, Marissa. It’s nice to meet you, honey.”
“Likewise, Mrs. Markham.” Maxwell presented the sunny armload of flowers to her. “These are for you. Thank you for your hospitality, ma’am.”
Marissa smiled, taking a sniff of the bouquet. “My word. Black-eyed Susan, daisies, and buttercups. How thoughtful. Thank you, Maxwell.”
“My pleasure.”
Yvonne couldn’t hide her smile. So he was listening when I talked about how my mom’s garden is mostly yellow and white flowers. He gets all the brownie points for that.
Maxwell entered her space then and leaned down to kiss her…on the cheek. While she was more than a little disappointed, she understood and didn’t let it show. “Hi, Max.”
“Hi, Von.” He grinned as he held his arms out for his daughter. Sasha, who’d been fussing for the last few minutes, went to him with a big smile. Once she was in his arms, she immediately calmed down, snuggling against her father’s chest. “Da-da, Da-da.”
“Hello there, little one.” He spoke softly, his face close to the baby. “I’m happy to see you, too.”
Yvonne felt her heart swell at the sweet sight, and she noticed the way her mother clasped her hands in front of her and exhaled. Mommy’s eating this up, but who could blame her? “How was your day, Max?”
“Eventful. But the project is off to a great start.”
Her father moved across the living room with the aid of his cane. “Let’s get on in the kitchen. ’Rissa’s made her famous meatloaf, and I’m ready for a nice thick slice.”
“Homemade meatloaf? Sounds amazing.” Maxwell winked at Yvonne, then followed her parents through the swinging door while she followed.
Seated around the table, they made small talk as Yvonne and her mother did the serving. Sasha entertained herself by banging her bottle on the plastic table attached to her high chair.
While Marissa filled Gordon’s plate and then his glass, Yvonne took care of Maxwell’s.
He stayed her hand. “You don’t have to do that, Von.”
She shook her head, blushing. “It’s no bother at all, Max. You’ve been working all day.” Aside from that, she knew what the house rules were. None of that “new age” stuff, as her mother called it. In the Markham household, if you had a man, you fixed his plate.
“So have you, and I know my daughter keeps you plenty busy.” Maxwell reached for the pitcher since she’d already filled his plate with meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and turnip greens.
She poured the drink faster than he could stop her. Then she sat the pitcher and herself down, grinning at him. “If you wanna serve yourself, you gotta be quicker than that.”
He laughed, obviously picking up on her teasing tone. “You’re something else.”
While Yvonne alternated between eating her own food and making sure Sasha got more mashed potatoes into her mouth than into her hair, she listened to her father conversing with Maxwell. While Gordon peppered him with questions, Maxwell answered easily, without hesitation or annoyance. Even when it seemed the question was a trick one, Maxwell never got flustered; he simply asked for clarification, essentially turning Gordon’s trickery back on him. She loved his confidence, loved the way he didn’t shirk answering questions but didn’t answer anything he deemed too pushy or unfair, either.
“So, Mr. Devers. What are your plans for my daughter?”
She sighed. “Daddy.”
Maxwell shook his head, remaining unbothered. “No, it’s no problem. It’s a valid question.” He looked the older man in the eye. “Sir, my intentions with your daughter are whatever she wants them to be.”
A shiver ran down Yvonne’s back as she remembered their lovemaking. He’d been bent on giving her whatever she wanted that night, for certain. His words now reminded her that she longed to return to the warmth of his bed and feel the magic of his hands moving over her skin again. Get it together, girl. Can’t be thinking dirty thoughts in front of your parents.
“Well, isn’t that a conveniently vague answer.” Gordon harrumphed. “Let’s try something more direct, shall we? You plan on marrying her?”
Yvonne, still feeding the baby, covered her face with her free hand. Looks like Daddy’s loaded for bear tonight.
Maxwell only smiled. “It was a clearer answer than you think, Mr. Markham. What I mean, very plainly, is that I’m not the one who gets to decide Yvonne’s future. That’s up to her. If she deems me worthy to be her husband, and yes, I will certainly ask when the time is right, I’d be honored and blessed to have her in my life forever.”
Yvonne’s throat twitched, and she reached for her iced tea, taking a long drink to avoid going into a coughing fit. He’s thought about marriage? With me? This is an interesting development. And with him making declarations about her future being in her own hands, she knew he’d share her excitement about the potential day care space she’d toured. I can’t wait to tell him all about it.
Her mother smiled. “Stop harassing this nice man. Haven’t you asked him enough questions?”
Her fathe
r scratched his chin repeatedly, indicating he was in deep thought. Finally, he said, “I suppose that’ll suffice.” He paused. “Wait, one more question.”
“Sure thing.”
“Who do you like in basketball? Duke or Carolina?”
Maxwell chuckled. “Actually, neither. See, I’m a Central alum, so that’s my team.”
“Oh, really?” Gordon narrowed his eyes. “And you wouldn’t even choose between them?”
Maxwell shrugged. “I really couldn’t make an informed pick, since I only follow CIAA and MEAC games if Central isn’t involved.”
“All right. I guess you’re all right with me. For now.”
“I’ll take it.”
Watching the two of them shake hands, Yvonne could only shake her head. Daddy and Max make quite a pair.
As she helped Maxwell load drowsy little Sasha and her gear into his SUV later, she said, “I hope Daddy didn’t make you uncomfortable, although you handled it pretty well as far as I could tell.”
He chuckled. “Your dad’s a tough one. But I’m fine. Don’t worry. If my trig professor in college couldn’t shake me up, nothing will.” Closing the hatch, he leaned against the side of the vehicle. “He’s just being protective of you, and I can totally respect that.”
“Thanks for coming over and for bringing flowers for Mommy.”
“Not a problem.” He stifled a yawn. “We’d better get Sasha home to bed. It’s getting late.”
“Right. But before we head back to your place, I’ve got some news, and I just can’t wait to tell you.” She could feel the joy vibrating through her body.
“What is it?”
“I went to look at a space for my day care today. It’s so nice. Recently remodeled, plenty of space indoors and out, including a nice area I can fence in and use for my playground equipment. Huge windows.” She gestured, showing him how large the windows were. “Lots of natural light.”
He nodded. “Sounds nice. I didn’t know you were out looking for property.”
The buzz of joy dimmed. She frowned, noting his stunning lack of excitement. I didn’t expect him to jump up and down, but I expected more than this. “Well, yeah. It’s gonna be a while before I can save up enough for the down payment and three months of lease payments, but I’m on the hunt.”
“Hmm.” He touched his chin. “So you’re really serious about doing this? And soon?”
She folded her arms over her chest. “You seem surprised. I told you from the beginning what my plans were, Max.”
“It’s just that…” He looked flustered, as if unsure of what to say next. “Never mind. I really need to get the baby home. I’ll see you there.” He turned and walked around the SUV without another word.
For a moment, she stood on the edge of the lawn, wondering what had just happened. I don’t believe this. How could he sit there and make speeches about my independence, then react like that when I make a major move toward my dreams? She didn’t want to believe he was anything like her ex, who never took her career in child development seriously.
He started the engine and pulled out, driving away without a backward glance, and she shook her head as she walked to her own car. Did he really believe the things he’d said to her father? Or was he simply telling him what he thought would make him sound clever?
As she drove away from her parents’ home, one question lingered in her mind, and it made her wonder if their relationship could ever get truly serious.
I’ve seen two Maxwells tonight. But which one is the real one?
Chapter 17
When Maxwell woke up Wednesday morning, he rolled over on his left side to face the window. Rubbing his eyes, he tried to adjust them to the sunlight flowing between the drapes. After a few seconds of blinking, he realized he had a problem.
If the sun’s up, I’ve overslept. Damn it! Why didn’t my alarm go off?
He shifted around in the bed, stretching to reach his phone, lying facedown on the nightstand. Flipping it up, he looked at the screen. According to the display, he had heard the alarm…and snoozed it, four times. Oh, for fuck’s sake. He checked the time. Ten minutes after seven. I should be on the road by now.
Tossing the phone aside, he scrambled out of bed and rushed to the bathroom to take a quick shower. Under the hot spray of the four nozzles, he shook off the cloak of sleep that still clung to his body. What he couldn’t shake, though, were thoughts of the previous day.
He’d gone from a busy day at the jobsite to the trial by fire at the Markham family’s dinner table, and he couldn’t believe how eventful that single twenty-four-hour period had been. He had so much to think about, so many decisions to make.
Inside his walk-in closet, he got dressed for the day, pairing charcoal-gray slacks with a black shirt, black loafers with a gray toe box and heel, and a solid red tie. Gathering his essentials, he headed down the stairs. The enticing scent of bacon cooking wafted past his nose, and his empty stomach grumbled in response. Tilda must be here. He jogged down the rest of the steps, hoping she’d made something he could grab and take along with him. He knew he’d missed the golden window before morning traffic started to pick up on Highway 210, so he didn’t want to linger at the house much longer.
Entering the kitchen, he found Yvonne there, standing at the stove. She’d spread dishes and other necessary items on the marble countertop next to the stove top. Sasha, seated in the high chair at the table, quietly enjoyed her morning sippy cup.
He went to his daughter and kissed her on the forehead. “Morning, Sasha. Is that yummy?”
The baby didn’t answer the question verbally, but her continued, enthusiastic consumption of the cup’s contents made him smile.
“Good morning.” He walked nearer to Yvonne, letting his eyes sweep over her frame. She wore a long-sleeved blue T-shirt with a pair of dark denim jeans that hugged the curve of her hips. Her wavy hair, pinned into a knot low on her nape, revealed the tantalizing line of her neck. More than anything, he wanted to nuzzle the soft skin, inhale her feminine fragrance. Despite his rumbling stomach, her presence tempted a different, more primal hunger.
But taking in the tense set of her shoulders, her stiffened back, and the way she focused so intensely on her task, he thought better of it. Mindful of that, he left a bit of distance between them, watching as she flipped two slices of bacon in the skillet.
“Good morning.” She gestured to the oven. “Tilda left you a sausage quiche in the oven.”
“So she is here. Where’s she now?”
“She said she was going back to her car for her cleaning caddy.” Yvonne didn’t look away from the food she was tending.
He walked over to the oven, removing the foil-wrapped mini quiche. “Listen, I’m late for work, so I’ve got to go. But before I do, can we talk for a minute?”
“Sure.” She removed the bacon from the skillet, cracked an egg into a small bowl, and started scrambling it with a fork. “What’s up?”
He couldn’t help noticing that she still hadn’t looked at him. “I just wanted to let you know, I was feeling really out of sorts last night.”
She picked up the pace, beating the egg a bit harder now. “Most people feel that way after my daddy takes them to the woodshed.” She set the fork aside and poured the egg into the still-sizzling skillet.
He shook his head. “As I said, your dad is definitely tough. But that’s not what was on my mind.”
She scooped the piping hot egg onto her plate, brought it to the table and set it next to the baby cereal. “I’m listening.”
While she ate, he said, “I got a text from Bianca yesterday, saying Juliana would be coming home on R & R leave soon.”
“So she wanted you to know her sister was on the way home.” She took Sasha’s half-empty sippy cup, pouring some formula into the baby cereal and mixing it with a tiny, rubber-coated spoon. “What’s
odd about that?”
“Nothing. It just…threw me a little.” He grabbed a paper lunch sack from the second drawer and slipped his quiche, along with a plastic fork, inside. “I don’t know how Juliana is going to react to what’s going on between us.”
“I don’t think it matters, since you two haven’t been together for a long time.”
He felt his brow hitch. He didn’t know how he’d expected her to react to Juliana coming home, but he hadn’t expected her to be so dismissive, almost flippant about it.
She looked at the baby for a long, silent moment before feeding her a spoonful of cereal. “Sasha will probably be happy to see her mommy.” Using the tip of the spoon, she scraped the cereal from the corners of the baby’s mouth before feeding it to her. “She misses her, I bet.”
“I hope so.” He could see the sadness in her eyes. Yvonne was so caring, and he knew Sasha had won her over, big time. Now that she’d probably gotten used to being the main woman in the baby’s life, he imagined it would be tough for Yvonne to share her. “Anyway, I just didn’t want you to think I was being dismissive about your property thing.”
She frowned. “Property thing?”
“Yes. You know, the place you talked about for your day care. It’s good that you found a place you like.”
She nodded, though she didn’t look entirely convinced by what he said. “Okay. You can go on to work. I don’t want to hold you up.” She shifted her full focus back to feeding the baby.
Feeling as if he were being dismissed, he gave Sasha a kiss. Then, he leaned in to kiss Yvonne, but she turned her face at the last moment, turning his intended action into a kiss on the cheek. If he’d gotten up on time, if he had a few more moments to spare, he’d put the morning on hold for a little while longer. He’d stay. He’d ask her about the lingering tension he felt rolling off her body, about the distance that seemed to stretch between them even as they occupied the same physical space.
He stood in the doorway between kitchen and foyer for a moment. She can be so hard to read. Where’s this relationship going to go if she can’t—or won’t—talk to me about things that are bothering her? Doesn’t she trust me?
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