by Layla Hagen
Mrs. Wilson, the elderly neighbor who agreed to watch Grams while I’m out, arrives just in time. She’s a lovely woman, and she’s Grams’s best friend. My grandmother doesn’t have any living relatives with the exception of my father and me, but Mrs. Wilson is as close as family. Since Ms. Adams, Grams’s caretaker, only watches Grams on weekdays, Mrs. Wilson kindly offered to help me out in the evenings or weekends when I need a break. I don’t often take her up on her offer, but today I did.
Before I leave the house, I grab a jacket. It’s mid-March, but it’s not too warm. Grinning at the sky, I take a deep breath, climbing in my car.
When I’m a few blocks away from my destination, my engine begins coughing, and I know I’m in for trouble. I pull over, cursing, and call the tow service, and then I text Max.
Emilia: My car just broke down. I’ll head to the restaurant as soon as the tow service is here.
Max: I’ll pick you up.
Emilia: No need. I’ll walk. It’s just a few blocks.
After the tow service takes away my car I head to the restaurant, and by the time I reach the gate, I’m feeling blisters in the making on the balls of my feet. I have a love-hate relationship with high heels, and right now, it leans pretty heavily on the hate side.
“Well you look amazing,” Max’s voice resounds from behind me. I swirl around, facing him. He takes a step back, whistling loudly, scrutinizing me from head to toe, his eyes revealing that he’s entertaining dangerous thoughts. Just as I am. He’s quite the looker, wearing simple jeans and a black polo shirt, which showcases his upper body. Those strong arms and shoulders are my kryptonite.
“I’ll have to work hard to fend off any suitors today, Emilia. You look absolutely stunning.” Leaning in to me, he adds, “I’ll have to work even harder to keep myself from doing any eye training.”
“I have full confidence in you. And I’ll return the favor and protect you from women. I’m sure you’re a magnet.”
“You have no idea.”
I roll my eyes, even though my breath catches a tad as he invades my personal space. “You’re too cocky for your own good, Bennett.” Then I turn around, scanning the restaurant. It’s an eclectic mix of new and old, shabby chic and sleek elegance. “So, what is this place?”
“You didn’t look it up when I texted you the address?”
“Nah, didn’t occur to me,” I admit.
“They have the most famous pancakes in San Francisco. They even have strawberry jam. Not sure if it’ll be as good as the one Grams used to make, but we can try it.”
I try to croak out “thank you,” but the words catch in my throat. When we were kids, Grams used to make the most delicious strawberry jam on the planet, and pancakes with jam was our secret, rebel midnight snack.
“I can’t believe you remember that,” I say softly. In response, he winks at me, then asks the waiter to give us a table. We’re led to the center of the room to a table for two. I take my seat, wondering how this can feel so easy and so weird at the same time.
“I told you I remember everything about you. Including that your hair was all wild, and I miss it. It suited you.”
Holy crap. This man gives the best compliments, and I’m not even sure he knows it. “Well, I like it tame these days. It’s shiny and glossy.”
He tilts his head to the side, scorching me with his eyes. “Wild always trumps tame, Emilia.”
“Depends on the… situation.” And cue my thoughts veering to Smutland again. Time for a change in topic. “How about those pancakes?” I’m hungry now as I open the menu in front of me. “Wow. They have thirty-three types of pancakes.”
“Hey, this isn’t some run-of-the-mill pancake stand. I did thorough research. Only the best for my girl.”
My cheeks heat up at the words my girl, and we exchange a furtive glance.
“There was another one downtown that had great reviews, but there is a beach near this one. Thought we could take a walk afterward. You always loved the water.”
“I did. I still do.”
We each order coffee and pancakes—one of mine with strawberry jam. As I wonder if it’ll be as good as Grams’s, my mind slides to the conversation I had with her this morning.
“Emilia, everything okay?” Max asks.
“Mmm… yeah….” Usually, I’d make up a reason for my momentary blip, but this is Max, my Max. Being open with him comes to me naturally in a way it never did with anyone else. “I had an interesting conversation with Grams this morning. She’d like to see my father again.”
Max’s features instantly harden. “The asshole who took off after your mom’s funeral?”
“That’s the only father I have, unfortunately.”
“But she hated his guts. She made a bonfire to burn his stuff.”
I smile despite myself. Max would know all about the fire. We were lurking around in the shadows, waiting for Grams to leave so I could salvage at least some pictures before they burned to a crisp. When Grams finally went back to the house, Max claimed it was a man’s job (he was ten), tried his luck—and failed. Then I tried. We ended up with no pictures, and four hands full of blisters. Fun times.
“I know, and she’s never mentioned him before....”
“What do you want?”
“To stab him with a butter knife repeatedly.”
“That’s my girl.” He leans his hand over the table, rubbing the pad of his thumb on the back of my hand in small circles. I think the gesture was meant to calm me, but instead it sets me on edge.
“But I should at least try to find him, for her. I owe her so much. And I want her to be happy. I don’t even know how to go about it, though. No idea how much a private investigator would cost.”
Max remains silent, the pad of his thumb still on the back of my hand, wreaking havoc on my senses.
“Bennett Enterprises works with professionals who run background research on potential business partners. I can ask them to locate your father. It wouldn’t cost you anything, and before you protest, we’re already paying them a shitload of money anyway.”
It takes a few seconds for his words to sink in. “You’d do that?”
“I’d do anything you ask me, Emilia. I want you to be happy.”
My shoulders feel suddenly lighter, as if a weight was lifted off them, but I’m not sure I can say thank you without tearing up. This conversation went too serious just a few minutes into our breakfast. Time to lighten it up.
“Anything is a big word, Bennett. You sure you can make good on that?”
“I don’t make promises I don’t intend to keep. Especially big ones.”
Heat spears me at his last two words. My mind has two directions today. Sad or smutty.
“Let me know what you decide,” he says, pulling back as the waiter arrives with our pancakes.
“Thank you.”
“Oh my God, this is pancake heaven,” I say through my full mouth about one hour later, while finishing my third pancake. “You’ve spoiled me for other pancakes. None will measure up to this.”
“We can come back here anytime you want.”
He smiles at me, and I swear the sight sends me into a tailspin; then he glances at my empty plate. “Another pancake?”
“Nah, I’m full,” I declare, but then I eye the half pancake lying abandoned on his plate.
He chuckles. “Take it, I know you want it. Just so you know, this is very special treatment. I usually give shit to anyone who tries to steal my food.”
“Why, thank you. And it’s not called stealing if you’re giving it to me.” I take it without hesitation and dig in to it right away.
“If you’re done, we can take off to the beach.”
I nearly squeal. Through a mouthful, I try to explain that it’s a great idea, but Max holds up a hand, stopping me.
“No words needed. I got the idea.”
No words needed. That could sum up our friendship. He could anticipate what I wanted even before I said it, that much was tr
ue in the past, and it hasn’t changed. When the waiter brings us the bill, I nearly choke. I noticed the high prices on the menu, but somehow I wasn’t adding numbers up while I stuffed my face.
“How can they charge so much for pancakes?” I ask, already hyperventilating.
“I’ve got it covered,” Max says, “don’t worry.”
“No. I don’t want you to pay for me.”
He clenches his jaw. “I asked you to come here.”
“It’s not a date.”
Silence stretches for a few seconds. “No, it’s two friends going out and catching up. And since I was the friend who suggested coming to an expensive restaurant, it’s only fair I cover the bill. Anything against that?”
“No,” I mumble.
“When did you get so stubborn?” he asks, but now his voice is gentle again.
“Grams says I always had the gene, but I was a late bloomer.”
Max laughs, and I love the sound.
The beach is a few minutes away on foot, and it’s swarming with people walking up and down its length when we descend on it. Max and I both take off our shoes, holding them in our hands as we walk on the sand.
“Brave enough to soak your feet in the water?” I ask, half joking.
“It’ll be freezing,” he warns.
“Afraid your balls will fall off, Bennett?” I elbow him playfully.
“You’re bad for my no-challenge resolution, Jonesie.”
He stalks toward the water, and I trail behind him.
“Men are so predictable,” I inform him. “Whenever someone challenges you, you can’t help yourself.”
Max spins around, tilting his head to one side. “You think you have me all figured out, don’t you?”
I shrug. “I don’t want to brag, but....” I point to his feet in the water, as if that would explain it all. Without any warning, Max lifts me, one arm under my knees, the other one around my back. We both drop the shoes on the sand before he walks into the water up to his knees, with no signs of stopping.
I shriek, then laugh, and he laughs with me, and it’s the most perfect moment.
“What are you doing?” I ask between fits of laughter. “You’re crazy. The water is freezing.”
“You make me crazy,” he says, and he’s up to his waist in the water. “I was the bad influence when we were kids, but I think the roles are reversed now.”
“You make me proud, Bennett.”
We both stop laughing for a moment, long enough to look straight at each other. I can practically see my question mirrored in his eyes. What the hell are we doing? Is this friendship? Is it more?
He’s up to his waist in freezing water—but holding my ass carefully over the water so I don’t get wet—and even though this isn’t a date, it feels better than any date I’ve had.
And maybe if we weren’t so lost in each other, we would have noticed the wave about to hit us, but we don’t until it’s too late and we’re both drenched. The universe’s way of saying, stop eye fucking your best friend.
“Holy shit.” I shriek, tightening my arms around his neck. “This is c-c-c-cold.”
Max doesn’t say one word, and when I look up at him, I realize it’s because his teeth are chattering.
“Let’s get out,” I say, and I’m not sure if my words are intelligible, because my teeth are chattering too. But Max gets the gist of it and starts moving back to the shore.
“You can put me down, I’m wet anyway,” I tell him. “You’ll move faster if you’re not carrying me.”
Max merely shakes his head and pulls me to him protectively, which I find incredibly sweet.
“So cold,” is all I can say once we’re on the beach. Max puts me down and then runs his hands up and down my arms in an attempt to warm me, but that’s not doing much good.
“Let’s go to my car,” he says, “I have a towel.”
“Why do you have a towel?”
“I have the bag for the training session on Monday inside, and I always shower after the session.”
We pick up our shoes, which we left on the sand, and a tourist group is staring at us like we’re crazy, which I suppose we are. So why am I grinning from ear to ear even though I’m about to go into hypothermia? Because I’m with Max, that’s why.
He leads the way to his car, taking my hand in his. I relish the warmth radiating from the point of contact. When we reach the car, Max opens the trunk, fishes the towel out of his gym bag, and wraps it around me.
“I can do it,” I murmur.
“Let me,” he says, and I don’t object anymore, because it feels too good.
“Go change into your training clothes,” I tell him. With a nod, he slings the bag on his shoulder and heads inside the restaurant where we had our pancakes, returning a few minutes later. “I’m still cold.”
“Short of taking off your clothes, I don’t know how you’ll stop being cold,” he says.
“Oh shucks, I always thought that you asking me to take off my clothes would sound sexier than this.”
He groans, and that’s when I realize what I just said.
“You thought about me telling you to take off your clothes? You’re killing me, Emilia.”
Well, the cat’s out of the bag now. Still, I try to turn the tide around. “No, I’m just blabbering, I—”
“Well, I have.”
“Of course you did.”
“Yeah. Since I saw you the first time again. I’m a man, and you’re beautiful. But you’re Emilia. My Jonesie.”
“Max….”
He is inches away from me, and our lips are so close I would only have to lean in a little to touch them.
“I need to take you home. If you get sick, it’ll just give Grams another reason to hate me.”
“She doesn’t hate you. Just thinks you were a bad influence. She caught us smoking on the roof. We were eleven.”
“Attempting to smoke,” Max corrects. “And she chased me out of your house with a broomstick. She hates me.”
Once we’re both inside the car, Max guns the engine and turns on the heat, and things feel infinitely better within seconds. I have his towel covering my shoulders and chest, but since it’s wet too, I pry it away, tossing it in the back. Max tightens his hands on the wheel, suddenly very focused on the road.
“Max?”
“You’re not wearing a bra,” he says in a gruff voice.
Oh shit. The towel was covering me before, but now…. My nipples usually behave themselves, but obviously the combination of cold water and Max is too powerful a cocktail for them. I cross my arms over my chest, embarrassed.
“Things are more complicated when you have a dirty mind,” he says, more to himself than to me.
“You’re the complication,” I inform him.
“Just so you know, you’re the only one who can call me a complication and get away with it.”
“Get over yourself, Max.” Turning my head to look out the window, I can’t help giggling.
Chapter Eleven
Emilia
“This is a beautiful house,” Max says as we arrive.
“Thank you. Grams loves it too.” As we step inside, I ask, “Mrs. Wilson?”
“Emilia,” she exclaims when she sees me. “What happened to you?”
Max answers for me. “Got in the ocean, didn’t see the wave coming. Afraid it’s all my fault. I’m Max.” He holds out the hand, and Mrs. Wilson shakes it, eyeing him shamelessly.
“Since you returned, I’ll be going,” she says. “Grams is in the backyard.”
After she leaves, I turn to Max. “I’ll go take a hot shower and change quickly. Make yourself at home.”
After taking a hot shower, I put on a dress made out of wool—and I’m still cold. I think it seeped into my bones.
I find Max inspecting my mini library—four shelves the size of my arm—as if searching for something.
“Let’s go in the backyard. But she’s not the way you remember her. I can’t promise she’l
l know who you are,” I warn him and then lead him outside.
“Grams?” I ask tentatively, sitting on the couch next to her. “Look who’s here.”
She snaps her head up to me, and then to Max, and then to my relief, she says, “Max, my dear boy. You’ve grown into quite a man.”
She quickly gets to her feet and pulls Max in for a tight hug.
“You don’t look a day older then when I last saw you, ma’am,” Max says, and that is almost true. On the outside, my Grams looks almost exactly as she did fifteen years ago.
“Ah, you’re such a charmer.” She looks him up and down. “You grew up to be such a fine man. Are you a smoker?”
“No, ma’am. Learned my lesson. Whenever someone asks me if I smoke, I still remember you chasing me with that broomstick.”
“As you should.” Grams looks around confused as she sits back on the couch. Max sits on a small stool we keep near the couch.
“Violet dear, did you ask him if he wants something to drink?”
My stomach constricts and Max blinks. After having been so lucid this morning, I hoped I would have my old Grams back for a while longer.
“Vi—” he begins, but I interrupt him with a headshake.
“Don’t correct her,” I whisper to him.
“I’m good, ma’am.” His voice wavers on the last word.
Grams inspects Max from head to toe, her eyes darting to me and then back to him. She’s becoming increasingly more agitated.
“So, what are your intentions with Violet? She and her little Emilia are precious and deserve to be loved.”
Stunned, I fiddle with my hands in my lap, biting down on my lip.
“Then you have nothing to worry about,” Max says, sounding like his usual, relaxed self again. He turns his head to me, his gaze lingering briefly on my face before dropping to my hands, which are trembling. Without hesitation, he reaches out, placing a strong, reassuring hand above mine.