by Jillian Hart
“I’m afraid it is, Max. You have to be realistic.”
“Realistic? This from Miss Optimism?”
“I’m realistically optimistic. “Her hair was tied back in a fancy braid, softly sleek against her head, leaving artful curls framing her oval face. The sweetest sight. It took all his effort to pay attention to her words, for he was wrapped up in the loving tenderness filling him up, changing him.
“We may as well embrace the doom,” she was saying. “Just accept things might not go according to plan.”
“And that makes it better how?” Distantly, he gave the key one more turn one more try to no avail. The battery was totally dead. What was foremost to him was the current of emotion, like a tide coming in, making deep sparking pools out of shadowed places. He left the key in the ignition. “Stay here. I’ll just pop the hood and take a look. Maybe a terminal is loose and it will be an easy fix.”
“Optimism. That’s more like it. Guess what? It’s starting to rain.”
Sure enough, droplets landed on the windshield, smearing it. Big raindrops. Wind-driven raindrops. Falling fast, and before he could blink, water sluiced down the windshield, obliterating all view of the outside. The rain hit so hard it sounded like quarters being thrown on the truck’s roof.
“Max, I have another solution. My car isn’t nearly as spiffy as your truck, but the battery works and it runs.”
“Good idea.” He grabbed his keys and reached for the umbrella he kept under the seat. It was way too late to keep his feet on the ground and his expectations reasonable. He leaned across the console and brushed a thumb across the side of her face, a tender gesture. Devotion left him trembling as he pressed a kiss to her cheek.
Her wide eyes held all the emotions he was trying not to feel. A little terror, a lot of hope and more love than he felt safe with.
Too late to hold back his heart. It was no longer his.
“Max, you didn’t by any chance listen to a weather report today, did you?”
“No, why?” One dimple flashed as he slowed for a stoplight.
“Gee, I wonder.” She bit her lip to keep from laughing. The stoplight was barely more than a red blur through the fog and rain. The car’s defroster couldn’t keep up with the dampness, right along with the windshield wipers. Thunder crashed overhead like a marching band. “Is it my imagination, or do I hear running water?”
“No, I hear it, too.” He opened the door to take a peek. The faint drone became a coursing current. “That explains it. We’re experiencing some minor street flooding.”
“Minor? That looks pretty major to me.”
“Sure, but I didn’t want to startle you. Maybe we should get off this street.” He closed the door, shook his head and water droplets flew off the ends of his hair. The red blur of the streetlight remained.
Lightning snaked across the black smear of sky. Thunder cannoned overhead, shaking the windows in their casings. Hilarity rumbled in his voice. “I think the storm’s getting worse.”
“Do you think? And the light is still red.”
Raindrops changed to hail, clattering down from the heavens like a billion ball bearings firing against the car. Rounds of ice hurled everywhere, drowning out all other noises—including the rushing sound of the minor flash flood.
“I’ve lost sight of the road. Can you tell if the light’s changed?”
“No.” This wasn’t funny was it? Why was she laughing? “I can’t even see the blur now. I think there’s something you didn’t test when you went over my car with that fine-tooth comb.”
“You had to go and point that out, didn’t you?” Hail was accumulating on the lower surface of the windshield, the wipers swiping at a slow and dignified speed—their only working setting—were only compacting it into a sheet of impenetrable ice. “You wouldn’t happen to have an ice scraper in here, would you?”
“No, as this is the first ice incident I’ve experienced since owning the car.”
He shook his head, chuckling. “This won’t take long. I’m going to go knock the ice off so we can see to drive.”
“What are you going to use?”
“I’m thinking my shoe.” He put the car in park. “You stay here where it’s warm and dry. I won’t be long—”
“Max? I think I see something out the side window.”
“Don’t tell me it’s a tornado. We’ve got enough weather-related disasters for one date.” He winked.
“Realistically, what are our chances of getting to the restaurant?”
“Across town, with street flooding, marginal windshield wipers and—” Thunder exploded, shaking the car. The speed and weight of the hail increased, drowning out all noise. He stuck his head out the window. Hail the size of gumballs bounced into the car. He had to shout to be heard above the clatter. “If the storm doesn’t get worse, maybe ten percent? The good news is that the light just changed.”
“I spotted a neon restaurant sign on my side of the street. We should pull over. Wait—” She unrolled her window, despite Max’s protests. A whirlwind of icy balls hurled against her, stinging her face and bruising the top of her head. She checked the road behind them. Since she didn’t see any headlights coming—none that she could see in the torrential storm anyway—she waved him over.
“I can’t see.” Chuckling, Max lowered his window again. “This is a dating first. You sure you don’t want me to take you home and call it a disaster?”
“It’s too early to give up hope. Besides, you couldn’t drive me that far. The weather’s too bad.”
“You’re right. Head in. Hang on. I can’t see where I’m going.”
Since her face felt frozen, she didn’t argue. Hail pounded her little car as they crept across the width of a lane. “I still don’t see anyone coming. I think we’re safe.”
“Sure, because no one else wants to drive in this,” he quipped with his head out the window. He navigated toward what he thought was the driveway—it was—and slid through the nearly empty parking lot. A green gleam appeared faintly at first, and grew stronger as he approached; it was the sign above Mr. Paco’s Tacos front door. He angled the vehicle so she would be protected by the awning. “You go in where it’s warm. I’ll park and follow you in.”
“I don’t mind waiting for you, Max. Look at me. It’s not like this can get much worse.” She swept orbs of hail out of her wispy curls. Ice mantled the collar and shoulder and right arm of her coat, making her look like a snow woman. Her face had turned gently pink from the cold and her hyacinth-colored irises brightened with life and laughter.
Adoration ripped through him, tearing him down and making him strong at the same time. “Brianna, go inside for me, please.”
“Look who’s getting bossy.”
“Just trying to take care of you, darlin’.”
“I see that.” Her lightheartedness faded. Her smile vanished, leaving only quiet between them.
The hail continued to beat at the car, and he brushed melting ice out of his eyes. A globule oozed beneath his collar and trailed down the back of his neck, but he hardly cared because she leaned across the seat and pressed a kiss to his jaw. Softly, her hand touched his, the connection deepening between them, eking behind his cracked armor, which never had a chance against her.
“I’ll be inside, then.” She grabbed her purse, buttoned her coat and opened the door, unaware of what she’d done to him.
Affection so powerful it hurt seized him, heart and soul. He was just one man, helpless to stop it.
I love you way too much, pretty lady. Although the curtain of hail swallowed her, he could feel her by the tug of his heart and by the pull of the bond his love for her made.
Chapter Twelve
Bree dragged a deep-fried Tater Tot through the cup of hot salsa and popped it into her mouth. She might be soaked through and her carefully done hair was a total mess, but the evening wasn’t an actual loss. There wasn’t much a bucket of Mr. Paco’s Mexi-fries couldn’t improve.
For i
nstance, take the man across from her. He might be rain soaked, and his dark hair may still be periodically dripping, but he was here with her. What could be better?
“So, what were your real plans for tonight?” Call her curious, but she had to know.
“You mean the plans that were rained out?” He unwrapped his second beef taco.
“Maybe they were never meant to be.”
“Can’t argue with that.” He took a bite, crunching into the crispy corn shell.
He was different from any guy she had ever met before. Aside from the responsible, capable thing he had going on, he was infinitely calm. Any number of guys she could think of—including her own brothers—would have lost his temper at least once during his attempt to drive in the blizzard of hail with his head out the window. Not Max. He had to be more drenched through than she was—he’d come into the restaurant looking like the abominable snowman—but his temperament was the same as always, a little wry, a little amused and stalwart.
He was not Mr. Dreamy. No, that title no longer cut it. He was Mr. Awesome, bordering on incredible. The man was too great for words. He had to have some faults, right? She unwrapped her chicken taco and tore open a packet of salsa.
“I don’t know that look on your face,” he commented from across the table, repositioning his taco to take another bite. “I’m almost afraid to know what you’re thinking.”
“It’s about you, and you’re not going to like it.” She upended the packet and squeezed. “What flaws are you hiding? You have to have at least one.”
“Are you kidding? I think I’m one big flaw.”
“I’m sure I’ll agree with you eventually.” Being with him, talking and joking and making reasons to laugh was beyond her experience and was straight out of her dreams. This was a wish she had been too afraid to cling to, for fear it could never actually come true. She felt relaxed enough with the closeness they shared to kid him a little more. “Men become more flawed over time, at least that’s my experience.”
“It’s true. I’ve heard the same comment before.” If he was no longer jesting, only a faint flash of shadows hinted at it, and then it was gone. His gaze was warm again, his eyes crinkling pleasantly in the corners. “If you listen to Marcus, I’m a lone wolf. I could chill when it comes to his grades. I ‘harsh his mellow’ because I won’t let him blast music in the house. I’m not cool because I won’t let him get his own wheels.”
“I can see that about you. There are more flaws than I realized.” She tossed the packet aside. That he was raising his half brother happened to be one of the things she loved about him. One of about a dozen things. She was adjusting to being close to him. To being open to the remarkable relationship blooming between them. “So, name a few more. Do you have bad credit? Terrible follow-through? Gamble? Avoid commitment?”
“No. Sometimes. Never. Who knows?” A bunch of taco innards tumbled onto his blue plastic tray. He didn’t seem to notice as he was focused on her. Judging by his smirk, he was having fun, too. “I admit I haven’t committed to a woman yet, as in proposed, but that doesn’t mean I’m not capable of it. I could step up.”
“So, that’s a maybe on the commitment phobia?”
“Who isn’t afraid of commitment? It’s a scary thing. You let down your guard, you make yourself vulnerable. You can get hurt, and hurt bad.”
“I can’t argue with that. It scares me, too.” She might be scared, but she wasn’t going to let it chase her away. This, between them, meant too much. Max meant too much.
“It’s good to know we’re in this together, then.” He could make her forget her name when he gazed at her like that, with the full power of his soul. “As for my other flaws? I work too much. I like to seize possession of the TV remote.”
“I already knew that.” She took a bite out of the end of her taco, feeling the shell crack apart. Pieces of chicken, salad and cheese slipped through her fingers.
“If this is an interrogation, it’s your turn to reveal your flaws.” He scooped the insides of his taco back into the shell with his fingers. “You don’t have any, do you?”
“Uh, hello? I had a panic attack in front of you that first evening we met, remember?”
“It wasn’t so bad. You were just a little shaky.”
“It felt like more than that.” Sure, they were keeping things light, but she stored a lot of fears down deep. That the P.T.S. would get worse instead of better, that she would always be marked by the robbery the same way she feared her childhood had. That this happiness with Max was simply a borrowed moment in time, treasured but not meant to last. That she was somehow not good enough to love and be loved the way she prayed to be. Too may flaws. Not wanting to go there, she turned her taco, studying the crack down the middle, trying to figure out a strategic way to eat it. “I would call flashing back an enormous fault. Gigantic. Enormous. Wouldn’t you?”
“No.” Ironclad compassion, that’s what she saw. “I’ve been there. I’ve stood in that place when your world is no longer safe. I know that when you’re in a situation, whatever the trauma is, you’ve got two choices. To fold, or to stand. To let it break you, or to overcome it.”
Footsteps padded their way, and Max fell silent. She realized someone was coming through the empty dining area. She blinked until her eyes focused and she could make out Mr. Paco, carrying a tray with several different things on it. He was a friendly, middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair and distinguished looks.
“Hi, Max. Hello there, Miss McKaslin. It’s a slow night, so I thought I would bring by more Mexi-fries and tacos. Compliments of the house.” He slid the tray on the end of the table. “I hope everything is good?”
“It’s great, thanks.” Bree had always harbored a soft spot for Mr. Paco. He seemed to be everything a good father should be. “I saw Isabella in the library yesterday. I miss having classes with her.”
“She studies very hard and does well in school, but she has changed her major again.” With an indulgent smile, Mr. Paco nodded and backed away. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
They thanked the man together, and it was an odd sensation listening to Max’s deep tones blend with hers.
“His daughter used to be in the teaching program with me,” she explained after Mr. Paco departed, “but she decided teaching wasn’t for her.”
“That was nice of him to bring more food.” Max gestured toward the window, which was foggy on the inside. Outside was a heavy, driving rain and hail combo that hadn’t done much to melt the ice in the parking lot, but added to the street flooding.
Even from where she sat in the middle of the restaurant, she could see the current running down the middle of the road. Good thing they decided to stay here. Funny, how things worked. It wasn’t the destination, but the journey. Being with him was what mattered. This man with his strength, humor and understanding was her paradise on earth—even if they were sitting in Mr. Paco’s Tacos.
But what were the chances he felt the same way about her? She had climbed high out of her comfort zone. She had to trust he would not let her fall.
“I’ve figured out another flaw of yours.” He dunked a Mexi-fry in the salsa cup. There was both a hint of levity in his tone and the weight of earnestness.
“Do tell.” She could feel the layers of humor over the serious. To talk on one level, and sense on another that was pure emotion. To know he had meant what he said about being strong and standing tall. That they were the same that way.
“You’re perfect,” he confessed.
“Far from it, trust me.” She adored him for thinking it, but he was sadly mistaken. “I’ve got about five hundred flaws, a half a ton of baggage I’m dragging around with me and post-traumatic stress disorder.”
“Like I said, perfect.”
It was as if their hearts had met in the middle, as if their souls had taken a step closer.
The urge to bolt returned. Tiny tremors crept through her, into her spirit, and she tried to hide it. She too
k a tiny bite, her taco cracked completely and tumbled onto her tray. Sauce dripped down her chin and she grabbed for a paper napkin. Vaguely she was aware of the front door whooshing open, letting in a gust of wintry wind and the blizzarding drum of hail and rain and another customer. All she could focus on was Max’s deep voice murmuring, “Let me.” His napkin brushed her chin.
The burst of pure love she felt from him brought tears to her eyes. It was a small gesture on the surface, but it resonated through the layers below. She felt his meaning and the truth of his heart. I love you, he’d said.
“Thank you.” What she meant was, I love you, too.
Comprehension crossed his face. He softened, as if more of his defenses had gone down. The smile stretching his dimples had nothing to do with humor. His loving gaze latched on to hers, and the intensity of it was like a shocking pain. It was hard being ever more vulnerable, but she did not blink, she did not fold, she did not move away. She let him see her down to the soul, closer than anyone had been before.
Max closed the passenger door in the dim shadows of her carport and considered the woman at his side. She fussed at her buttons, getting them straight before folding her hand-knit scarf around her neck.
Emotions gathering within him stung, both gentle and intense. Like warmed honey, they oozed into the hurt places he hadn’t thought about in a long time. He hadn’t loved a woman since Nancy; he hadn’t let himself. And if there was a tiny voice at the back of his head whispering to him how this couldn’t last, he did his best to silence it.
He wanted this to work. He wanted the chance to love Brianna for the rest of his life. He sure hoped that was God’s plan for him. He’d simply have to wait and see.
He held out his hand. “That wasn’t too bad, as far as possible date disasters go.”