She wanted to help Fiona, because no matter how much she tried to stifle her feelings, she had come to accept the truest one she knew: she liked Fiona. A lot.
Maybe she was falling in love with her.
As that thought rose in Max’s heart, she felt herself stiffen. She’d been trying to avoid it all day. It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t. But every intense interaction with Fiona, every time she saw her and Max’s heart would skip beats, every time she even thought about Fiona...
God. It was true.
Max was falling in love with her.
“I just…I’ll be right back,” said Max, and she got to her feet without really seeing where she was going, and somehow, she made her way to the diner bathroom, the little hallway of the rest rooms situated right off of the kitchen. Inside, the ladies’ room was covered in pink floor and wall tile, and the toilet was the kind of avocado green that hadn’t been popular since the seventies, but it was a slightly comforting space as Max locked the door behind her, leaning against it with a big gust of a sigh.
Max went to the coral-colored sink and turned the old knob for the cold water. She plunged her hands beneath that steady stream of water and brought her freezing palms up to her cheeks, pressing down on them as she stared at herself in the mirror. She looked terrible, the evidence of her many-day migraine clearly evident in how white her skin was, how large the dark circles under her eyes and how blood-shot her eyes were. She looked sick, and she looked like she should be home, popping more ibuprofen and possibly watching a movie from a softly cushioned horizontal position. But no. She was here, at the diner, not with her best friend, as had been customary for decades, but with Fiona. This woman who had just waltzed into her life, whether she wanted her to or not.
And Max had to be honest: she was very glad Fiona had waltzed on in. It had just made things markedly more…difficult.
And it wasn’t Fiona’s fault. None of this was Fiona’s fault. She was funny and charming and incredibly intelligent and kind, and she had a body that seemed to be filling Max’s nightly dreams whether Max wanted her to or not. Max had become, in a very short time, completely smitten with this woman with the warm, soft smile, this woman who had—a few short days ago—not even existed in her life.
Or, for that matter, in Jo’s life
But here she was, in both their lives. In Jo’s, Fiona was a strong, enduring presence who Max knew would probably stay for a very long time. When Jo fell in love with someone, it was for keeps. Like what happened those years ago with Jo’s ex-girlfriend, Alexandra. Alex had broken Jo’s heart so completely because Jo had loved her, body, heart and soul. Jo had loved Alex with the type of love that Max had only wished she could ever experience, if only for a heartbeat. It had seemed to be a living, breathing thing, the connection between those two women that Max, as an outside observer, could see so clearly. But then Alex had left Jo for another woman. It had devastated Jo. That was the hardest period in her life, she’d tell Max, years later. Max had done her best to get Jo through it, but it had been difficult. But now, Fiona into Jo’s life, an incredible woman who could help heal those past wounds and make of Jo’s days something remarkable and lovely.
And in Max’s life, Fiona was untouchable. She was an incredible presence that Max could only ever look at, and not touch and never experience.
Max loved Jo. Her best friend had been with her through thick and thin, over decades of their lives, and Max was loyal to her, through and through. There was no way that Max would ever break the trust between them. Their bonds were too thick to break, too important to ever put aside. It was as obvious as the blue sky or the green grass that Max and Fiona would never be.
Max closed her eyes as she gazed at the mirror, breathing out hard.
It really was almost like a sick joke. Max had, after all, waited her entire life for “the one.” She’d gone on quite a few dates, had even had two long-term relationships, but neither of those women had been “the one,” and she’d known it both times. Max had never felt much of anything other than nice, soft feelings toward the women she’d dated, and occasionally a passionate feeling or two. She’d actually often wondered if there was something inherently wrong with her, that she never felt that she could settle down forever with a woman.
She often wondered if she wasn’t cut out for love. Especially if she compared herself to Jo.
Jo certainly got into plenty of relationships, and had many, many more dates than Max could ever even conceive of going on. And Jo enjoyed all of those women, at dinner, at movies, in bed. But when Max thought about going through women like that, the thought turned her stomach. Max went on carefully chosen dates, even rarer took a woman back to her place. That’s not how Max had ever worked, and she’d thought that for the rest of her life, it would continue on at the same even, measured speed.
Max had assumed that she would die without ever having really experienced love. It wasn’t a thought she constantly had or even consciously thought about. It was just a known fact. She’d hoped much more in her younger years, but there was something about nearing that big milestone of turning forty that made her question if love was even real.
She’d almost given up hope.
And now here was Fiona. Fiona, who made Max laugh, who made her smile, who twisted her insides like something delicious and beautiful. Max who had never truly wanted anyone before wanted Fiona in a way that she didn’t even really understand fully.
It really was a sick joke. Max had never thought about God much, but she was starting to think there had to be some big universal presence who had set this all up…and who must be laughing at her.
Max splashed more cold water on her face, trying to get her thoughts into order and calm her riled feelings. She just managed, pulling a brown paper towel out of the dispenser, drying her hands and throwing it in the trash. She took a deep breath, pulled down on her office blouse and ran her hands through her hair, trying to straighten all the fly-aways in her lanky ponytail. She really did have to get her hair cut.
Max looked straight into her eyes in the mirror. She didn’t look so much determined as, simply, someone who would have to bear this. She looked tired.
Max took a deep breath, unlocked the bathroom door and pushed her way back out and into the diner.
“Is everything all right?” asked Fiona, glancing up with her brows knit in concern. The food had arrived, but Fiona hadn’t touched hers, the clean fork lying on her napkin.
“Yeah, I’ve just had a migraine for a couple of days—I was just feeling a little light headed, but I’m better now,” said Max as she collapsed into her seat at the booth. It was technically not exactly a lie. “Have you given any thought as to what I said?” she asked quietly, picking up her fork and considering the woman across from her.
Fiona picked up her own fork, too, biting her lip. “Honestly, I did. And it would be completely crazy of me not to take you up on the incredibly kind offer. But it would also be basely selfish. I just can’t ask that much of you, Max,” she said quietly, leaning forward a little in her seat. She took a deep breath and held it for a long moment before she added quietly: “I like you too much to put you through that.”
Max tried to swallow the lump in her throat and didn’t thoroughly succeed. She didn’t know what to say for a long moment, but then she soldiered on. “I would love to help you, Fiona,” she managed then, barking out a little bit of a laugh. She knew her face was turning red, but there was no help for it. She took a deep breath. “Florabella Cupcakes was your lifelong dream, right? Lifelong dreams need a chance to grow and thrive.”
Fiona’s gaze flickered at that. She considered this a long moment, biting her lip and gazing down at the table. Max fidgeted on the other side, gripping her fork tightly.
Finally, after what seemed like an agonizingly long time, but was really only the matter of a few seconds, Fiona sat up a little straighter in her seat, her face focused, and her mouth turning up at the corners. “Then I will accept your help, my dear Max,”
she said quietly, a secretive little smile tugging at her lips. “But on one condition.”
“Anything,” Max murmured, the fork still beside her plate.
“You’ll eat as many cupcakes as you can stomach, trying out all the flavors,” chuckled Fiona. She grew a little more serious as she tapped her fork on a piece of lettuce. “And...you’ll let me help you get your business off the ground.”
“Fiona, I don’t have a business,” said Max, shaking her head, but Fiona’s eyes flashed a dangerous green.
“You’ll have a business, and soon, I think. And when that time comes, you’ll let me help you get it off the ground with absolutely no argument.”
Max sighed, but smiled a little at Fiona’s unflinching enthusiasm. “Okay. Deal,” Max told her with a grin.
Fiona put her hand across the table, her fingers pointing toward Max, her palm up. “Shake on it?”
Their palms clasped together, and Max and Fiona shook on the deal.
Trepidation set in instantly in Max, just as much as the joy.
Max was going to be spending an awful lot more time with Fiona.
Which was as terrible as it was wonderful.
Max took a bite of her meal and chewed thoughtfully and carefully as she went over the litany in her head: she was an adult, not a hormonal teenager. She could control herself, her emotions, her feelings, her wants and desires. That’s what free will was. She could control everything.
Fiona laughed just then at a joke Max had said, tilting her head back as her peels of laughter rang out like silver, the cream-colored skin of her neck warm and inviting, seemingly beckoning Max to press her mouth there.
This was a very bad idea.
But it had already begun.
And there was nothing Max could do to stop it.
Chapter 6: Almost
“You are literally the most wonderful person in the world,” said Jo the next day when Max told her about helping Fiona. Because of course Max told her about helping Fiona. She needed to tell Jo right up front, because it seemed almost like a confession. After all, if she told Jo, then it meant that nothing at all would happen.
Because of course nothing at all would happen. Max already knew that.
But it was better to be safe than sorry.
“I’m not doing anything special—anyone would want to help if they could; Fiona was put in a rotten position. Anyone would have helped,” muttered Max adamantly as she parked her car a few stores down from Florabella Cupcakes, picking up her cell phone that she’d switched to speaker and rested in her cup holder.
For some strange reason that day, work seemed to have flown by. Sam had caught Max whistling twice, and each time he shook his head with a knowing smile.
And, miraculously, Max’s migraine was gone.
“Are you kidding me? You’re utterly amazing, anyone would so not have helped,” said Jo, her voice sounding tinny on the phone’s speakers. In the background behind Jo’s voice, Max could hear some people shouting as a buzzer sounded. Max knew that when the buzzer sounded at TurnTurn Delivery, it meant that a rush order had just been asked for, and the bicyclist deliverymen and women had to rush to fulfill it.
“Listen, Max, I have to go,” said Jo hurriedly. “But know that I am seriously owing you one forever for helping Fiona out. She was so much happier today. I’ve never seen her look so relaxed or driven. It was a really wonderful thing, your offering, and it means a lot to me. Love you, kid—I’ll talk to you later!” And before Max could get a word in edgewise, Jo had hung up.
Max sighed, tossing her phone in her purse and pulling the key out of the ignition. She leaned forward, placing her forehead on the cool steering wheel as, outside, big fat snowflakes began to fall out of the velvet black sky.
She felt like a heel.
No, actually, she felt worse than that.
She felt like the most terrible heel that had ever lived.
“Maxine Hallwell, you get a grip on yourself,” she muttered out loud, the phrase her mother had often told her when she’d freaked out about a science or social studies test long ago or, later in life, whether a girl liked her back or not. Though, admittedly, her mother had never known the reason for her upset in those latter years. Max’s voice, in that moment, even sounded a little like her mother’s, so she straightened, turning down the visor to look at herself in the mirror.
Though she never usually wore makeup, again today she’d worn mascara, and she’d brought the tube of it with her. She reapplied it thoughtfully, clumping it onto the mascara that had remained over the course of the day on her lashes while staring herself in the eyes. “You’re just helping a friend,” she repeated, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re just helping a friend who really needs your help, and that’s it. That’s all there is,” she said firmly, steadily.
Max flipped the visor back into place and began whistling. She didn’t realize she was whistling, in fact, until she was halfway down the sidewalk toward Florabella Cupcakes. She was whistling “Have a Holly, Jolly Christmas,” which was, perhaps, even worse. It was her least favorite Christmas song.
But when she’d reached Florabella Cupcakes and tapped on the window lightly, Fiona was trotting toward the door and brandishing it open, flour on her apron, a half-eaten cupcake in the same hand as a spatula, and—like fate—Fiona’s little boom box in the back kitchen was playing “Have a Holly, Jolly Christmas.” Fiona was grinning widely as she leaned forward and hugged Max tightly with one arm.
The scent of Fiona and the shop itself enveloped Max: warm vanilla, soft spices, flowers and the mouth-watering aroma of freshly baked cupcakes in a smattering of indistinguishable, though delicious smelling, flavors. The warmth of Fiona as she snaked an arm around Max’s shoulders to squeeze her tightly made Max’s stomach flip flop. All of this in a heartbeat as Fiona stepped back with a wide grin, gesturing into the dark shop, and back towards the well-lit kitchen.
“Come on in!” she said, licking her fingers as she took another bite of her cupcake. “I just pulled another batch out of the oven,” she said around a mouthful of cake and frosting. She chuckled a little. “Oh my goodness, talking with my mouth full—where are my manners? Come on back, come on back, Max.” There was a little spring in her step, Max noticed, as she followed Fiona back toward the kitchen.
When they reached the bright, warm and intensely tasty smelling back hall kitchen, Fiona whirled around, licking her fingers again neatly and tossing the empty cupcake wrapper into the trash. “You’ve made me so happy by offering to help, Max—you’ll never know how much it means to me, or how happy I am to have the help!” Her wide smile was infectious, but Max returned the grin only tentatively, glancing down at the floor and burying her hands in her pockets.
“Come on—you haven’t even seen me bake yet. Don’t thank me yet!” Max grinned in spite of herself as Fiona shook her head, chuckling, and took up a spare frilly apron from the oven door’s handle. It was pink. Max shook her head, chuckling, too.
“Oh, no,” Max muttered with a small smile, shaking her head and putting her hands up in a gesture of surrender. “I don’t…really do pink.”
“It’s the only other apron I have, Max—and besides, pink is sort of the theme of the day here at Florabella Cupcakes.” She actually winked at Max, causing Max’s heart to beat in such an irregular rhythm that it was in danger of stopping all together.
“All right, but I hope you know that I don’t wear pink for just anyone,” Max muttered, taking up the apron from Fiona and slipping it over her head, tying the ends in a big, sloppy bow behind her. The last time she’d worn an apron was in her mother’s kitchen, nearly a quarter century ago. Max finally glanced up, then, and let out a low whistle.
The cooling racks were entirely filled with cupcakes. Five feet high of solid cupcake wall stood as far away from the ovens as the racks could get in the crowded kitchen. Fiona was wheeling two empty cooling racks out from the walk-in fridge. “It was a slow day,” she s
aid, nodding toward the full racks, “so I was able to get a good head start on tomorrow’s cupcakes for the shop. We’re going to fill these new racks here,” she said, patting the nearest one of the two she’d just wheeled out, “with the wedding cupcakes. You’re going to do all of the prep work, and I’m going to make the cupcakes themselves—”
“Wow, is this for the wedding you just booked?” said Max, hands on her hips as she took in the empty cooling racks, and trepidation began to set in. “Isn’t that crazy fast? I thought you just signed that bride, and she’s getting married so soon?”
“Oh no, no, that’d be much too soon—the bride’s wedding I just signed up to do this morning is in June,” said Fiona with a grin. “No, this is for another bride. I actually have quite a few orders coming in, but I had a lot before I opened up the storefront, too, so I have a good backlog.”
Max was impressed. “You’re a one-woman wonder show, Fiona,” she said with an appreciative smile.
Fiona looked startled for a moment. She’d been removing clean cupcake tins from the dishwashing rack, but she stood there for a moment, completely motionless, arms full of the tins. She stared at Max. Again, her expression was maddeningly unreadable.
“Thank you, Max,” she said quietly, then, setting the clean tins down on the counter in neat rows. “But I’m really not a wonder. I just…” She trailed off, touching her fingers to the spotless counter, as if she was reaching out and touching a blessed saint statue, reverence and gratitude visible in her every line as she turned toward Max with the ghost of a smile on her lips. “I’m just so grateful that I’m finally able to live out my dream, as sappy as that sounds. It was so many hard years coming, and so much damn work…and I’m relishing every minute of it, now that I’m here. Even all these minutes that turn into hours that turn into days of the hard work.” She chuckled a little, running her hand over the counter and patting it. “It’s just so completely worth it, all of this. And I know how lucky I am,” she said, glancing toward Max with an unmistakable hint of chagrin making her mouth turn down into a little grimace. “Not everyone can live their dream.”
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