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10
Max
Olive is everything I could’ve hoped for.
She’s smart, funny, and outgoing. Just like her mom.
The “lover” comment had me rolling on the inside. Watching how animated she is about raccoons was something I didn’t know I needed. When I imagine the kind of kid I have, I couldn’t have dreamt up a better one than Olive.
She’s beautiful too. Looks like Emily, but I can see myself in her cheeks. She got the shape of my eyebrows and my ears. Her eye color matches mine, and my chest swells with pride that I helped create her, even if I haven’t been around for nine years. I should’ve been. If I knew, I would’ve been.
Did Emily tell her family about the nickname? Something tells me she didn’t. The way her cheeks flushed, I wonder if she was thinking about the last time I called her that. It was her first time, and I whispered it in her ear as I slowly thrust in and out of her.
The time we made our daughter.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I ignore it. Once the vibrations stop, it starts again. We all stand, and Olive takes steps to walk away, without saying anything to me.
Baby steps.
“Manners?” Emily asks.
“It was nice to meet you, Max.” Olive waves without looking at me, distracted by her uncle.
“It was nice to meet you, Olive.” My throat closes on that one, and I need to cough. Calling her Martini feels icky. Although I have permission, Emily will always be Martini to me.
“It was nice meeting you,” Emily’s very tall brother Cameron says as he stands up. “I need to get back to work. Max, how long are you planning to stay?”
“I have nothing going on this week,” I say. “I have plans on Saturday, though.”
“Don’t fuck this up, Max,” Cameron whispers in my ear as he slaps me on the back so hard, I lurch forward.
Emily and Olive whisper to each other and then turn toward me. “We want to ask you to come to the dinner at the main house tonight,” Emily says.
“I would love that,” I say. My phone vibrates again.
“Maybe you should get that.”
“I don’t have to.”
“It’s fine,” Emily says, waving me off. “Take care of it, and Olive and I will discuss details.”
“Okay.” I don’t want to, but I walk away to pull my phone out.
Noelle, five missed calls. Twelve text messages from her.
I tap on her number to call her. She answers on the first ring.
“Hi,” I say. “What’s going on?”
“I’m here.”
“What?” I ask. My mouth drops open.
“I’m here. In Goldheart. That’s where you are, right?”
“What?” I ask. “Why?”
“Where are you? I’m at this coffee shop. I think it’s called Gold Roast?”
