“That sounds great, honestly. I’ve traveled a bunch, but nowhere really beats here anyway.”
“I agree! People come here from all over the world, and I’m just lucky my grandparents have a house here. When my parents suggested it, I knew it would be the perfect place to spend the time off.” Relief to be moving on to easier topics settled my stomach. I crossed one leg over the other, ankle bobbing happily, ready for our drinks to arrive, ready for our conversation to continue.
He smiled. “It’s a special place. I feel super fortunate my parents have the house here, too.”
I wondered where their house was, what his parents did. Mimi had had her house since the early nineties, when homes on Martha’s Vineyard were relatively affordable. Now it would be nearly impossible to buy a place on the island unless you had over a million dollars to spend.
The waitress returned with our drinks.
“To…” He paused. “A great summer on the Vineyard.”
I clinked my wine glass against his near overflowing beer glass. “I’ll drink to that.” I held his gaze while I took a sip. One thing I should have done while I was puttering about getting ready earlier was remind myself how to flirt.
“So, what have you been reading?” he asked me.
I fought my smile while a blush surfaced on my cheeks.
“What?” he asked.
“Oh, um. Mostly romance novels right now. They’re…comforting.”
He barked out a laugh. “With that look on your face I thought you were about to say something horrifying. Don’t most women read romance? I feel like that’s totally normal, Val.”
“I love them. What can I say?” I lifted both shoulders coyly.
His grin widened. “Plus, I wouldn’t be here on Martha’s Vineyard if it weren’t for romance novels, so whowould I be to judge.”
“What do you mean?”
“My dad is a writer. Romance novels.”
“Oh wow,” I said, not thinking it through at first. And then I remembered the last name in his text yesterday.Phelps.“Wait. Noooo.”
“Yup.” Max took a big gulp of his beer.
“Your dad is Edward Phelps? One of the most successful romance novelists of all time.Themost successful male romance novelist.”
He blew out a breath. “The one and only.” I couldn’t read his expression.
“That’s incredible! What was it like growing up with a novelist father? Was he locked in a study writing all the time? Did you realize when you were younger how famous he was?”
He chuckled at my rapid-fire questions. I wondered if he regretted bringing it up. “He definitely spent a lot of time locked in his home office. I remember that. And then when he was gone on book tours, it would just be me and my mom for chunks of time. Sometimes we’d meet him for a weekend in one city or another. Did I realize he was famous?” Max looked out at the white, colonial-style town hall building across the street and drummed his fingers on the table. “I think so, especially once I was eleven or twelve, and I started noticing the books with his name on them in every store.”
“Crazy. But cool, too. Is he a romantic in real life?”
Max smirked. I was sure he’d rather not spend the whole date talking about his dad, so I vowed this was my last question.
“Yeah. He’s always doing little romantic things for my mom, which I didn’t notice until I was much older. And he used to give me speeches about what I should and shouldn’t do before I went on dates in high school and stuff. So if I do or say anything right on this date, you’ll know where I learned it from.” He leaned back in his chair, a glint in his eyes as his gaze roamed from my eyes to my lips and back again. So unhurried, like he was indulging insomething that fascinated him. Even his body language was a compliment.
Naturally charming, that was what Max was. Whether he learned it from his dad or not.
The conversation meandered to other pleasant topics: our favorite restaurants on the island, other places we wanted to travel someday. We both lost track of the outfit counting game.
The air was charged in his car on the way home. Did we both have a good time? Would he ask me out again? Would he try to kiss me?
Did I want him to?
I think so.I wanted him to want to, at least.
