By the time he was done, Stella had cleared half her plate and he had joined her at the counter with his own plate.
“Well, I’m very glad your mom taught you how to make French toast,” Stella said. “This is delicious. Although you know what would make it even better?”
Max quirked a brow. “You want to tell me how to make my mother’s French toast—the French toast I was homesick over—better?”
“Yes,” Stella said with a smile.
Max waved a hand. “Go on then.”
“Bacon,” Stella said simply. “You need something savory to go with all of this delicious sweetness.”
Max sighed and went to the fridge, returning with a pack of bacon.
“You know, I knew I was forgetting something,” he said, shaking his head. “Think you can pause scarfing down the rest of your toast long enough for me to make you some bacon?”
Stella sat up straight, resting her fork and knife on her plate.
“I absolutely can.”
Twenty-Five
After Stella left, Max found himself cleaning.
He tidied the kitchen, attacked the bathroom, did three loads of laundry, and dusted just about everywhere. By the time he was done, he was thoroughly exhausted and still thinking about what Stella said.
I guess I’m not used to someone wanting to see me two nights in a row.
She’d told him she had never been in a relationship before, but this felt different. Like she was trying to say something else without saying it. Unfortunately, they’d skirted past it while she was distracted by his delicious French toast. Max didn’t consider himself a man who had “moves” per se, but the morning-after French toast with the mama’s-boy story was one that had never failed him. Today, though, it worked a bit too perfectly, and instead of learning more about Stella, they ended up spending their time talking about him and his family, skating uncomfortably around the Miles of it all.
Max’s phone began to vibrate on the coffee table. He stretched out his arm, blindly reaching for it from his spot on the couch.
It was as if his brother could sense that Max was thinking about him.
“Hello, brother,” Max said.
“Maximo, Maximo,” Miles said.
Max frowned. Miles never called him by his full name. Not unless he wanted something.
“What are you up to this evening?” Miles continued.
“I’ve got plans,” Max said.
“Cancel them! We’re going out.”
In the background, Max could hear what sounded like a lot of people. He looked at the clock on his cable box. It was almost eight thirty on a Saturday night, which meant his brother was probably already out.
“I can’t, man. I have plans,” Max said. “Where are you?”
“Who knows?” Miles said. “I’ll drop a pin for my location. Come over. Everybody’s here.”
“And who is everyone?”
“You know…everyone.”
“Right.” Max sighed. “Well, for the last time, I have plans tonight so I’m not coming, but please do telleveryonethat I said hello.”
“Don’t tell me your plans are to sit on your couch alone all night, watching some sad shit or something.”
