The gruff man who yells at me, bullies me, and has dismissed my work and my skill... he’s the person who did this. He’s also the man who apologized to a room of teenage girls. The one who shook their hands and treated them with kindness and respect. How is it possible that Max can be both those people?
The man who was supposed to have no social skills had seen what no one else saw. He realized how incredibly important my class is to me.
Yeah, I know the approximate value of each of these items. I’ve bought them enough to know. Financially, it’s not an extravagant gift. Clif Bars are pricey, so it’s more than dinner would be. But it’s certainly less expensive than the unimaginative diamond tennis bracelets Clive bought me on Valentine’s Day year after year.
But this . . . this is something else entirely.
This was thoughtful and kind. It was a revelation.
I absolutely do not know what to make of it. Because there is so much more to Max than I’d ever dreamed there was. And, no, I’m not just talking about his crazy muscles. There is so much more to his heart. Twenty-four hours ago, I never would have thought he was capable of this kind of sensitivity. But now . . .
Oh, God. Now, I want to date Max Ramsey.
Chapter 18
Max
Iput off talking to Tavey about the shaving situation as long as I can.
On one hand, I do not want to let anyone touch my beard. I’m comfortable with my beard. I haven’t shaved regularly since I was a teen. I hated it then and I have no interest in adding an additional step into my morning routine now. Furthermore, I don’t see how having a beard could possibly affect my chances of winning the McPherson Fellowship.
However, I am, admittedly, not an expert.
So as I walk from my lab to my car to head for the appointment with Holly, I call Tavey to get her opinion. Either she’ll convince me shaving my beard is necessary or she’ll arm me with additional arguments to present to Holly.
As soon as Tavey answers, I ask, “Do you know who Hagrid is?”
“From Harry Potter?” She pauses, and I hear the sound of fingers on a keyboard. Then the typing stops. “Wait. Doyouknow who Hagrid is?”
“He’s the keeper of keys and grounds at Hogwarts.”
There is an audible gasp of breath on the other end of the line. Then silence.
Then I hear a shuffling noise, before she says, “Wait a minute. Just one hot minute. You not only know who Hagrid is, but his actual title?”
“I do know how to use Google.”
“Oh. For sure. Obviously, you know how to use Google. I’m just shocked that you bothered to use it for something that’s not, uh, you know, about dirt.”
“I google things that aren’t dirt.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
I also google things about climate change, crop production, weather patterns, and deforestation.
I don’t tell Tavey that, because I’m pretty sure she would argue that all of those topics are at least tangentially related to dirt and therefore don’t count. She wouldn’t be wrong.
“Your Google habits aside—which, by the way, you do know I could easily track, right?”
“Yes. I don’t know why you would. But I know you can.” I add under my breath, “And you tell me I need to get a hobby.”
“Puh-lease. I have lots of hobbies. Meddling in your life is just one of them. Which brings me to my point. Your googling habits aside, why are you asking about Hagrid? Why do you even know who Hagrid is? Or Harry Potter, for that matter?”
“Someone recently told me I look like Hagrid. And I’m wondering—”
Before I can finish my question, Tavey cuts me off.
