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How can two simple words carry so much weight? Hesitantly, I place my hand in his, soaking up the warmth and reassurance he radiates.
“I don’t know what to say,” I explain.
“Anything that’s on your mind.”
With other men, I kept my cards close to my chest. But Max makes this impossible, even if I wanted to. Maybe it’s because we have so much history, but there is an inherent trust between us that I didn’t have with other men.
“I don’t know if this is good news or bad.”
“Do you want me to stop the search?”
“No, not at all.” He watches me with an expectant expression, and I decide to open up. “I don’t remember much about him. But on the day of Mom’s funeral, I overheard him fighting with Grams. He told her he hadn’t signed up to be a single father and raising me on his own was too much work, that he hadn’t wanted me in the first place. ” I have never shared this with him. In all our years of friendship when we were kids, I kept this to myself. Looking back, I think it was because I felt ashamed, as if it was my fault he left. My voice is uneven, but I force myself to keep talking. “And then when my fiancé bailed, he said something very similar, that being with me felt more like work than a relationship. It felt as though I wasn’t worth fighting for, like I didn’t deserve love. And now I’ve turned into an insecure mess.”
“No, now you finally trust me. Thank you for telling me this. Explains a lot. I admire you even more for wanting to find him to make Grams happy.”
I give him a small smile.
“Just to make one thing clear. You deserve love, and you are worth fighting for. You are an amazing woman, and it’s a damn honor to be your man. I don’t take that for granted. I don’t take you for granted. You deserve everything, Emilia.”
“So do you, Max.”
Sighing, I try hard to swallo
w the love declaration that’s on the tip of my tongue. It’s too soon. Sometimes I think Max knows some deep parts of me better than I do. He didn’t seem shocked or taken aback by my admission. I think that is because he saw my wounds a long time ago, and was looking for the right balm for them. When we were kids that meant being my friend, making me laugh and come out of my shell. Now… now he’s saying all the right things.
A recognition strikes me and the surprise is such that it knocks the wind out of my lungs. I’ve been in love with Max Bennett since I was nine years old. I just didn’t know it.
A startling noise jolts me out of my thoughts, and I discover I’m shaking with equal parts giddiness and nervousness. One day I will share this realization with Max, but now it seems too soon.
“Sorry,” Max mutters, checking his phone. When he pushes it back in his jacket, he’s frowning.
“Anything wrong?” I ask, wishing I could wipe that crease off his brow.
“Work stuff. We want to expand in Brazil, and I’m having trouble bringing their distributors to the negotiation table.”
“I have full confidence you’ll succeed,” I assure him. “What other countries are you expanding into?”
“Mostly European ones. We got into France while I was in London, and last week I sealed a very good deal with some high-end retailers in Germany.”
The waiter interrupts us, bringing mountains of food, and we exchange no words afterward, concentrating on the treats in front of us. Our dinner is delicious, and I discover Max loves clams. He ordered a double portion as his main course, explaining that he’ll skip dessert instead. So while I’m savoring my stracciatella and chocolate ice cream, he’s eating the last few clams, attacking them with a boyish enthusiasm.
“I always thought clams look too much like a pussy to enjoy them.” I freeze the second the words are out of my mouth.
Max chokes on his bite and bursts out laughing, not calming down for a few long minutes. A few guests from the other tables have turned to us.
“Sorry,” Max explains to them through chuckles. “My girlfriend here is very funny.” Turning to me, he says in a low voice, “I can’t believe you said that.”
“Me either, even though it’s true. But let’s forget it. Clam talk is off the table.”
“How about pussy talk?” he whispers. “Is that on the table? How about under the table? Or in the shower, on the bed. We can steer clear of any tables.”
“Stop, or I’ll drown in embarrassment. There are people around us.” Granted, his voice is low enough that they can’t hear, but I feel like my cheeks will catch fire soon.
“Why don’t you check the situation under the table? It requires your attention.” His gaze holds so much heat that I instantly ache for him, especially once I make sense of his words.
“Max,” I admonish, my cheeks on fire.
“Do you know what hearing the word pussy from your mouth does to me?”
