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Chapter Fourteen
Kathryn
I’ve almost worked myself into a frenzy. I talked myself out of going with Jensen and Max at least a dozen times. There’s no reason for me to be in the mix of his family time on a holiday, right? Exactly! I’ll just be in the way. Plus, his mom probably doesn’t even want me around; you know, considering I broke her son’s heart and all.
My heart is pounding in my chest when I hear his truck pull through the gate. I’m just going to politely tell him I’m not going. Maybe that I have a headache or something. Or a stomach bug! Those are contagious.
Before I can finalize my way out of this afternoon’s festivities, the doorbell rings, startling me. Since I’m standing in the foyer, I take the couple of steps to the door and pull it open.
And my heart melts.
There at the doorway is Max Grayson, smiling up at me with a wide, toothy grin on his face, and holding a bouquet of handpicked wildflowers. “Hi, Kate! These are for you,” he says as he thrusts the treasures in his hand at me.
“Oh, thank you so much, Maximo,” I coo, reaching for the buds.
Max giggles before me. “It’s not Maximo, silly! I’m just Max!” he hollers through his laughter.
“Well, Just Max, these may be the most beautiful flowers I’ve ever received,” I assure him, taking a step back and allowing them to enter the house.
“Daddy helped me cutted them,” he says as he quickly kicks off his shoes at the doorway.
“Cut them, and we’re not staying, Max. We’re just here to pick Kate up and take her with us to Grandma’s,” Jensen says, standing in the doorway with a grin on his face.
“Oh, about that,” I start, glancing his way. I’m prepared to give him my I don’t think I’m going speech, when Max comes up and takes my free hand.
“Come on, Kate. We’ll put the flowers in water and then go see my grandma. She maked me some cookies!” Between the twinkle in his baby blues and the warmth spreading up my arm from where our hands are joined, I know there’s no way I could ever tell him I’m not going now. I quickly realize I’d probably go anywhere with this little boy.
I smile down at him as I lead him toward the kitchen. “She made you some cookies,” I correct, like I heard Jensen do, and ask, “What kind of cookies?”
“Chocolate chip!”
I gasp with a dramatic hand on my chest. “My favorite are chocolate chip,” I tell him as I pull out one of the stools under the island.
Max climbs up on the stool and crawls on the counter. I don’t say a word, just head over to where I think I put the vases. Fortunately, I find one in the second box I check and return to where I left my handsome little helper. I fill the vase about three-quarters of the way with water and step back while Max arranges the blooms in the vase.
“Perfect,” I tell him when he places the last flower and turns my way.
“Looks good, huh? Do they smell good, Kate?” he asks and watches, waiting expectantly for me to take a big ol’ whiff.
I make a dramatic show of inhaling. “They smell amazing,” I insist, grabbing the vase. “I have an idea. Why don’t we put them in the center of the dining room table?”
“Okay,” he says, shrugging his shoulders and crawling off the counter.
It’s the first time I notice Jensen leaning against the doorway, a small smile playing on his lips. The look he gives is part amusement and part longing. It makes my heart rate kick up a few thousand beats. “How about over here?” I ask when we reach the formal dining room. No, I’m not exactly a formal dining person even though I grew up eating most of my meals there. I’d much rather sit in the kitchen, around a small table where you can reach over and touch the people around you. Not some big, formal monstrosity of a table where you can’t even pass a bowl of potatoes to the person next to you.
“Daddy, do you like it?” Max asks his father as I place the vase in the center of the table and turn it until the best side is facing the entrance.
“I love it. You picked great flowers, Max.”
His son gives him a cheeky grin. I bend down and place a kiss on Max’s forehead. “Thank you for the flowers, Just Max. I love them.”
“I picked them, but Daddy had to cut them with his knife.”
“Smart to let Daddy do all the cutting,” I tell the four-year-old. “Now that we have the flowers taken care of, are you ready to go?”
Max nods feverishly and turns to head back to the foyer. His little hand slips into mine as we make our way to the front door. I can feel Jensen behind me, but he doesn’t say a word. Instead, he just locks the door and follows us out. When we reach his truck, he helps his son climb up into the back seat and get buckled in. I watch, transfixed by the simple task of father and son securing a seat belt, until they’re done and the door is closed.
Jensen reaches around me and opens my door. “Thank you,” I tell him.
