But when he looked up, Bliss’s most famous married couple smiled at him from the doorway.
“Rachel…” he muttered.
His sister-in-law, the devious pain in the ass, plastered a fake surprised smile on her face. “Billy! Lindsey! Welcome to With This Ring. How can we help you today?”
The other customers turned and gawked. It had been nearly a year since Billy Brenton, one of country music’s hottest superstars, had gotten himself attached to a Bliss local, but not everyone was entirely used to bumping into him around town yet.
“We need to borrow Max,” Lindsey said. Tall, blond, and just showing her belly bump—pregnancy was going around Bliss these days—the former divorce lawyer and current resident matchmaker had too good a poker face.
Max glared at Rachel. “Not interested.”
“Shush and go with the nice lady,” Rachel hissed.
“And who’s going to help the customers here?”
“I don’t see anybody needing help.
Max pulled out his phone. “Give me one Tweet about Billy being here and we’ll be swarmed.”
“We’re not here about your love life,” Lindsey said. “Put the phone away. Kimmie’s saving us a seat for lunch, and Billy’s buying. You coming or not?”
Now she had his attention.
“Go on, shoo,” Rachel said. “I can sell diamond rings with one arm tied behind my back.”
And with the other elbow-deep in some crafty project, a paintbrush between her teeth, while she washed dishes with her feet, if Max knew his sister-in-law.
“Can you do anything about keeping everyone else out of my love life?” Max asked Lindsey.
She smiled. “Probably not.”
“I might could,” Billy said. “Seem to have some sway round these parts.”
“Lunch first though,” Lindsey said.
Max handed his display case keys to Rachel. “Call me if you need anything, and lock the front door if you and Dan decide to have a nooner. I’m still scarred from the last time I walked in on that.”
Her cheeks went pink. “He’s joking,” she said to Billy and Lindsey.
“None of our business,” Lindsey said cheerfully.
Max grabbed his coat and followed them out the door.
This Monday had just gotten more interesting.
* * *
Patrick was on the mend, but he hadn’t been up to wedding planning this morning, so it was just Mom and Merry out and about in Bliss with the wedding planner. Shortly before noon, Merry braced herself as they walked in the door of Kimmie Cakes, an adorable cupcake shop just off The Aisle which was apparently owned by Saturday night’s bride.
“I can’t wait for you to taste Kimmie’s cake,” Zoe said. She’d been sweet as sugar all morning, the consummate professional, and Merry had gone along with the game for Mom’s sake. “It’s like eating delicious art.”
The bakery was warm and cozy on the inside, with whimsical cupcake flowers in every color painted on the cream walls, round tables with metal-backed chairs bent into the shape of hearts on the black-and-white tile floor, and an upbeat tune Merry couldn’t place coming through the speakers. A replica of the wedding cake monument sat atop a display case along the side wall, with a dozen flavors of cupcakes inside the glass case. Three booths lined the back wall, one with a reserved sign on it.
Zoe led them to the only vacant table they could find, which was better suited for two, near the back booths. “You two settle in,” she said with a dimpled smile. “I’m sure Kimmie has your samples ready. And I highly recommend the French onion soup and chicken salad sandwich if you want a little lunch with your cake.”
She stepped lightly to the counter beside the display case.
“Are you sure the poinsettias are a good choice?” Mom said once Zoe was out of earshot. “I’d really thought violets.”
“You had violets when you married Yo-yo,” Merry said.
Mom’s lip curled, and her nose almost wrinkled. “Hmm. Good point.”
“Although I think your error was more in marrying a man named Yo-yo than in having violets at your wedding.”
“At least I put myself out there.”
Merry wasn’t touching that. She still had mortification burns on her soul from last night. She shouldn’t have gone to Max’s house.
Mom’s wedding couldn’t be over fast enough. Merry wanted to get to France. Yesterday.
Mom’s eyebrows twitched. Must be about time for another round of Botox. “Merry,” she hissed. “Merry, look.”
Merry cast a casual glance over her shoulder.
A pregnant blonde, a scruffy guy in jeans and a ball cap, and Max strolled through the door. Max, in a suit and wool coat, his thick dark hair wind-blown, or possibly mussed as though he’d spent the past twelve hours fisting his hands in it.
Her belly dropped, and she squeezed her thighs together. “Seriously?” she whispered. “I thought we both agreed last night that he’s a bad idea.”
Mom’s lips parted. “Meredith, he’s with Billy Brenton.”
The scruffy guy in jeans winked at Mom, touched the brim of his cap, and continued to the reserved table. Merry refused to look at Max. But the blonde hesitated a moment too long, glancing first at Merry, then at Max.
“Don’t,” Max muttered to her. “Keep walking.”
One more friend he’d told to look out for Merry, apparently.
And Max was done with her.
Good. That was good. Because she was leaving for France as soon as Mom took off on her honeymoon.
“Sweetheart, grinding your teeth isn’t an attractive trait,” Mom murmured.
“I’m not grinding my teeth.”
“Are you feeling constipated? You wear the same look for both.”
Max, the blonde, and the country dude were making small talk with a waitress who had appeared with plates of food and cupcakes. The buzz of conversations around them kept Merry from hearing exactly what they were saying, but she didn’t need to hear.
It wasn’t her business.
She wasn’t interested in Max. She couldn’t be interested in Max.
“I have some stool softener in my purse,” Mom said. “Wait. You’re not coming down with what Patrick had, are you?”
Zoe came back as the waitress departed Max’s table. “Sorry, ladies, it’ll be a few minutes.” She was still smiling her dimpled smile, but it seemed forced. “Little mix-up with the time. But I brought you some sweet tea. It’s a Kimmie Cakes specialty. Kimmie got the recipe from Billy’s sister a few months ago. If you’d prefer coffee or a soda, I can—
Mom leaned into her. “Can you introduce us to Billy?” she whispered.
“Oh, I wish I could, but we all do our best to respect his privacy when he’s here,” Zoe whispered back. “It’s a delicate balance.”
“My daughter used to date the man he’s sitting with.”
It was Zoe’s turn to look constipated. “Did she?”
“She did. He told me so himself.”
“They know, Mom,” Merry said softly. “Let it go.”
There was a slight lull in the conversations around them, which was the only reason Merry heard Billy Brenton’s Southern drawl. “Need a car. Lindsey says you might could be able to help.”
“Trixie’s not for sale,” Max said easily.
“That the Mustang?” Billy said. “Was looking for a Charger. Gonna use it for a video shoot here in the spring, then auction it off for charity.”
Max’s easy smile froze. His spoon paused over his soup bowl. “A Charger, huh?”
The hum of conversation rose around them again. Merry strained to listen in more.
So did Mom and Zoe, she noticed.
“Heard restoring cars is your thing,” Billy said.
Max’s ears went an adorable pink. “I tinker with them.”
“You did the Mustang yourself?”
“Long time ago.”
“We all know what’s in your garage,” the blonde said.
The way she waved around the rock on her left hand made Merry feel like she needed Mom’s stool softener after all.
The love was thick around here, and the diamonds were the kind that would tempt Daddy like nothing else, especially if he thought his baby girl was getting anything less than the warmest welcome here.
“Yeah, I’ve got a Charger,” Max said, but Merry heard the hesitation. “She’s pretty banged up though. Wasn’t planning to have her done until summer at the earliest.”
“You working on other cars?” Billy said.
“Working my day job.”
“Could make it worth your while to take some time off if you could get the car done.”
Max’s eyes narrowed the way they did when he was thinking. But his jaw ticked like it did when he was thinking something he didn’t like.
That he had to say no?
Or that he didn’t have an excuse not to say yes?
Either way, it was obvious he wasn’t planning to accept Billy’s proposition.
“Would you quit thinking so hard and just tell the man you’ll do it?” Merry heard herself say.
Max twisted his head to look at her, lips tight, dark brows menacing over those unique blue-green eyes clearly telegraphing the lack of right she had to an opinion about any aspect of his life.
“Don’t believe we’ve met,” Billy said to Merry. “You from round here?”
She shrank back in her seat. Her skin was hot, and those bruises on her psyche from last night were pulsing again. “In town for a wedding.”
“Friday,” Mom said. “We’d be honored to have you attend.”
“Mother,” Merry hissed. She looked at Zoe. “She’s never had a gingerbread wedding cake. Let’s just do gingerbread, okay?”
“And my Meredith used to date this lovely young man you’re dining with,” Mom added to Billy.
So Max was lovely today.
Even Phoebe Moon was embarrassed by Merry’s mother right now.
And everyone in the bakery was staring.
Max, oddly enough, looked at the blonde again. “You promised—”
“I didn’t.” Billy grinned. “Meredith, is it? Why don’t y’all come over and join us? Got my heart set on getting this car. Could use all the help I can get.”
Mom was already up, dragging Merry to Billy’s table. “I can’t imagine why anyone would turn you down, Billy.”
“Max won’t do it,” Merry said.
“Meredith.”
“He won’t. He’s chicken.”
Max Gregory didn’t have a chicken bone in his body.
But he did need goading from time to time. And if she’d learned anything in his garage last night, she’d learned he was still holding himself back from going after his dreams. Why, she didn’t know. But he was.
“Who’s chicken?” Max said pointedly.
“Never denied it,” Merry said.
“Fine. Merry Silver, Victoria Silver, meet Lindsey and Billy. Lindsey is Bliss’s psychic matchmaker.”
“I prefer the term relationship encourager,” Lindsey said.
“She’s eight for eight in Bliss this year, and half of ’em’s pregnant now,” Billy said.
“Oh, Merry definitely needs your help, then.” Mom clapped. “I’m ready for grandbabies. But probably not with Matt here.”
“Oh, for the love of—we’ll leave if you’ll do the car,” Merry said to Max.
Mom let out an indignant squeak. “Merry, we haven’t sampled the cake yet.”
Max glowered at Merry.
She glowered right back. “What would your grandfather tell you to do?”
A different muscle ticked in his jaw, and his eyes went Incredible Hulk green. He pulled himself out of the booth, and even though he only had about six inches on her, she felt as though he had eighteen.
Eighteen solid, angry, sexy-as-sin inches.
“Outside,” he growled. “Now.”
She squared her shoulders. “Your manners suck.”
“Merry—”
“I don’t like how you’re speaking to my daughter,” Mom said. “Be nice, or you’ll answer to me.”
“Frankly, I’m more afraid of her,” Max said.
“I raised her well. Meredith, you don’t have to talk to him.”
She didn’t.
But she wanted to.
For his own good, she told herself. “We’ll just be a minute.” Merry ignored the gawks and stares and put an extra swing in her step, head held high, while she marched outside. The winter wind brushed her cheeks and nipped at her nose, but her blood had passed the boiling point.
The tinkle of the Christmas bells on the bakery door hadn’t stopped before she opened her mouth. “I don’t care what you think of me, but if you turn down the opportunity to restore an old car for someone because you don’t think—mmph!”
Max spun her around and pushed her against the bakery’s glass window. His fingers pulled at her hair, and his mouth slammed down on hers, hot and hungry and greedy.
She should push him away.
She should break his arm. Maybe use a side-kick to reduce him to a lumpy pile of stubborn Max on the sidewalk.
But the hard scratch of his rough skin around her lips, the scent of soap and the taste of earthy male, and the heady rush of adrenaline that came from deep within her core were impossible to resist.
She parted her lips.
She grabbed the lapels on his suit coat.
And she pushed up on her toes, going all in to his kiss.
His tongue was hot velvet along her lower lip. His hands gripped her hair tighter, almost to the point of pain. The cold of the glass seeped through her coat, but the push of Max’s hips into her belly was hot and hard and irresistible.
She arched into him, unable to stop a desperate, moany whimper.
She didn’t connect with people. She didn’t get close. She didn’t let people in.
But she couldn’t get Max out.
And right now, with him making love to her mouth on a sidewalk in the dead of winter, she didn’t want to.
Their tongues clashed. Their teeth. He thrust a hand against her ass and yanked her against him so she could feel him better.
And Merry let him.
Because she would most likely never kiss Max Gregory again.
When he broke the kiss, her breath hung in short puffs in the space between them. Her swollen heart jackhammered her ribs.
And she wanted more.
Max abruptly stepped back. “Stay the fuck out of my life.” He adjusted himself, looked past Merry, made an I’ll call you gesture to someone inside, and then turned and strolled down the street.
“Hey!” Merry yelled.
He turned around. His mad was fading, but weariness rapidly darkened his expression.
“What the hell was that?” she asked.
Who knew Max Gregory was the king of silence? He stood there, watching her, lips clamped shut, evidence of his woody still poking at his pants, but he didn’t say a word.
The vile bite of guilt crept into her throat.
He wanted her to let him in.
How many questions had she evaded from him since Saturday night? Since she’d first met him?
He was a good guy.
Standing on a cold street with a hard-on for her.
He turned again, face down, and walked away.
And when Merry turned, she realized every single person in the nearly full bakery—her mother, the famous country guy, the wedding planner, even Kimmie the baker was there now—had just witnessed Max Gregory all but dry hump her against the bakery window.
Chapter 13
“Get in,” Zack Diggory said. “If we hurry, we can reach the mountain by midnight.”
Phoebe Moon hesitated. Never trust a boy with a car. It was rule number three.
—Phoebe Moon and the Missing Sunshine
* * *
It was almost nine before Max showed Lindsey and Billy out the door of his house.
He
should be on top of the world. Billy Brenton wanted to pay him an ungodly sum of money to fix up the old Dodge Charger he’d picked up on a whim just after Gran and Gramps passed away.
But the car needed a shit-ton of work. An engine rebuild. Complete overhaul of the interior. A paint job, which Max wouldn’t pretend he could do himself.
“Don’t know if I can get it done in time for your shoot,” Max had told Billy. “I can try, but you might want to have your people look around for another car.”
To do the job right, on Billy’s timeline, Max would need access to a garage with a lift. A few specialized tools. At least four straight weeks off work. And that was assuming no hiccups in the process.
He’d also need faith.
Before he moved in with Gramps and Gran, he’d had a plan. He’d been saving up, and he’d thought living rent-free with his grandparents would help pad his bank account.
He hadn’t counted on how many repairs the old house had needed. Nor had he counted on the emotional toll of watching his grandparents grow weaker, more frail, more dependent. And while he knew Gramps and Gran loved him, they’d never thought restoring old cars was a worthwhile job. His dream was the one thing they’d never understood, and by the time they’d moved into the nursing home, his dream had slipped, covered with layers of the realities and responsibilities of life.
He’d bought the Charger to see if he could find the love again.
But he hadn’t been able to look at it without remembering Merry with him at the car show. The sparkle and excitement in her expression when he’d confessed his old teenage fantasies. Hell, he’d almost sold Trixie when he realized he’d had sex with a jewel thief’s daughter in her.
Fate was calling tonight.
And Max didn’t know which fork in the fucking road he was supposed to take.
After an hour of crunching numbers, he grabbed a beer and stalked out onto his back porch. He threw himself into a frigid plastic patio chair and scowled at the sky. Totally open. Completely exposed. Nut-sack freezing.
At the mercy of fate. Or possibly that danged owl that still hadn’t been caught.
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