by Aven Ellis
“You’ve been all over the world,” I say as he begins to drive.
I watch as a smile passes over his handsome face. “So have you. I’ve never taken a girl to Monaco or Seychelles for a date. You’ve had the more glamorous world travel.”
“Oh, please. That wanker didn’t take me there on his own accord,” I blurt out. “He was paid to date a bunch of women and declare his love for one at the end. The show planned and paid for all those trips. Tom would probably take a girl to a posh restaurant with tiny portions and beautiful people as waitstaff. He’s all about being seen with the famous people and eating chic food that leaves me starving.”
Maxime laughs, and I join him.
“So what’s your perfect date night food?” Maxime asks as he drives out of his neighborhood.
“I love good Mexican food, but if I’m being candid, I love New Mexican food.”
“As opposed to old Mexican food?”
I giggle. “No, New Mexico, as in the state of New Mexico. The food is ridiculously good. To me, the perfect date meal is not at some posh restaurant, but at some hole-in-the-wall place, where the people are nice and unpretentious. The kind of place where you can wear jeans and kick back over a plate of good chips and red-hot salsa. I want to be able to dig into a plate of stacked enchiladas—that’s where the enchiladas are flat and topped with red sauce and cheese—and eat until I’ve scooped up every bit of delicious chile sauce and cheese on my plate. Chased down with a margarita, of course. That is my idea of a great date.”
I steal a look at Maxime, who is driving down the winding roads, his windshield wipers rhythmically wiping the snow away. He’s smiling, ear to ear.
“You’re not what I expected,” Maxime says.
“How so?”
“You look—and I apologize in advance for the stereotyping—so chic and glamorous. I expected you to want more of the dates you had on Is It Love? Champagne at some trendy bar, then dinner at some see-and-be-seen kind of restaurant in Denver, followed by cocktails at a nightclub before Ubering home.”
“I’ll forgive you this one time for being so off-base,” I tease.
“I appreciate your graciousness in not making me a wanker for that.”
I laugh. “No, that doesn’t make you a wanker. It makes you off-base, but not a wanker. Anyway, that girl you described? Not me. Did I think having a date on a yacht was amazing? Of course, anyone would. But that’s a once-in-a-lifetime experience. What I want are real experiences. I want Friday night traditions. I want conversation and chips and enchiladas. I want to watch Law & Order reruns on my couch with the guy I’m seeing. I want him to be okay with me wearing no makeup and changing into my cozy pajamas the second we settle in for the night. I want to play Monopoly and place bets on who will win, or share a pint of ice cream on the couch with two spoons. I’ve had a lot of time to think about what I want after Tom. You can keep a picnic in Napa Valley or candlelit dinners on a beach. I want real.”
Maxime pulls up toward a red light. “I think both can be real.”
“You think going on a yacht date in Monaco is reality?”
He turns his attention to me, and for the millionth time, I’m caught off guard by just how beautiful Maxime is in person.
“If you are with the right man, it’s real. It’s not the location that matters. It’s the feeling you get when you are with that person. If it’s genuine, it’s real.”
My breath catches in my throat.
Tom never spoke words from his heart like this to me. Yes, he said pretty things, but they were never sincere.
I’ve been with Maxime for only an hour, and already he’s more of a man than Tom ever was on our dates.
This isn’t a date, I remind myself.
I comb my fingers through my hair as the light turns, and Maxime continues toward the Pearl Street Mall.
I know my judgment with men is crap.
I know I should be working on rebuilding myself.
I know I shouldn’t have butterflies.
But I do.
Maxime’s sincerity during today’s conversation tells me that if he were to ask me out, it wouldn’t be a case of reality blurred.
It would be real.
Chapter Seven
I open the door to the apartment, carrying Boris and Natasha inside the soft-sided carrier I bought for them.
“We’re home,” I say, not only to them but to Maxime, who is following behind me with the cat supplies gathered in his massive arms. “I’ve only been here a few days, so I haven’t unpacked, let alone decorated. Don’t judge me by the empty spaces and mess.”
Maxime places the load of supplies on the countertop while I gently set the cat carrier on the floor and sit down beside it.
“I think you’ll find I’m a pretty non-judgmental person,” he says.
I have found that to be the truth. If he had any cause to judge me, it would be for making out with a man for millions of people to watch on TV, and that hasn’t bothered him so far.
Neither did walking down Pearl Street with me and having people stop and want me to take a picture with them. It’s funny; I assumed people would ask him for pictures, too, as he’s the alternate captain for the Mountain Lions, but he only had one request while I had five people ask for selfies. Maxime joked that it was because I’m obviously more famous than he is. Tom loved the spotlight, but Maxime seemed to prefer the fact that the attention wasn’t on him for a change.
I think if he could play hockey in front of no one and make a living at it, he’d be absolutely happy.
“Where do you want to set up the litter box?” Maxime asks, interrupting my thoughts.
Crap. I hadn’t thought about that.
“Restroom?” Maxime suggests when I don’t answer.
Boris and Natasha begin mewing inside their carrier.
“Yes, but I’ll do that,” I say, shaking my head. “You’ve done enough by carrying all their stuff up. I’m going to take them out first. According to what the rescue guy told me, I’m supposed to sit with them in a small room and let them get used to me before moving them to a bigger room.”
“Not that I’m the Cat Man of Belgium by any means, but I say let them get a lay of the land here. They’ll get brave and explore. We can show them where the litter box is.”
“Cat Man of Belgium,” I repeat, grinning up at him.
“I had cats growing up,” he says. “Do you have a pair of scissors so I can cut open this litter bag?”
I carefully unzip the side of the carrier. Boris and Natasha are backed up against the other end, looking at me with sheer terror in their eyes.
“It’s okay, babies,” I say softly, but they remain frozen in the carrier. “Maxime, they’re petrified.”
Maxime stops what he’s doing and moves over to me, dropping down on the floor beside me. We’re both still in our winter gear, too focused on the kittens to have changed.
“Let’s back up and give them space. Start talking to them,” Maxime says. “They need to hear your voice.”
I nod, and we both scoot back across my hardwood floor, giving them room to come out.
“Boris, Natasha, it’s okay,” I say soothingly. “This is going to be your home. You’re safe and accepted here.”
Boris—at least I think it’s Boris, as he’s meant to be a bit bigger—peeks his head out.
“Look, Maxime, he’s coming out,” I whisper excitedly.
Maxime is smiling. “He’s so cute.”
Boris creeps out, his body slunk low to the ground in a protective position. He then takes off, dodging boxes, and flies under the sofa for refuge.
Natasha follows next, a gray blur of fluff as she dives under the sofa to reach safety away from Maxime and me.
“Why do I have a feeling they are going to live there?” I ask.
Maxime laughs. “Only until you go to bed. Then it will be safe to come out and eat.”
We stand up and begin peeling off our winter layers.
“Th
at’s why I had to adopt them. I didn’t plan on having cats, but I saw them and how scared they were, being in a cage where everyone could watch them, and I had to rescue them. I had to.”
Maxime tugs off his gloves and tosses them onto my countertop, next to his phone and keys.
“Because you know how they feel,” he says gently. “You know what it’s like to be scared and trapped and have everyone watching you with no escape.”
I don’t say anything for a moment. I swallow down the swell of emotion that has appeared in my throat.
“Yes,” I manage to get out. “That’s when I knew I was meant to help these kittens. I know how they feel. I will do everything I can to build their trust in me.”
I glance at Maxime, who is staring at me with a softness in his eyes.
I realize Maxime is rebuilding my trust in men, too.
“You have a huge heart,” Maxime says.
“Thank you,” I say, touched that he recognizes that in me.
“That’s important. I’ve learned that from my past with women.”
He moves back to the litter box, and as I unzip my parka, I decide he’s opened the door for me to get to know him better.
“What is your past with women, Maxime?”
“You didn’t waste time with that follow up. You are a journalist, aren’t you?”
“I’d like to think my journalism skills are equal to my skills as a cupcake faker.”
Maxime laughs. “I’ll answer if you bring me a pair of scissors so I can get this litter box set up for the babies.”
My heart does a little flip.
He called my kittens babies.
Is there anything sexier than that?
I scan the boxes stacked in the living area, as I was using the scissors to cut them open earlier. I spot them amongst the clutter and hand them to Maxime.
“Scissors have been provided. Now women. Tell me all.”
“Oh, no, you don’t get all at one time. That would remove the journalistic challenge.”
He winks at me.
I find myself feeling giddy. I love seeing this new side of Maxime. He’s very serious, but there’s a teasing side that comes out unexpectedly.
I like it.
I might like it too much.
“Where’s the restroom? I’ll get this set up for them.”
“You realize running off with the litter box won’t deter my line of questioning.”
Maxime’s eyes light up, and I feel my heart respond in the same way.
“Understood.”
“Okay,” I say, retrieving bowls for the kittens. I take a moment to peel a sticker off the side of one of them. “Down the hall to the left. Rather impossible for you to get lost, despite my cavernous digs.”
“You’re saying I won’t need a GPS.”
“Um, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”
Maxime picks up the litter box and flashes me a sexy smile. “I’ll be right back.”
My heart skips along as I wash the food and water bowls. How is Maxime not taken? He’s sexy as hell. Thoughtful. Sensitive.
Unless he’s been as burned by love as I have, I muse as I reach for the bag of kitten food and pour some into the bowl. Then I understand why he’s content to live a quiet life in Boulder with the mountains and his dogs for company.
I fill the bowl with kitten chow and set it on the kitchen floor, along with water. I’ll put out some moist food before I go to bed, and perhaps that will entice them to come out.
Along with my going to bed, I muse.
Maxime returns to the living room. “Okay, reporter. Fire away.”
“Have you been in love?”
He laughs. “Okay, going for the tough one first. I thought you were a lifestyle reporter, not an investigative one.”
“I think love is a lifestyle topic.”
“Okay. Yes. I’ve been in love. Once.” He pauses and gives me an adorable side-eye glance. “Remember, you said you are a lifestyle reporter. You need to go easy on me. You are supposed to bring good stories to the world, not pathetic tales of failure.”
“I’ll go easy on you, I promise,” I say good-naturedly. “Who were you in love with?”
“Her name is Juliette,” Maxime says. “I think it’s fair to say I turned out to be far from her idea of Romeo.”
And that’s all he says.
I’m about to ask more when he clears his throat. “Let’s try something with the cat treats.”
Maxime picks up the packet and tears it open. He moves back toward the sofa, taking a moment to nudge some of my boxes aside, and to my surprise, he gets down on the floor, lying on his stomach.
“Oh, Skye, come here,” he says. “Look at them.”
I drop down to the floor and lie next to his huge frame, which seems to span much of the hardwood. I’m aware of his masculine presence, from his powerful muscular arms and long length to the intoxicating vanilla-bourbon scent lingering on his skin.
“They’re so tiny and cute,” Maxime says, breaking through my thoughts.
I shift my attention to Boris and Natasha, who are cuddled together against the wall.
“They’re bonded,” I say softly. “They have to be together to feel safe.”
“I’m going to try something,” Maxime says.
He reaches for the packet of treats and shakes some out onto the floor. Then he takes one and places it under the sofa, and using one finger, slides it toward the kittens.
“Here you go, babies, a treat for you,” he says gently.
I watch as he takes his hand back, and Natasha goes for the treat, eating it.
“That’s a good girl,” Maxime says. “Want another one?”
Maxime places another one in front of her, moving it a bit closer to us.
She moves closer and eats it.
“Food,” I say, grinning. “It’s the great equalizer.”
“This is how you’ll build their trust, with food.”
“I know it’s a way to build mine,” I tease. I reach for a treat and place it near Boris, who presses his back against the wall in fear while Natasha eats her way closer to where Maxime is.
“He’s going to take more work,” Maxime says, thinking aloud. “You’re going to have to earn his trust.”
“I’m up for that challenge. I have patience.”
I push another treat in front of poor little Boris, who is still staring at me with deep fear in his eyes.
Maxime continues to feed Natasha, who is coming closer to the edge of the sofa.
“Are you going to try to touch her?” I ask.
“No,” Maxime says. “I’m going to let her eat these and feel safe first.”
Maxime and I continue to lie side by side, content to watch the kittens.
“Thank you for helping me with them,” I say.
“It’s my pleasure. They’ll be out and about, tearing up your apartment before you know it.”
I giggle. “It’s a good thing I bought the scratching post.”
“Yes, that will be needed.”
“I want to give them a good home. I want them to be happy here.”
Maxime is quiet for a moment. “I know they will, Skye. They were meant to be yours.”
I turn to face him.
“If you had told me yesterday I’d be lying on my floor with you, staring at kittens under my couch, I would have told you that you were insane,” I say.
Maxime stares at me. “I would have said the very same thing.”
I like having you here, I think as I stare back at him.
“When do you start your new job?” Maxime asks.
“Next Monday,” I say. “I can’t wait. It’s the break I’ve been waiting for.”
“Didn’t you get a lot of offers after Is It Love? aired?”
“None that I wanted. I received some offers for entertainment reporting in L.A., but that’s not what I went to school to do. My agent was furious I turned them down, but I had to stay true to myself. More so after what
happened on Is It Love?”
“I admire that about you.”
“Thank you. Charlotte set up some initial discussions to do a cookbook for the Bake It! magazine people, but after a lot of thought, I turned it down. I don’t know how to bake, and that’s trading on the storyline the show created for me. I did the cupcake article for them this month, but that was more about my flavor preferences. I’m drawing the line there. I know JoJo was hoping to collaborate on the cookbook, but luckily she understood where I was coming from.”
“JoJo is a great girl,” Maxime says. “She’s good for Cade.”
I nod. Cade Callahan is Maxime’s teammate and the love of JoJo’s life. They were the reason Maxime and I reconnected in the first place.
“They got engaged fast, but with them, it seems right,” I say. They began dating this past fall and got engaged last month during the Mountain Lions’ break in January.
“What they have is real,” Maxime concedes. “Cade is one of my best friends. He loves her, and once he knew it, he wanted to marry her. For him, love is very straightforward.”
“And it’s not for you?”
“You don’t miss anything, do you?”
I’m about to answer when my stomach unleashes a hideous sound that practically bounces off the walls of my living room. It’s the kind of sound that says I haven’t eaten in days, despite having had bread with sprinkles a short while ago. I feel my face grow hot in embarrassment. Shit. There’s no way he didn’t hear that.
It was so loud that I’m pretty sure the guy living across the hall heard it.
Maxime bursts out laughing. “What was that? Was that your stomach?”
Oh my God. My stomach has a history of releasing hideous sounds at the most inopportune times, like in a classroom when it’s dead silent, or when the audio guy is putting a mic on me.
Or apparently when I’m in front of a sexy Belgian hockey player, who is now staring at me in disbelief that my body can produce such amazing sounds.
“Okay. I know it sounds like the Abominable Snowman from Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, but yes, that was my stomach.”
Maxime looks completely lost now.
“I have no idea what you just said. What are you talking about?”
