Chapter Thirteen
Max could not remember the last time he was this nervous. An actual date. Was he ready for this? Did he even know how to do this? You used to be fantastic at this, he told his reflection in the rearview mirror as he pulled up to Heather’s apartment Friday night. This is just fantastic Max on wheels, remember?
It wasn’t true. No matter how he tried to talk himself out of it, Heather wasn’t just any girl. Something in him had come completely unwound when he’d kissed her, something he wasn’t quite ready to let loose. Imagine that—me not ready to let loose on something. He ran his hands through his hair one last time. Get a grip, Jones. You used to be so much smoother than this.
He pulled up Heather’s number on his cell phone and called.
“Hi.” She picked up right away, a bit breathless. Her anticipation zinged through him. How long had it been since he’d felt the wonderful buzz of a first date? Startled, Max realized he’d kissed Heather before he’d started dating her. That was a first. Taking the time to get to know a woman before he dated her wasn’t the usual Max Jones style.
“I’d come to your door, but that might set us back another twenty minutes.” He tried to make a joke of it, but the fact that Heather’s apartment was a second-story walk-up stung just a little bit too much.
“I’ll be down in a jiffy.” Max craned his neck up to see her waving out her front window.
Max clicked his phone off and then checked again to see that the passenger seat was set in right. He had no intention of making Heather ride in the back tonight.
She pulled open the door to her building and paused in the light of the entrance. Max wondered if her breath hitched the way his just did. For years JJ had lectured him on the difference between “a hot girl” and “a beautiful woman”—and it had just sunk in. Heather was beautiful. Not just in the way she filled out the peach-colored dress she wore or the way her hair swung about her shoulders, but in who she was and the light in her eyes. The pain in her eyes, too. She was so much braver than she gave herself credit for, so much stronger than she realized. And this amazing woman was about to get into his car and have dinner with him. Him, the guy in a chair. Tonight, just about anything seemed possible.
It bugged him that he couldn’t open the door for her. She didn’t seem to mind, easing herself into the passenger seat and smiling at him. “You said to dress up a bit—is this okay?” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
Okay didn’t even begin to describe how she looked. “You look incredible.” Every ounce of cool aloofness left his voice, and he found he didn’t care.
She flushed, and Max felt a glow settle under his ribs. “You look pretty good yourself. You should look beyond your T-shirt collection more often.” She fastened her seat belt. “Where are we going?”
Max had chosen the restaurant with care. “The Black Swan.”
Her eyes went wide. “The Black Swan? Can you get in there?” As if she realized the discomfort of that question, she backpedaled. “Of course you can get in there, right?”
It was too late. The dent in Max’s confidence had already been made. Well, they were both new at this—no one could expect a completely smooth ride tonight. “I called and checked. Besides, they legally have to have a way for me to enter. Although I did get the feeling they don’t do a lot of wheel traffic.” In fact, the maître d’, Jeremy, had been effusively confident—something Max had learned to take as a warning sign. He’d almost switched restaurants after the phone conversation, but The Black Swan was the nicest restaurant in town and he wanted to do tonight right.
He pulled into the handicapped spot right out front. “I’m probably the only person in Gordon Falls who never had to complain about how hard it is to get a parking spot on Tyler Street on a Friday night.”
She laughed, but a tiny bit too much.
“They’ve got a ramp that fits over the front stair. Why don’t you go in and let the maître d’ know we’re here while I get out of the car?”
He was pleased she didn’t seem fazed by the request. “Sure thing.”
She slipped out of the car, and with a mild rush Max noted her scent in the wake. Something flowery with a little bit of vanilla. It made him want to get her close to him and take deep breaths until his head spun. Easy, boy. Take your time with this one.
By the time he’d come out of the car, he saw Heather looking frazzled while a pair of busboys fumbled with a metal ramp. “I don’t think they’ve used this before,” she told him with a cringe.
“Really?” Max forced the frustration from his voice, trying to sound as if this sort of thing happened every day—which, unfortunately, it did. “Whatever gave you that idea?” Thankfully, the model in question was one he had seen before. He rolled up and pointed to the end at the bottom of the stair. “It goes the other way, boys. The lip goes on top. Slip the pins in before you put it back down and everything will be just fine.” He raised one eyebrow to Heather. “We ought to hint at a free dessert for this.”
A small crowd of people had gathered on the sidewalk to see what the fuss was about. Heather bit her lip and clutched her handbag. “It’s fine,” he assured her, touching her elbow. “Just minor logistics.”
She flashed him a too-wide smile. “Sure.” She was trying so hard.
Normally, Max enjoyed making an entrance. He was jazzed to be able to show the good people of Gordon Falls that a guy on wheels could take a lady out for a nice evening. Fine dining wasn’t always his thing—no one could call him a “foodie” unless Dellio’s burgers counted as cuisine—but he knew his way around an upscale table like The Black Swan. As long as the maître d’ didn’t—
“Good evening, ma’am.”
—direct all his comments toward Heather. Right here, right now, was the absolute worst part about being in a chair. The people who looked down on him. Not just physically—he’d long since stopped letting sight lines bother him—but figuratively. As if the loss of leg function implied loss of brain function.
“Jeremy,” Max cut in perhaps more sharply than was necessary, “I believe we have reservations under Jones for seven o’clock? You and I talked on the phone this afternoon?”
Jeremy had the good sense to look sheepish. “Of course.”
“You might want to have a talk with those two working the ramp out front. They don’t seem to have any idea what they’re doing, and I’d like to exit the place in one piece when we’re done.”
“Certainly.” The guy shot a questioning look at Heather, as if to say, Is he for real? Or perhaps it was I had no idea. The evening would go better if he gave poor Jeremy the benefit of the doubt.
That generosity lasted until Jeremy showed them to a table way off to the side of the restaurant. With no view of the river and entirely too near the kitchen. He tapped Jeremy’s elbow and gestured for him to bend down—knowing that it only made Jeremy more uncomfortable. “I distinctly remember us discussing a table overlooking the river. This is kind of a special occasion. Can we do a little better?” He kept his words kind but put enough bite in them to let Jeremy know he meant business.
Jeremy’s furtive glance around the restaurant soured Max’s stomach. He held the maître d’s gaze and then nodded toward an empty table for two beside the big beautiful windows now framing a dramatic fall sunset.
“Max,” Heather whispered, “it’s okay.”
“No,” Max insisted. “It’s not.” He looked straight at Jeremy. “Do we have a problem?”
“No, sir. I don’t believe we do. Give me just a minute.”
If Jeremy had just kept to his word and cleared a path to the table Max had requested, they would not have had to make the scene of asking two people to stand momentarily and move their chairs aside. Max thought about clueing Jeremy in to Karl’s free-coffee policy, but he decided again
st it. Heather was turning four shades of pink next to him, nearly squinting her eyes shut as the server pulled out her chair and settled her into the lovely table overlooking the river.
“Did you have to do that?” She cringed when the server left.
“Actually, I did. It’s always hard to wake people up to their misconceptions the first time, but I want to be able to take you here anytime I want and be able to request a table like any other patron.” He softened his voice. “This is my world, Heather. Very few things are easy. And I get a lot of stares.”
When she looked down, he reached across the table to take her hand. “But staring at you is very easy. You look fantastic. Really. Can we forget about Monsieur Idiot back there and have a nice dinner?”
He could literally see her choose to be brave. Could other people see her swallow that desire to hide, or was it just him? He usually loved his role as “human icebreaker,” nearly relished the rolling wake-up call his life had become, but knowing the attention made her uncomfortable tainted the experience for him.
Well, what do you know? Max Jones finally cares about someone else ahead of himself. Talk about your wake-up calls.
* * *
The man’s eyes could steal the air from the room.
When Max looked at her like that, Heather fairly tingled. He was this force of energy, this freight train of courage and conviction that never seemed to let anything stop him. She was ready to believe that Max was moving past the bitter anger of his initial response to his injuries. He would be—in many ways already was—a conqueror who tackled one obstacle after another. A man to admire.
A man who was showing off tonight. If Max Jones loved to do anything, it was show off. Normally, she didn’t care much for such theatrics, but the fact that he was showing off for her? It peeled off her reluctance one charming smirk at a time.
“Oh, hey, in all the tussle I almost forgot.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a ridiculously small gift bag. She recognized the pink and yellow from Jeannie Owen’s candy store, and smiled at the vision of Max Jones shopping in all that sugarcoated fluff. Jeannie must have had a field day with Max.
“What’s this?”
“Open it.”
Heather tugged on the tissue until a small, fat marzipan flamingo and a handful of other chocolates emerged. The gift was just like Max, touching and a little bit outrageous at the same time. “A candy flamingo?”
“I saw it in her window yesterday and I couldn’t resist. I remembered the one from your desk the day we met.” Those last words took on a glowing tone she couldn’t ignore. “You thought I was nothing but trouble that day.”
Heather held his eyes a moment. “I was wrong.”
His smile was smoldering. “Oh, I’m still trouble.”
“You’re a fine man. You’re an insp—”
His hand shot up. “Please don’t say inspiration. I hate it when people call me an inspiration. I’m just making the best of the hand I was dealt.”
Why did he always sell himself short on something genuine like that when he was so quick to boast about things that didn’t really matter? “I admire you, and you can’t stop me.” She’d meant it to come out lightly, but the truth of her growing feelings shone through instead.
Now it was his turn to stare into her eyes. “It’s not your admiration I’m looking for.” His eyes glanced away for a second, and he licked his lips. Was he nervous? The realization made her heart flip-flop. “I’m just a man, Heather. Like every other guy out there, only with a pair of wheels.”
She took his hand. His fingers were roughened from all the time they spent pushing his wheels, but they were warm and she could feel all the power he gained from them. “You are not like every other guy out there.” She spoke slowly, sincerely. “And I’m glad.”
He interlaced his fingers with hers, his thumb running distractingly down the side of her hand. “Well, I hope you’re as hungry as you are happy, because I plan for us to eat well tonight.”
He relaxed into the evening as the meal progressed, the sharp comments falling off into something that felt much more like deep conversation. She loved watching the hard shell peel off him, enjoyed asking questions that coaxed the more tenderhearted man she’d glimpsed on his porch that night to come back out. He spent so much energy coping, pushing and blazing trails in the world that it was as if he’d forgotten how to just be. The Max on parade was flashy and fun, but the offstage version was a quieter, doubting, near poet of a guy who was quickly stealing her heart.
A jazz combo had started up earlier on the restaurant’s outdoor patio, the velvety tones perfectly matching the still-warm indigo evening. “Can you really take me dancing?” she asked as she finished off the last of her chocolate cake dessert.
“Ooh, the lady remembers my offer.”
“We did have a rather unforgettable first meeting.”
Max put his napkin on the table and signaled the server. “We’ve had a few memorable moments since then. So you want to dance, do you?”
She felt her face flush. “I’m not really sure how...you...do that.”
His eyes grew downright mischievous. “You worried you’re going to have to lead?”
Suddenly, there was no adventure she wanted more than to dance with Max, however he managed to do it. “I don’t think you know how to follow anyone, Max Jones.”
He paid the bill and nodded toward the door. “We’re going to have to go down by the river, but I think you can still hear the band.”
She gave him a suspicious look. “Are you trying to get me alone?”
“That’s a grand idea, but mostly I just need a little more space than your average prom date.”
Thankfully, the pair of busboys had left the ramp in its correct position, so Max rolled easily out of the restaurant—after two more people had to shift out of his way. Once they were out, he turned the corner and said with a dashing grin, “Hop on.”
“What?”
“You ever ride a grocery cart in the supermarket?”
“Sure, but...”
He tapped his knees. “Same thing, only different.”
Heather didn’t think it was anything like any grocery cart ride she’d ever taken. “Can you...hold me?”
“I’m not made of glass, darlin’, and holding you is the whole idea. I’ll be just fine.”
Feeling a bit ridiculous, Heather climbed gingerly onto Max’s lap. “Keep your hands in your lap and lean to one side a bit so I can see where we’re going.” She followed his instructions, and Max coasted the downhill slope of the street like a carnival ride, going slow enough to make her feel safe but just fast enough to tug a small squeal from her as he turned onto the short stretch of concrete that spread under the patio of The Black Swan. Music and light spilled out into the night, creating their own little dance floor.
The music flowed into a lazy samba, and Max hoisted her out of his chair as if she weighed nothing at all. Keeping one hand on her elbow, he spun her to face him, then took each of her hands in his. “I pull—you push.” Sure enough, she began to move with Max, pushing apart and pulling together like dancing partners. He spun her, and she laughed. “See? You’re a natural.”
Emboldened, Heather lifted up her arm, and Max deftly spun underneath it, catching her waist as he went by and sending her twirling in the opposite direction. Back and forth, spinning in small arcs and big dramatic circles, she enjoyed the dance more than she’d ever have imagined. Max knew how to pull fun from life like no other man she’d met. All the awkwardness of the earlier hours melted away in the lure of his eyes and the strength of his hands.
“Put your foot here,” he coached, nodding to one of his footrests. She tucked her toe in next to his as he pulled one of her hands to his shoulder. She raised herself up on tiptoe besi
de Max on his footrest, the other foot extended out behind her in a playful pirouette. Max spun her around, making her feel like the tiny ballerina on her childhood music box, twirling under the stars in a dazzling finish as the music ended.
Heather curled, slowly and effortlessly, into Max’s lap as if it was the most natural place in all the world to be. He tilted his chin up toward her; the colored lights of the patio above them played across his face and shoulders, lighting the unchecked affection in his eyes. She moved closer, watching her hair tumble around his features until it curtained the moment when her lips met his.
The kiss was sweet and urgent at the same time. It wasn’t a hungry, devouring kind of kiss, but, while it was slow and soft, it was still driven by a need to be close and closer still. Awe. That was what she felt in Max’s kiss. The starstruck wonder that they’d ever met at all. It coupled with her own astonishment that he met such a deep need in her; they matched beyond what either of them ever expected.
She felt him smile and heard a low, delightful laugh rumble from him as she settled down to sit on his knees. Max ran his fingers through her hair, sending tingles out through her fingertips. “That,” he said, his eyes bright as the starlight on the river current behind them, “was officially wonderful.”
She couldn’t help but laugh herself. “You are a very good dancer.”
“Surprised you, did I?”
She leaned in again. “In a million ways.”
Chapter Fourteen
If anyone had told Max he’d spend a Sunday night making a complete idiot out of himself with a Ping-Pong ball and a straw in front of a tableful of teenagers, he’d have laughed in their faces. The youth-group brand of fun was never his thing, even when he was the age to be in one. None of which explained how much he was enjoying himself tonight. This riotous version of “air hockey” had him laughing and puffing so hard he was starting to feel dizzy. With a conspiratorial look to Simon, Max sent the Ping-Pong ball the boy’s way and Simon shot it into the makeshift goal on the opposite site of the table. Victory hoots shot up from “Team Si-Max,” lording their conquest over a gangly sophomore and his uncle, the town banker.
Love Inspired August 2014 – Bundle 1 of 2 Page 33
