10. Maxwell

Chapter ten

Maxwell

T he kitchen was modern, warm, and bright. The rich scent of chocolate and spices filled the air, but I barely noticed any of it. My attention was fixed on the woman moving around the space, the one who was doing her best to pretend she didn’t know exactly who I was.

Sylvie.

Five years hadn’t changed her much. Her hair was shorter now, but she still moved with that same quiet grace. She still had that stubborn set to her jaw when she was concentrating, though. The way she was concentrating now, very deliberately not meeting my eyes as she pulled mugs down from a cabinet.

“Hot chocolate?” she asked, her voice carefully neutral. “Or would you prefer coffee?”

“Coffee is fine,” I watched her reach for ground coffee beans and noticed the slight tremor in her hands. “You know, it’s funny, you remind me of this girl I met in a bar just outside of Portland. She made me coffee too, though I seem to remember she liked adding whiskey to it. It was a little place called The Rusty Nail. You ever been there?”

Her movements faltered for just a second. Barely noticeable, but I caught it.

“The Rusty Nail?” Her tone was light, disinterested. Too light. Too disinterested. “I can’t say I know it.”

“You sure about that?” I leaned against the counter, close enough that I could catch her scent—vanilla and something wild underneath, just like I remembered. “Because I distinctly remember drinking with a beautiful werewolf there. Right before she helped me take down one of the most dangerous gangs in the Pacific Northwest.”

Sylvie’s hands stilled on the counter. For a long moment, she didn’t move, didn’t speak. Then, very quietly, “That was a long time ago.”

“Not that long.” I kept my voice low, aware of werewolf hearing in the house. “Five years, two months, and about sixteen days. But who’s counting?”

She turned then, finally meeting my eyes. “What do you want, Maxwell?”

The directness of her stare hit me, and I almost took a step back. Those eyes—warm brown with flecks of gold—were exactly as I remembered them. I’d spent months searching for those eyes after she disappeared.

“I want to know why you ran.” The words came out rougher than I intended. “After everything—after that night—you just vanished. Why? I thought something had happened to you.”

“I had to disappear,” she said, wrapping her arms around herself. “After what I did … giving up Grace’s location … I couldn’t—“

“You saved lives,” I cut in. “That gang was out of control. Your sister was out of control. They had already killed three humans. They were going to kill a fuckload more people if we didn’t stop them. You did the right thing.”

“Did I?” Her laugh was bitter. “I betrayed my own sister.”

“No. Your sister betrayed you when she dragged you into that situation. She was supposed to protect you, not expose you to all that.” I stepped closer, close enough to see the faint freckles across her nose. I remembered tracing those with my fingertips. “The gang is still in jail, where they belong. Nobody else got hurt. That’s because of you.”

Sylvie shook her head, turning back to the counter. “That’s not how I remember it.”

“No? Well, if you had stayed around after, I would have made damn sure that was what you remembered.”

She looked up at me, a fucking adorable little wrinkle between her eyes. “Why?”

“Because what you did was fucking brave. Because the night I spent with you was the best night of my life. Because you deserve to be told what a fucking incredible person you are every minute of every day.”

“I wasn’t brave. I was terrified. And then we had that night together and … and I told you everything and …” She broke off, her cheeks flushing.

“You know why it was the best night of my life?”

She shook her head.

“Not because my brother and I had been trying to shut that gang down for months, and you gave up the information that enabled us to finally get that done. But because for one night, I got to spend time with this girl who was wild and free and so fucking full of life. She was the strongest girl I had ever met. It took a fuckload of guts to do what you did.”

The blush deepened on her cheeks. “I was different then.”

“No.” I shook my head. “You’re still that same woman. You might lie to yourself and lie to the folks here, but I see her in there. She ain’t gone. No matter how hard you try to cover her up or hide her away.” I stepped closer, close enough that she had to tip her head back to keep looking at me. “I see you, Sylvie.”

For a moment, something flickered in her eyes—a flash of the wild, free spirit I’d glimpsed that night. Then she lowered her eyes and looked away. “I need to make the coffee.”

I caught her wrist gently as she reached for the mugs. “I thought I’d found the girl for me, and then she disappeared on me. I spent six months looking for you after that night.” I watched her shoulders tense. “I never stopped thinking about you. Never stopped wondering where you were, if you were okay.” I ran my thumb over her pulse point, felt it jump under my touch. “Finding you here … it feels like fate.”

“There’s no such thing as fate.” But her voice wavered.

“Then call it luck. Or Christmas magic.” I smiled. “Either way, I’m not letting you disappear on me again.”

She pulled her hand free, and I almost laughed at the deer-in-headlights look on her face.

“What, you thought it was over between us? Nah, babe, it’s only just begun.”