Chapter 20 Max

Chapter 20

Max

I've lost my mind.

Madness has taken over, infecting me with the absurd idea of bringing this shitty house back to life. I'm not entirely sure what came over me in the days since the concert, but I woke up one morning with the burning desire to finish what Dad and I had started years ago. Maybe it's Ella. She's allowed me to believe that broken things don't always need to stay in ruins.

My heart, for one.

And now…this house.

In a passing conversation with my neighbor, Chevy, I mentioned the blossoming idea, thinking he'd look at me like I'd grown a second head. But he didn't. All he said was, "When do we start?"

I've quickly realized that restoration is no joke. It's hard, grueling, and time-consuming. It's easier to let something rot away than to restore it.

But as I glance across the street at Ella pedaling down her driveway on her red bike with the sun in her hair and a smile on her lips, I know that it's not impossible.

She skids to a stop in front of my yard, planting both feet on the ground. "Hey," she greets me. The smile sticks, despite the fact that I was a heartbeat away from kissing her last week at the music festival. Luckily, I refused to let us simmer in awkwardness, so I taped a list to her bedroom window on Monday morning before school:

Reasons Why You Shouldn't Avoid Me Forever

1. You'd miss my amazing lists too much.

2. Who will you play Pooh sticks with? Yourself? Lame and you know it.

3. We still haven't arm wrestled yet. A life filled with regret is a life wasted.

—Max

It was dumb but seemed to do the trick. Ella ate lunch with me by the willow tree at school that afternoon and every day since. I haven't tried to kiss her again, even though it's all I've thought about. While I've made peace with my shifting and growing feelings for Ella, I realize her walls are more shatterproof than mine. Just like this old house, it's going to take time and patience to mend what's broken and build something new.

"What are you up to?" she asks, glancing at the tools strewn across my front lawn.

"Fixing up the house."

Her eyebrows swing up to her hairline. "Really?"

"Chevy offered to help me. He's already renovating this huge property a mile from here, so he knows his stuff and has a ton of leftover materials. McKay offered, too, but I'm not holding my breath with him." I pop a hammer in the air, giving it a twirl, then catch it by the handle. "I figure it might take months, maybe even a year, but it'll get there eventually. Progress is inevitable when you put in the work."

Chevy jogs over to us from the adjacent yard, wearing a backward ball cap and a grease-stained tank. He's covered in tattoos, putting my singular tattoo to shame. Chevy is a midthirties bachelor who lives by himself and always has a thousand projects going on at one time. Auto repairs, house flips, landscaping, you name it.

"Hey, darling." He nods at Ella as he approaches, a few pieces of a honey-blond hair sprouting from underneath the cap. "Is Max putting you to work?"

She wrinkles her nose, shifting her weight on the bike. "No, I'm heading into town to grab coffee with Brynn. I've given up on the job hunt at this point, so I'll settle for drowning my sorrows in a lethal amount of espresso."

"That'll do the trick," he says.

"Thank you for the bike, by the way. Sorry I haven't said that yet."

I blink. Whoops.

"Uh, sure." Chevy glances at me and flips his hat around. "I fixed it up and gave it to Max years ago when he was still a kid. I'm glad someone is getting use out of it again."

I don't say anything as I stare at Ella and rub the back of my neck.

Realization dawns, filling her eyes. Her lips thin and she nods slowly, gaze fixed on me. "Yeah," she murmurs. "I'm glad, too."

The sound of the screen door creaking open behind us has me whirling around, my attention locking on my father, who hobbles onto the porch step.

He leans forward on his cane, his pants two sizes too big and drooping off his hips. "Is this the pretty girl you brought to the dance?" he wonders, motioning at Ella.

All of my worlds are colliding. I stumble for a response, my throat thick. "Yeah, Dad. This is Ella. She lives across the street."

Ella tosses her bike down and moves across the yard. "Nice to finally meet you, Mr. Manning."

"Call me Chuck." His face lights up. "Did my son get you flowers?"

Sighing, I rub the space between my eyes and wish for a swift death. "Dad, c'mon. She has somewhere to be."

"He did, actually," she replies. "Orange roses."

"Orange?" He frowns. "Interesting. Never gotten those before."

"Orange is my favorite color."

"Suits you. Hey, why don't you come by for dinner this weekend? I'm making brisket."

My eyes pop and I rush forward, stepping between my father and Ella. There's no way she's coming over for dinner. I will take out a credit card and fly her first class to Italy for the most authentic, expensive Italian cuisine I can find before I subject her to the inside of that embarrassing house and Dad's drunken outbursts. No way. "Ella doesn't eat brisket."

She huffs. "I love brisket. Thank you for the invitation. I'm free tomorrow."

"No, you're not." I turn to fully face her, my eyes pleading. "We have that thing."

"What thing?"

"The thing with the… thing . I can't believe you forgot about the thing."

Chevy tries to come to my rescue. "I remember the thing. It's a stellar thing. You can't miss it."

Ella glances between the three of us, chewing on her thumbnail. Her shoulders slacken for a breath and I think she's about to concede. But then she straightens, stretches a full-toothed grin, and bobs her head at my father. "I'll be over at six." She waves and retreats.

Shit.

Dad looks positively slap-happy. The newfound twinkle in his eyes should have me beaming with relief if I didn't have a heap of damage control dropped into my lap. Chevy sends me an apologetic look before I bolt and chase Ella over to her bike. "Ella, hold up."

She ignores me and begins to pedal, her pace slow and sluggish as she rides up an incline.

"Ella." I jog beside her, watching her auburn hair fan out behind her. "You can't come over for dinner. Dad hasn't cooked in a decade. We don't even have a real oven." Shame heats my cheeks, but I keep jogging beside her, my gait quickening to a run when she picks up speed.

"You think I'm one to judge?" she scoffs, already out of breath. "I'm still living out of boxes because I can't bear to go through some of my old things."

"We barely have walls."

"That's fine. I'll be too busy eating brisket to notice the walls."

"I'm serious. I'll take you out to dinner if you really want to have a date with me." She side-eyes me with a squinty glare. "There's a place off Braxton. They have great risotto."

"I prefer brisket."

"Dammit, Sunny. Slow down so we can talk about this."

"Can't be late for coffee." Ella glances at me, then at my swiftly moving feet like she can't believe I'm keeping up with her. She pedals faster. "See you tomorrow at six." Lifting up, she uses all her strength to ride ahead of me until I give up and slow to a defeated stop in the middle of the road.

I scrub both hands over my face, wondering if I can make history by renovating a house in twenty-four hours.

Fuck my life.

***

I have to put a stop to this.

The moment I see Ella arrive home at dusk and park her bicycle along the side of her house, I slip on my shoes. I wait a few minutes for her to settle inside while I pace the living room and peer out the unglazed window, tug down the cheap roller blinds, then storm out the front door. Dad is sleeping. He'll probably be sleeping tomorrow, too, when Ella comes over for make-believe brisket. And that's if he's not passed-out drunk on whiskey.

The horror of that probable scenario has me racing across the street in record time.

When I make it to her front porch, I knock softly. Footsteps approach and the door widens, revealing a middle-aged woman wearing a blush loungewear set. Two green eyes, a shade darker than Ella's, flare when she spots me hovering in the doorway with my hands buried in my pockets. "Oh, hello there."

"Hi." I locate my manners and step forward, extending a hand. "Max Manning."

She greets me with a surprised smile. "Candice. Are you looking for Ella?"

"Yeah, is she home?" I know she's home, but I don't want my first real impression with Ella's mother to give off stalker vibes, so I attempt to look oblivious.

"She just got home. She's in her room."

"Thank you."

"Max," Candice adds before I make my way down the hall. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you more than just in passing. I never did thank you for saving my daughter's life that day at the lake."

"Oh, uh…" I pause to scratch the back of my neck. "I'm glad I was there. Right place, right time."

"You two have become close, yes?"

"Pretty close. We're friends."

"Did you get her those roses?" Her eyes drift to the kitchen table in the adjoining room where a cerulean-blue vase holds the slightly drooping bouquet.

Those flowers are haunting me.

I fold in my lips and nod.

"Well, they're lovely." She grins brightly. "Let me know if I can make some food for you two."

"I appreciate that. I won't stay long… We're just working on a project together. For school." When she sees me off with another warm smile, I traipse down the short hallway until I land at a closed door. There are three closed doors, but this one has a custom wooden hanger dangling from a nail in the frame in the shape of a horse, personalized with Ella's name in block letters.

Bingo.

I forget to knock and whip open the bedroom door.

Then I freeze.

Ella whirls around to face me, wearing only a lacy black bra and matching panties. She gapes at me, mouth hitching with surprise.

As for me, I just stand there staring at her, not moving, my own lips parted with shock. With more than shock. My gaze rolls over her curves and alabaster skin in slow motion before drawing back up to her face and mess of static-infused hair.

I'm still not moving.

Not. Moving.

"Max, get out! Jeez!" she shrieks, her cheeks flaming. Instinct has her grabbing a bed quilt off the mattress and wrapping herself up like a mortified burrito.

"Right. Shit. Sorry." Still not moving.

She throws a slipper at me.

"Christ…I'm going," I fluster before swiftly exiting the bedroom and closing the door behind me. I lean against the wood and take a deep breath, begging my nether regions to calm the hell down. As I drop my head back, the horse nameplate falls on me and everything is chaos.

I'm putting it back into place when the door pulls open again and Ella stands before me, newly clothed in pajama pants and a tank top that's flipped backward, the tag poking out through the top of her chest.

I blink at her.

"Did my mother let you in?"

"Yes." Blowing out a breath, I do everything in my power to cleanse my mind of the last thirty seconds but fail tremendously. "Sorry. I should have knocked first."

"You think?" Blotches of bright pink dapple her cheeks and neck as she avoids eye contact.

"Can I come in now?"

"No." She swallows, crosses her arms. "Fine."

I sweep past her into the bedroom and try not to trip over the wadded-up blanket on the floor. When I collapse on the edge of the mattress, I brave a glance at her. "I'm used to climbing through your window. I thought the door was a step up."

"Knocking is standard etiquette in both scenarios."

"Noted." I twist my lips and track her as she flits around the room, tossing laundry into bins and stacking textbooks into piles. "How was coffee?"

"It was great. The barista there is super cool. Her hair is blue."

"Impossible to be below average with blue hair."

She throws me a small grin but then it dissolves. "Andy and some guys from school came by for coffee and entertained me with their lack of intelligence, so that was fun."

My hackles rise. "Did you punch them in the face? Please say yes."

"No. I enjoy having a clean record, thank you."

"Self-defense, obviously. Their existence is offensive."

A chuckle slips out. "In Andy's mind, he was on good behavior, I'm sure. All he did was order a coffee with cherry syrup and make a comment about popping my cherry."

"He made a comment about wanting to take your virginity?" I stand from the bed, every muscle going rigid as I stalk across the room to where she's standing by her desk. The top is littered with bookbinding accessories, ivory-and-cream paper stacks, and an assortment of multicolored crafts. It's a little literary oasis of fairy tales and imagination.

I cross my arms and stare at her, awaiting her response.

Ella appears nonplussed. "Yep. I suppose when it comes to goals, you should always set the bar high. After the girl he's dating scribbled the word ‘whore' on my locker last week, I snapped and told them all I was a virgin. Now that's the new angle—getting in my pants."

"You're, uh…not interested, of course." I'm clearly fishing. I hover beside her as she aimlessly organizes her desk and then skips over to do the same with her bookcase. It's like she's trying to physically run away from the topic.

"Am I interested in losing my virginity to one of those creeps?" Disgust has her nose scrunching up. "Eww. No. God."

Relief swims through me. I reach for her and curl my fingers loosely around her wrist, pulling her attention away from the scattered books. Her eyes flick to my hand, then up to my face. I have no idea what prompts the next statement, but it probably has something to do with the fact that I just saw her half-naked and now we're discussing sex. "So…you are a virgin."

She frowns. "Don't act so surprised. I told you I was."

"I didn't know if the status had changed since you last told me."

"That was only a couple of weeks ago, Max. And if it does happen to change…you'd be the first to know."

"I would?"

"Sure. Cross my heart. If I ever uncross my legs, there's no way you wouldn't know. Immediately. Firsthand."

I sense some kind of hidden meaning, so I squint at her. "Why is that?"

"Because…" She sighs before looking away and then back to me. Nerves skate across her face as her cheekbones tinge a rosy shade of pink. "If I had any desire to lose my virginity, it would probably be with you."

I stop breathing.

I think I make a choking sound.

Fainting and subsequent humiliation are bound to follow, so I swallow hard and inhale a shuddery breath. "Me?"

Blinking repeatedly, she pulls away and stalks to the other side of the room, now interested in a cobweb in the corner. Pulling a duster from a drawer, she swats the webs away. "That part is irrelevant."

Excuse me? I chase her down. "It's not irrelevant to me, Ella." Her face is beet red but she emits cool composure as she returns the duster to the drawer and turns her back to me. This girl just confessed in a roundabout way that she wants to sleep with me. There are a thousand questions teasing my tongue, but all I can muster is, "Why me?"

Ella clears her throat and offers a small shrug. "I mean…you're basically my best friend. And I trust you."

My heart beats like a caged bird longing for the sky. Her words are a shot of sunlight to my veins. Still, I try to act unruffled as I tilt my head and study her through narrowed eyes. I search her profile when she twists around, then fold my arms, trying to keep the smugness out of my tone. "Generally, sex involves some level of attraction. Are you attracted to me, Sunny?"

Her cheeks pinken further. "No, eww, never," she rushes out. "Maybe it's just something to do eventually and I might as well do it with someone I don't find repulsive."

"That's so bleak."

"If I've given you any reason to believe my thoughts veer in a more frolicsome direction, I truly apologize. I'm ashamed."

Sighing, I run my tongue along my top teeth. "Presumptuous of you to assume I'd be interested."

"You would be."

"What makes you so sure?"

She faces me and arcs a brow. "You're an eighteen-year-old straight male. And despite my laundry list of personality flaws, I'm not a monstrous ogre. Physically, I'm at least a six-point-five. Maybe a seven." She shrugs again. "Also, you're staring at my boobs right now."

My gaze shoots back up. "You have a little mole on your chest. I've always thought it was cute. It's shaped like a T. rex ."

Ella fidgets, bouncing from foot to foot. "Fine." She clears her throat, glances up at the ceiling. "Seven-point-five. For the intriguing dinosaur mole. But that's where I tap out."

A grin spreads and I catch the way her gaze falls back down and settles on my mouth for a beat. She swallows, flicks her eyes up to mine, then swivels around and runs away from me.

Again.

"Ella. Come on." Begrudgingly, I chase her down for the third time as she glides across the room to make her bed. I watch her gather the giant blanket on the floor and drape it over the mattress. "You can't just drop that bomb on me and pretend nothing has changed."

"Nothing has to change. I was just being honest."

"I like your honesty. But honesty usually comes with a follow-up conversation. You just said you wanted to have sex with me."

She fluffs her pillows, smacking them multiple times until they're the opposite of fluffed. They are now flattened, cotton pancakes at the head of her bed. "I didn't say that. I said if I wanted to sleep with someone, it would probably be with you. But I also told you I was dying a virgin, so do the math."

I stare at her for a few beats, processing the situation. Doing the math.

The math is in the way she leaned out my truck window and bared her soul to me, crying while our hands locked together, her heart bleeding out of her as I picked up the pieces and kept some for my own safekeeping.

The science is in the way she melted against me at the concert with my favorite songs alive in the air, filling me with hope and promise.

The chemistry is in the way she lights up, brighter than any Taurid meteor shower, every time our eyes meet.

I'm good at math.

The math only adds up to one thing.

I come up behind her until my torso is nearly flush with her spine. Startled, she whirls around, her palms flying up and gently splaying across my chest. She doesn't back away. She gazes up at me with wide, curious eyes, waiting for me to speak.

I school my expression to stay passive. I keep my racing heart in check and do everything I can to keep the quiver out of my voice. "Well…you were right about one thing," I tell her, bending slightly until my lips brush the shell of her ear. "I would be interested."

Fuck it —I might as well be honest, too.

She trembles, inhaling a sharp breath, fingers curling and pressing into the hard planks of my chest.

Ella loves to pretend she's unaffected by me, despite the hand-holding, the heated looks, the compliments and flirting. Her aloof disposition serves as a coping mechanism, gives her power, and it keeps her in survival mode. Because of that, I've respected her brush-offs and stone walls. I let her pretend because that's what she needs to get by.

But she can't pretend right now.

I feel her skin heat. I see her eyes hood. Her breaths are coming quicker and her chest is heaving up and down with anticipation. She's responsive.

She feels me. Everywhere.

Leaning in closer, I murmur, "You were right about that, but you were wrong about something."

Her eyes flutter closed. "What's that?" she asks breathlessly.

I place a soft, featherlight kiss on her temple, drag my lips down her cheek, then whisper in her ear. "You're a fucking ten."

And then I step away.

Her eyes open slowly, like my words were a drug to her veins. She doesn't say anything and just watches me retreat as her arms make a languid descent back to her sides, swaying on shaky legs.

"I'll be over at five thirty tomorrow night," I say, my voice gravelly as I saunter over to her bedroom door. "You're not coming over for dinner. I'm taking you out."

"Max—"

I don't let her argue and walk out of the room, all while pretending like that tiny kiss to the side of her head wasn't the greatest moment of my life.