An Ounce of Hope (A Pound of Flesh #2)(48)

“Thank you, but I have my latte already,” Grace answered, lifting the cup.

In the glass of the window, Max could see her reflection. Her face, smiling, but timid. He wasn’t about to step in, though, not unless she looked to be truly freaking out. Besides, Tate was harmless. An *, but harmless all the same.

“Hey, Max,” she said suddenly, bringing his gaze back. “Could you meet me at the cottage by the stream later? I’m working through lunch at the bar but I can be there for three thirty.” She seemed nervous.

“Should I be worried?”

“Oh, no. I just need your help with something.”

“I’ll be there.”

She smiled, the reticence fading. “Great. It was nice meeting you, Tate.”

“The pleasure was all mine, Grace.” Tate’s eyes never left her until she disappeared down the street.

Max waited with bated breath.

“Okay,” Tate ordered with an index finger pressed into the table. “Fucking spill. Who is she and why the hell haven’t you talked about her before? And don’t give me any of that running partner bullshit. She’s hot for you and if you aren’t hitting that, I’m revoking your man card right f*cking now.”

Max laughed despite himself. “She’s not hot for me. It’s not like that.”

Tate gaped, mouth and palms open, looking too much like his brother, Riley. “She’s so hot for you, how can you— Look, whatever. Why are you not all over her like a damned rash?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be warning me off women?”

Tate blanched. “Why the hell would I do that?”

Max shrugged. “The whole relationships aren’t a good idea during recovery spiel?”

Tate gave an innocuous blink. “Well, yeah, but who the hell’s talking about a relationship?”

Max snorted and ran a hand through his hair. “We’re friends.”

“With benefits?”

Max stared at his cup. “Sort of.”

Tate sat back, grabbed his cane at his side, and took a deep breath. “We need more coffee and one of those f*cking muffins”—he stood—“and then you are gonna tell me everything.”

It was going to be a long-ass morning.

At three thirty, Max arrived at the cottage. It was a gorgeous day. The sky was clear and the smell of the upcoming summer wafted on the hazy breeze. Grace stood by the stream, her camera to her face as it always was, while she took pictures of the water. She was dressed in a denim skirt, which landed midthigh, a white vest, which made her skin appear lusciously darker, and flip-flops. She’d fastened the top of her hair so the rest fell down her back in jet-black waves and curls. She looked understatedly sexy.

Max made sure he made enough noise to alert her to his presence. She looked up and smiled wide and undisputedly happy. Tate’s words echoed in Max’s head. Was she hot for him? There was most definitely a mutual attraction. She wouldn’t have asked him to sleep with her if there wasn’t, right? He pulled his shades off and gave himself a mental slap. He needed to chill the f*ck out. Enough with the overthinking.

“You’re here,” she said.

He opened his arms wide. “Said I would be.”

She made an eek face. “You might not be when I tell you why you’re here.”

Max frowned. “Hit me.”

She fisted her hands together, her fingers turning to knots. “So last week when I saw my brother, he told me that I’ve been commissioned for an art and photography exhibition at the end of August.”

Max grinned. “That’s amazing.”

Grace flushed. “Yeah, it is. It’s the first since . . . well, everything, and I’m nervous as hell. My brother’s pulled various strings with some friends, but it’s great. It’s a lot of space to fill, but I won’t let that worry me.”

“So what do you need me for?”

She took a deep breath. “I was wondering if you’d let me take some pictures of you.” Max opened his mouth to protest with a huge, fat “f*ck no” but Grace beat him to it. “They’re not portraits or anything,” she assured him. “In fact, people won’t even know it’s you. It’ll be parts of you.”

Max’s hands found his hips. “Parts of me.”

“Mmhm. Like your arms.” She lifted her hand but kept it from touching him. “Your chest.” The nervous demeanor he’d seen in the coffee shop returned, her expression wary, guarded.

She’d never been that way with Max and he wasn’t about to let her start. Without thought, he took a step forward. Grace’s hand splayed against his chest, directly above his heart. Her palm burned hot through his tee. A small gasp escaped her at the same time her large eyes snapped to his, all emerald shine and beautiful.

“You can touch me,” Max told her gently. “Don’t be afraid. Not of me.”

She swallowed but didn’t move away. Instead, she opened her fingers wider and pressed her palm more firmly against him. An expression of determination hardened her features.

“All right,” she whispered. “I’d also want pictures of your face.” She lifted her hand gradually, took his chin between her thumb and forefinger, and turned his head to the side. “This part.” She traced an invisible line from the corner of his eye to the edge of his mouth with the tip of her finger. “No one would know it’s you.”