That never meant good news.

“Okay. What is it?” She braced herself.

“I know we talked about this some a while ago—not specifics, but just in general—but that was when things were different and I feel like things have changed, so I wanted to ask about it again— ”

Okay, now she needed him to cut to the chase. He was usually way more articulate than this. Was he breaking up with her?

“Max. What are you getting at?”

He rubbed his face and put his plate down onto the coffee table.

“I guess I’d better just say it: have you given any more thought—or any at all, actually—to us going public about this?”

Oh. Not a breakup.

The opposite of a breakup, really.

“Oh. I didn’t expect . . . that’s not what I thought you were . . .” She laughed out loud. “Max Powell, please do me a favor and never say ‘I have to talk to you about something’ again to me like that. Because I thought you were about to break up with me.”

Max sat back, his mouth wide open, then leaned forward and grabbed her hands.

“First, I’ll never say that again. Second, breaking up with you is the last thing I want to do.”

She kissed him on the cheek.

“Same here. But . . . you want to go public?”

He squeezed her hands.

“I understand if you’re not ready for that yet, just say the word, and it’s fine. But the thing is, I was thinking all week about last weekend. How we ran into that reporter, and part of me—a lot of me—wondered if it really would be the end of the world if she recognized me with you. And then I killed it in my speech—not to be arrogant, but . . .” He grinned at her, and she grinned back. “And when I finished, and I knew it had been great, I looked around the room, and I realized I was looking for you out there. Even though I knew you weren’t there, I wanted to be able to introduce you to people I’ve known for years, and meet your sister with you by my side instead of with knowing glances on both of our parts. And . . . it was more than that. Those things are a lot sometimes, and I wished so much that you were there. That I’d have you with me for a boost, or a smirk, or some sympathy.”

She hadn’t realized until right now how much she’d hated staying back in his hotel room while he was at the fundraiser. How much she’d wanted to be there with him, see him make his speech, introduce him to Alexa herself.

“And the thing is . . .” Max looked straight into her eyes. “That thing Wes said, when I first told him about you, and he was skeptical, and he said to make sure it was something real before anyone found out about us, for your sake as well as mine—this feels real to me. Does it feel real to you?”

She looked down at their joined hands.

“Yes,” she said in a low voice. Sometimes it felt like she’d made this whole thing up, especially when she randomly turned on the TV or the radio and there was Max. But whenever she was with him, the connection between the two of them felt so real, so solid, it overwhelmed her.

“Good,” he said. “Do you . . . What do you think?”

Beeeep.

They broke apart, startled. Then Max laughed and pulled his phone out of his pocket.

“It’s the pie! I set my alarm for it. I’ll be right back.”

Olivia stayed where she was as Max raced into the kitchen. She was grateful for the extra time to figure out how to answer his question. A few minutes later, he came out with a big grin on his face.

“Well, the good news is that it looks like a pie, anyway. The bad news is we’re supposed to let it cool for a while, which I didn’t quite realize.”

He sat back down on the couch and looked expectantly at her. She took a deep breath.

“This does feel real to me,” she said. “And in a perfect world, we wouldn’t have worried about that reporter, and I’d be there with you at that fundraiser, and to meet my family, and all of that. But . . . how big a deal do you think this is going to be? I don’t really have any concept of how this will all work, or how many people will care.”

He gripped her hand.

“I really don’t think people will care all that much—maybe enough for a few news stories, if it’s slow, but I think that’ll be all.”

She trusted him, but . . .

“Some people might really care that you’re dating a Black woman,” she said.

He pulled her close.

“Some, definitely, but then, I couldn’t give a fuck what those people think anyway. But I completely understand if that makes you hesitant, especially in the current climate.”

She thought about that for a moment.

“It does make me hesitant, but I don’t want to give assholes like that power over my life.” She pulled back so she could see him. “You’re sure about doing this? Really sure? It feels like . . . a big step.”

He looked her straight in the eye.

“As sure as I was when I heard your laugh at the bar, and knew I couldn’t leave without talking to you. As sure as I was when I saw you across that luncheon and knew I couldn’t let you leave my life again. I’ve been sure about you since the moment I met you.”

She could feel tears come to her eyes, and fought them back.

“Damn it, Max! Whenever I try to get serious and cautious, you say things that go right to my heart and it always makes me want to throw caution to the wind. Please never ask me to jump out of an airplane; you’ll hypnotize me with that damn cupid’s arrow of yours, and before I know it I’ll be falling to my death.”