“Is your Mom all right?”
“Yeah,” he said, rinsing the bowl and skillet. “Just alone and doesn’t like it.” He turned off the tap and headed back to me. “Today, took care of Mindy’s shit, talked to Bitsy, hit the Station and then went to visit Mom. That’s why I’m late. She wanted to talk and then she wanted me to look at her kitchen sink. Spent part of the afternoon listenin’ to her bitch, another part in the hardware store, another part on my back on the kitchen floor under her sink.”
I looked down to the potatoes, smushing them around and coating the creamy fish, thinking of him taking care of Mindy, Bitsy, his Mom and what that meant about him then mumbling, “It’s good you look after your Mom.”
“It’s good, but isn’t fun.”
I looked at him and said softly, “Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he said softly back then his hand came up and his finger touched my earring. I’d put my new ones in when I put away my shopping, impatient to see the way they looked then I liked the way they looked so I left them in.
“You got ‘em.”
“Yeah.”
He grinned then walked around me.
I grabbed the dish and put it in the pre-heated oven, closed the door, tinkered with the timer and set it. He came back when I went to the other counter, picked up my wine and took a sip.
After I swallowed, Max took my glass, set it on the counter and grabbed my right hand.
His head was bent to look at our hands but he was talking.
I was watching his hands working at mine.
“Went to Karma to get you those earrings you liked, they told me you’d already been by. Jenna was there, local jewelry artist that makes this stuff.” I held my breath as I watched him slide something on my ring finger then he twirled it around and slid it off. “She said she had rings to match, doesn’t make many of them, usually only does it special so she doesn’t sell them in the shop. She ran home to get one and brought it by Mom’s.” He slid the ring on my middle finger and twirled it around then his fingers curved around my palm, his thumb touching the ring as he muttered, “Fits there.”
I looked down at a ring that was the same heavy, wide, stunning web design of my earrings with solid edges. It was gorgeous and it sat perfectly, from base nearly to knuckle, on my finger.
Then I continued to stare at it and all it indicated including the fact that Holden Maxwell paid attention (which I was learning) and thus he gave thoughtful, generous gifts.
I felt tears sting the backs of my eyes and I tipped my head back to look at him.
“Max,” I whispered.
His hand came to my cheek then it slid into my hair before he asked, “You like it?”
I nodded though I wouldn’t say I liked it. I’d say I more than liked it.
He looked into my eyes, his face grew soft but his mouth grinned before he prompted, “Then you gonna kiss me or what?”
I really should have replied “or what”.
But I didn’t. I couldn’t.
The ring was beautiful, it was special and his gesture was remarkable.
So instead of saying “or what”, I did something not smart, not sane, not rational and got up on my toes. Then I slid my fingers in his hair from the neck up. Then I grabbed onto his hard bicep with my other hand.
Max helped, leaning into me, bending his neck, gliding his fingers further into my hair to cup my head and putting his other hand to my waist.
Then I kissed him, touching my tongue to his lips which he opened for me then sliding it inside, tasting beer, tasting Max and thinking he was the most beautiful taste to ever touch my tongue.
He growled into my mouth, slanting his head, his arms coming around me and he took control of the kiss.
His was better, so much better, I felt the need to slide my other hand into his hair and hold his head to me so he’d get the hint I didn’t want him to stop.
Maybe never.
Maybe I never wanted him to stop.
We made out in the kitchen for awhile, I had no idea how long and didn’t care. I was simply loving the act of making out with Max in his kitchen partly because I loved kissing, mostly because Max was a really good kisser.
Then he finally lifted his head an inch and, unfortunately, stopped.
“I’m guessin’ you like it,” he muttered, a grin playing at his mouth.
“Yes,” I breathed, unable to grin and practically unable to remain standing. Luckily, he was still holding me.
“God, you’re cute.” He was still muttering.
I wasn’t able to form a reply.
Then we both heard the loud knock of knuckles banging insistently on glass. This sound made me jump but Max didn’t jump, instead his mouth got tight.
Max twisted his neck and his torso, taking me with him and we both saw Jimmy Cotton standing outside the door.
Then Jimmy Cotton opened the door, stuck his upper body in the house and demanded, “Quit neckin’ with Nina, Max, and get out here and help me.” Then he disappeared, leaving the door open.