Riley frowned. “Are you serious?”
Max nodded and moved closer to the wall. The shots were taken the day he’d met her at the cottage, the day they’d sat on the overturned log and he’d touched her for the first time, his hands on her thighs. There were pictures of Max’s face, arms, hands, but, to anyone else, including Riley, it was just some random man. Grace was right. No one would know it was Max but the two of them. Astounded, Max looked at every one, noticing some he didn’t remember her taking, some that, from the wrinkles next to his eyes, he could tell he was laughing. In the few shots that showed his eyes, Max noticed, even in black-and-white, how happy he looked, how young and relaxed and, dare he say it, in love.
“I’m such a fucking fool,” he murmured.
Riley smiled sympathetically before his gaze drifted from Max to something over Max’s shoulder. “Dude.”
Max stilled, knowing from Riley’s expression who it was he’d seen. “Is it her?”
“Well, I’ve never seen her,” Riley replied, moving closer to Max. “But I remember Tate’s description just fine.”
“Fuck,” Max gasped as his pulse began to race.
Riley placed his hand on Max’s shoulder in silent encouragement. “Be prepared, man,” he said softly. “She looks fucking amazing.”
With that comment, Max turned his head and looked over his shoulder. Sure enough, there was Grace and, sweet Jesus, Riley was right. Her hair was fastened in a tight bun at the top of her head, leaving soft curls that appeared crafted to the side of her face. With her hair up, her neck looked impossibly long, wrapped in a stunning necklace that glinted and sparkled under the bright gallery spotlights. Her dress was . . . unbelievable. It was a canary-yellow strapless number that reached the floor and pulled in at her waist, accentuating all of her glorious curves and the exquisite warm tones of her skin.
She was a vision and Max could barely breathe.
“You wanna go over?” Riley asked.
“Yeah, stay here,” Max answered unthinkingly, turning around and taking the first of the fifteen wobbling steps it took to reach her, leaving Riley where he stood. As he drew closer, Max’s stare stayed on Grace’s shoulder blades, watching the way they moved as she talked with her hands, as she always did, recalling the way they felt under his hands and against his mouth as he moved in her.
He approached silently and stood a couple of feet behind Grace while she finished her conversation. The woman she was speaking to glanced alluringly over Grace’s shoulder in Max’s direction, alerting Grace to his presence. She turned to him, smile in full effect before she realized who he was. The smile fell like a stone in water, taking all of Max’s courage and hope with it. Her green eyes flashed first with shock and then something Max couldn’t quite identify. Nevertheless, it made him feel minute.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice a staggered breath.
Max cleared his throat and cracked his knuckles. “I came to see you.”
He glanced at the woman and her male companion pointedly. They mumbled their good-byes and moved toward another part of the gallery.
Grace watched them go before turning back to Max, bewilderment clear on her face. “How are— What? Why?”
Max coughed a nervous laugh. “Why?” he echoed, his spiel all but dissolving the longer he stood looking at her. “Well, I wanted to see if you were okay, and . . . I, um, I thought that we could talk. Maybe. If you wanted.”
Grace stared at him as though he’d spoken in an alien language. “Talk,” she repeated. “About what?” She licked her lips, her green eyes sad as she lifted her shoulders. “What is there left to say?”
“There’s a lot left to say,” Max replied, swallowing hard. “Things I need to say, want to say.” He sighed. “I tried to find you.”
She nodded toward her feet. “I know. Sienna told me you were at the club. I got your note. I thought about calling but . . .”
She looked at him, her honest gaze like a warm blanket over his entire body.
Christ, he’d missed her.
“But I can’t do this right now, Max,” she whispered.
Max took a step closer when she turned to go. “Gracie,” he pleaded.
Her face pinched. “Please don’t call me that.”
The hurt in her words and the anguish tensing her shoulders was like a punch to the gut. “I’m sorry,” Max blurted. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to ask you a question—what I said to you that day . . .”
“Hurt me more than—”
“I know.”
“I never asked you for anything other than to let me in.”
“I know. I’ve—I’ll never—”