Grace frowned. “My goal?”
“I mean, is this a lust thing, a companionship thing? Do you want to sleep with him or do you just want be his friend?”
Grace shifted embarrassedly in her seat. “He’s good-looking, yes, but—sleep with him?” She watched in alarm as the goose bumps popped up on her arms, as they were prone to do at the mere mention of sex. “I can’t answer that.”
“Is that due to your latent apprehensions toward intimacy or about Max himself?”
Grace wasn’t sure. His fleeting glances notwithstanding, she didn’t even know if Max was attracted to her. Besides, he’d been through his own rough times and was, according to rumor, staying with his uncle to help his recovery; sex was probably the last thing on his mind.
“I’d like to be his friend,” she answered eventually. “With everything he’s been through, he might need another one. I know I do.”
Nina lifted her chin, watching Grace in that all-knowing way of hers. “Grace, this is the first time since we started these sessions twenty-eight months ago that you’ve mentioned a man other than your brother or your ex-husband, and what’s even more encouraging is that you’re attracted to him. Regardless of where you decide to take this, or whether he wants the same thing, remember, this is a step in the right direction.”
That Grace had to agree with. Whether it was the house project or the West Virginia air that had bolstered her confidence, she was gradually coming to realize that she no longer wanted to shy away from the prospect of a connection with someone. What that connection might be, she wasn’t entirely certain, but for the first time in too long, the unknown was suddenly very exciting.
It was two days after her therapy session before Grace saw Max again. Seated in the window of the coffee shop in town, he sat by himself, pencil in hand with a small sketchbook. His hair fell forward, hiding his eyes while he wrote or drew or whatever the hell he was doing. With her daily latte in one hand and a chocolate muffin in the other, Grace approached, coughing gently so as not to surprise him. He looked up, uncertainty covering his face.
His eyes were darker than usual, circled with tired, bluish bruise-like lines, as though he hadn’t slept in a week.
“Hey,” she said brightly. “How are you?” There was no answer but for the confused furrow in the center of his brow. She pushed on regardless. “I love the lattes here. Sure beats the hell out of the crap you get in DC.”
He glanced at her cup, then at his own, seemingly waking from whatever daze she’d disturbed him in. Grace held her breath.
“I miss the coffee in New York,” he murmured.
Success!
“I can imagine,” she offered, pressing her lips together. “New York does great coffee. And bagels. Awesome bagels. So . . . may I join you?” She gestured to his book still lying open on the table; she was unable to clearly make out the scribbles and doodles on the pages. “I don’t want to disturb or intrude if you’d rather be on your own.”
Max closed the book quickly and pulled it toward his body protectively. Slowly, he nodded. “No, it’s okay.”
He pushed the pencil behind his ear as she sat, and folded his large arms over his broad chest. His size should have been intimidating and Grace didn’t doubt that to many it would be, but, oddly, to her, it wasn’t. She’d seen him at the site, saw how he used his strength to do his work quickly and effectively, but also saw how, in social situations, he was the complete antithesis, forever trying to make himself look smaller, as though trying to hide or melt into the walls around him. She wondered what had happened in his past that would make him feel it necessary to do that.
“Wanna share?” She pushed the muffin to the center of the table. Max cocked an eyebrow. “Come on,” Grace said with a chuckle. “They’re really good. I have one every morning.” He regarded the muffin questioningly. “I haven’t got cooties,” she assured him, breaking off a piece and throwing it into her mouth.
Max smiled wryly and, after a moment, did the same. “Thanks.”
Grace grinned. “Sure. I haven’t seen you for a couple of days. I’d started to panic about what I’d do if the pipes in my new room burst.” He snorted. “You must be busy.” She stirred her drink after pouring in some more sugar. Her monthly need for all things sweet was kicking her ass.
Max shrugged. “Not really. My uncle said he didn’t need me at the house—your house, so I’ve been . . . hanging out.” He stared at the table. It was hard for Grace not to see the sadness, which draped his shoulders like a heavy blanket.
“Hanging out is good,” she replied, smiling. “It must be so nice being here with family. They all seem great.”
“They are.”
“Do you visit them often?”