But I’d never done this. Never done the whole relationship thing. I was fucking intoxicated around Fiona, but didn’t that burn out for most people?
Was I only delaying the inevitable while dating a woman searching desperately for true love?
“We’re committed to trying,” I said. “One day at a time. We’re both honest and communicating with each other. And that’s what matters the most.”
“Okay,” she said. “Listen, I’m just shootin’ my mouth off. You’ve got it all figured out, I’m sure. I never want you to get stuck like me. Roots just hold you back.”
I sipped my coffee to hide my frown. I’d forgotten how often Mom said words like stuck or trapped when talking about raising her son. I couldn’t tell if I was looking into my future or staring back at my past. And that made me really, really scared.
My phone buzzed with a text message. It was Charlie. Give me a call when you can. Exciting news about your first client.
I slipped my phone back into my pocket, scooped up my leather jacket. “I gotta go. My new boss needs to talk with me.”
“You don’t want to stay and hang with these guys?”
I shook my head. “I’m good. Are you going to be out on the West Coast any time soon?”
“Oh, probably,” she said, with a big smile. “I’ll call ya the next time I make it past the Rockies, alright?”
My stomach filled with lead. Spending time with Fiona’s adoring parents, plus Pop and Mateo’s family, was not a flattering comparison for Mom. I thought about the happy text message chain Fiona was in with her family, the constant chatting and jokes and pictures they sent.
My own mother had just offered to call me whenever she crossed the Rockies. As if that was a good thing.
“Yeah, alright.” I bent down to give her a hug, feeling more confused than ever. “Love you, Mom.”
“Love you, Max. You’ll be fine, kid.”
I shrugged on my jacket, picked up my coffee. And walked out of there with a heaviness in my step.
I called Charlie, who sounded excited when he picked up. “We’ll be seeing you for your first shift, right?”
“You sure will,” I said. Over the past few days, I’d scrambled to figure out shipping my bike, getting plane tickets and finding an apartment. “What’s this exciting news you have for me?”
Charlie said the name of a movie star so famous it literally stopped me in my tracks.
“What about him?” I said, heart rate speeding up.
“Well. You wanna work on his bike?”
I rubbed my mouth, stunned. “I mean, yeah. Fuck, of course.”
Charlie laughed. “That’s what I thought. Anyway, just wanted to share the news. We’re really looking forward to having you join our team, Max. I think you’ll like it here.”
We ended the call, and I leaned back against the nearest wall. That was exactly what I needed to remember why I was leaving. Working at Rusty’s was everything to me.
It was really, really bad timing, though.
Fiona texted me. Can’t wait to see you tonight.
Guilt wracked my body. Her hope, her optimism, about our relationship was going to be the end of me, I could tell. I hated even considering that my mom was right.
But as I walked back towards my bike to head home and pack, it seemed like all my mind could do was consider it.
And worry that I was only going to break the heart of a woman who had so bravely offered hers to me.
42
Fiona
Distraction came in the form of a wedding boutique that sold exclusively cupcake-style dresses.
I’d seen it as I’d walked home from helping Pop pay off his debts to his landlord. Who, while technically a dick, hadn’t tried to do anything illegal and had promised to rescind the notice after the check cleared.
I’d sent Pop home to nap. And since I had the day off and my bed was calling my name, I showered and crashed for six hours, waking up foggy-headed and disoriented.
When I checked the time, I noted that Max hadn’t returned my text message. Which wasn’t usually that big of a deal. Except that even amid his sweet affection last night and into this morning, I could sense him pulling away.
And not in a way that inspired confidence. In a way that made me nervous he was going to bolt like a skittish horse.
Which was why I was now dragging my sleepy older sister all the way to the Village to go spontaneous dress shopping with me. It was either that or pace a fucking hole in my apartment.
Roxy and I stepped into the shop, which was exploding with white, sparkly fabrics covered in sequins and flowers.
“Oh my god, why did you bring me to this hell?” she hissed, tugging on my hand.
“Because of something you said,” I whispered back. “You thought you knew what dress you wanted, but nothing in that other shop made you happy. I trust that gut instinct of yours. So maybe you do want a cupcake dress.”
She fingered a tulle, layered skirt so full of glitter it lined the floor. “I will never forget this betrayal, Fiona Quinn.”
I rolled my eyes, grabbing her arm and pulling her back into the shop. Same as last time, a flurry of happy assistants saw to our needs, wheeling in giant racks of dresses so anti-Roxy even I had to cover my mouth to keep from laughing out loud.
She stumbled out of the dressing room in a mermaid-cut dress—white satin, decorated with diamonds, and adorned with a bow in the back. Flashing me not one but two middle fingers, she stepped into the three-way mirror and scowled her own image to death.
“You look like a fairy princess,” I said.
“I want to die.”
I shoved two more in through the door. “And I want to see you try these two on, please.”
Then I collapsed on the bench right outside, hugging my arms around my knees. I yawned, still exhausted, and closed my eyes for a second.
“Last night was pretty fucking rad, huh?” she said.
I smiled sleepily. “The best. Let’s crowd surf every night.”
“Let’s. And Pop and Angela are the cutest.”
“He talked about her all the way to the office where we paid his rent,” I said. “He’s a smitten kitten, that one.”
Roxy cracked the door open. She was half in a dress, half in her underwear.
“A truly bold look.”
She ignored me. “Max seemed weird all night.”
I winced, dropped my cheek to the top of my knees again. “You noticed it too?”
“What’s going on?”
I went to answer but then paused, drawn to the rack right next to the bench. On the end hung a princess-style wedding dress with a giant, dramatic skirt and long, whimsical train. Tiny pearl flowers dotted the skirt. I fingered the material, smiling slightly. This dress was the embodiment of my secret, scandalous wedding magazines. The ones I worshiped and wanted desperately to be my life. Deep down, I still wanted that to be my life. But not because of some outcome or time limit.
But because when I pictured myself dazzling in one of these gowns, it was Max I pictured myself walking down the aisle with, buying a house with, creating a family with. It was all the years, the laughter, the late-night conversations. The love and passion, the tenderness and affection. Wearing this dress would be one extraordinary day.