He rolled his eyes. “Would you like some champagne with that refusal?”
“Why yes I would, thanks.”
The buzzer rang before he could pour. “That’ll be the food. I’ll get it.”
Back inside, Max stooped to plug in the lights on the little tree they’d gotten and turned off the overhead light. Whistling for Max Minimus, he stooped and fed him something from his hand.
“Did you order my dog a McMuffin?”
“I’m only giving him the sausage patty,” Max said defensively. He sat next to her and patted the space next to him on the other side. Max Minimus hopped right up, and Dani rolled her eyes. Max opened his McMuffin. “Mm. I think the real reason I like you so much is that you introduced me to these.”
She started to swat him, but he intercepted her hand and pressed it to his chest, which left her holding a glass of champagne in one hand and feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her other. They looked at each other, and a lump rose in her throat. His eyes did that blue-burning thing as a wave of emotion passed over them. After a moment, the look softened, and he smiled. He set down his sandwich and raised his glass without breaking eye contact with her. “Happy New Year, Dani.”
“Happy New Year, Max.”
Epilogue
When Dani Martinez woke up on December 11 the next year, she thought, It’s going to be a good day.
On the surface, it was like any other winter morning in Eldovia. She eased herself slowly out of bed so as not to wake either of the still-sleeping Maxes.
She did not succeed when it came to Max Maximus, who opened his eyes and smiled sleepily at her. He didn’t move, though, as he knew how important her coffee was to her—and he knew that if he dozed and kept the dog asleep, he’d be rewarded in a few minutes with a cup of his own, delivered to him in bed.
And since it was Sunday, the only day her boyfriend, who, in an interesting twist, was turning out to be a bit of a workaholic, took off, they were planning to walk up the mountain.
It was also the day after she’d gotten the news that her novel was going to be published. It was just a small publisher. It wasn’t—probably—going to be a bestseller. It wasn’t going to make her rich. But she had done it. She had officially left one career and started another.
She didn’t bother treading lightly as she climbed the stairs back up to the garret. The noise she made was enough to wake Max Minimus, who popped his head up from his preferred spot in Max Maximus’s armpit and began yapping happily.
“I’m so proud of you.” Max smiled as she handed him his coffee.
“So you said last night, about a thousand times,” she said, but she was secretly thrilled by his praise. “I’m proud of you, too.”
“Me?” He yawned. They had flown in from New York two days ago, and he was still jet-lagged. “I haven’t done anything.”
“Oh, my mistake. I would have thought keeping an estate and a company running while you refocus the priorities of said estate and company and maintain a side gig consulting on museum design was something.” The Innsbruck mine museum was going to open this coming spring, and the firm he was working with had called upon his expertise for a few other projects. “Not to mention beginning drafting a book that will rewrite the postwar history of Eldovia with new information about Karina Klein.” As predicted, the news about Karina had made quite a splash among the few historians Max had told, and he had a contract with a university press for a book that was part national history, part family history. He even had some leads on Karina’s mysterious New York trip. So now there were two writers toiling away in the garret. And two reasons to keep up their two-countries lifestyle. “But, right, you haven’t done anything.” She grinned and shrugged playfully. “I guess I was wrong.”
He sat up and grabbed her. Max Minimus yipped while they made out.
“I should take him outside,” she said against his lips, waiting for the question.
He merely grunted and kept kissing her. Leave it to him to deviate from the script on today of all days.
The yapping escalated, and he relented, letting go of her and mock-glaring at the dog. “All right, all right.”
She clambered off him and went in search of her robe—they slept up here but kept their clothing in Max’s old bedroom, which had been converted into a closet.
“Will you marry me?”
There it was. She turned. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, bending over as he pulled his underwear on.
She smiled. “Yes.”
He fell off the bed.
“Did you just say yes?” He popped up to standing.
“I just said yes.”
“Shit!” He started scrambling for his pants, even though he only had one leg through his underwear. “I’m not ready!”
“You’re not ready? You’ve only asked me a million times.”
“I know, but you’ve lulled me into complacency with your relentless rejection,” he said as he dug around in the pocket of his pants. He shuffled over to her, his underwear down around one ankle, fell to one knee, and held out his closed palm.
“Oh my god, have you been carrying a ring around in your pocket all this time?”
He shot her a signature Max smirk. “I have not been carrying a ring around all this time. I have been carrying this around.” He opened his palm to reveal a golden object. She picked it up. It was a dog tag. It was heavy and shiny and had max engraved on it in a fancy script font.
“Dani,” Max said, his voice all scratchy, “I love you. I love your dog. Will you finally marry me?”
She smiled down at Max, her Max, her blue-eyed, dukeish casual best friend, protector, and lover, and said, “Yes.”
Acknowledgments
My thanks to:
My friend Sandra Owens, who not only provided feedback on an early draft but is my daily dose of sanity.
Patricia Ruiz-Rivera, who helped me think about what Dani’s experience, and that of her family, would be like.
My friends Emma Barry and Erika Olbricht, who read with an eye toward Dani’s job and straightened me out on several things. Any irregularities that remain do so because this is a fairy tale. (Only in fairy tales do people get tenure-track jobs in the cities of their choice right after grad school, and only in fairy tales does everyone attend departmental parties and do those parties have open bars!)
My friend and favorite historian, Amy Bell, for help with the World War II stuff. In fact, we pulled up next to each other at a drive-in movie in the COVID-upended summer of 2020, rolled down our windows, and talked at a distance about mines and bombs and the resistance while we waited for the show to start—and that show was Dirty Dancing!
My friend Marit Grunstra for advising on dogs and such and for being the best surf-and-turf, I-heart-not-camping friend a girl could ask for.
Carina Guevara for the stunning cover art.
My agent, Courtney Miller-Callihan, for her unwavering support and steadfast good counsel.
My editor, Elle Keck, for embracing the “Hallmark, but make it spicy” vibe of this series from the get-go, and for helping make this book shine. Everyone at HarperCollins, especially Andrea Monagle and Rachel Weinick for careful polishing and shepherding of the manuscript.