And yeah, looking at it all objectively . . . if you didn’t know Max, you could almost think he was attractive.
He glanced over his shoulder and looked straight at me—at the worst possible moment. I could feel the pink splotches spreading. When he caught my eyes, he smiled at me. Pretty instantly he looked back at Holly, who was giggling at whatever he was saying. Had he said something about me? Probably. They were probably making plans to meet up somewhere as soon as he could ditch me. Well, I sure didn’t want to stand in the way of that.
I stood from my chair, grabbed my handbag and the bill, and went up front to pay. While I signed the debit card slip, he noticed I was leaving. He quickly placed his hand on Holly’s arm, and she pulled her memo pad from her apron and jotted something down on a piece of paper, which she tore out and handed to him.
Oh, good grief.
I rolled my eyes and walked to the exit. Pretty instantly he was right behind me.
“What’s wrong?”
He held open the door for me and we pushed our way out through the line of people waiting—many of whom seemed to realize Hadley Beckett and Max Cavanagh were squeezing past them, together. I’d been too caught up in my own thoughts to prepare myself for that, but Max seemed instinctively aware of the whispering and pointing that had begun to take place.
Of course he was. I doubted that man ever missed an opportunity to enjoy some attention—good or bad. During his hiatus, while laying low out of the public limelight, he had probably developed a vitamin D deficiency. He hadn’t had nearly enough chances to soak in the rays of his own majestic light.
I was used to being recognized myself, of course, but it was Nashville. And I was just me. I had my fans, no doubt, but I wasn’t used to the level of interest that I was currently in the center of. And I sort of understood. Seeing Max and me together had to be a little like catching Rocky Balboa and Ivan Drago—or maybe Nancy Kerrigan and Tonya Harding—walking together after sharing pancakes.
I felt bad once I realized I’d been ignoring everyone, so I stopped at the end of the line and turned to face them. I offered a smile and a wave, and then a couple girls asked if they could take a selfie with me. Where is Max? Intending to tell him I’d be just a second, I instead saw for the first time that he was no longer with me. He’d probably gone back in for a curtain call.
“Hey, y’all,” I called out as I waved, and the line of people cheered for me. “Well, aren’t y’all so sweet?” I walked over to the girls asking for a selfie and smiled for their camera, and then the next person wanted a selfie too. An autograph, another selfie, a hug, three more selfies—each person kinder and more appreciative than the last.
“Whenever you’re done with your fan club meeting, let me know,” Max’s frustrated voice muttered behind me.
“Is that Max Cavanagh?” The whispers grew in intensity until finally all I saw was a row of cell phones, snapping pictures, and all I could hear was a loud buzz of questions and commands—for us to turn or smile or pose with them.
They hadn’t noticed him before?
“Don’t act like you don’t live for all of this atten—”
“Come on,” he ordered, cutting me off and grabbing my elbow. His head was down and he had his sunglasses back on. He was so rude. He kept pulling on my arm, leading me away from the building, but I turned to face everyone one more time.
“Thanks, y’all! Enjoy your breakfast!”
At least that was what I tried to say. I got as far as “Thanks, y’all! Enjoy,” before I tripped over my own feet and tumbled forward. Max pretty much caught me—not enough to keep me from scraping up my knee pretty good, but enough to keep me from face-planting on the pavement. And the way he caught me . . . golly, it was awkward. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I was grateful I didn’t break my nose or bust my lip, but he had caught me under one of my arms, and across to the other shoulder, facing him. My face was temporarily pinned against his chest as he wrapped his other arm around my back to pull me up to my feet.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Are people watching?” I mumbled into his chest, ignoring his inquiry. And then I realized I was still pressed up against his chest, and that I really could have waited a few more seconds before beginning to talk.
With one final hoist, I was on my feet again and free of him. I guess he’d heard my question though.
“Of course they are. You told them to enjoy. Why would they have turned away?”
My attention flashed from my torn jeans and bloody knee as I glared at him. “I was going to tell them to enjoy their breakfast!”
He laughed. “Oh. Well, I’m sure they will. And they’ll also enjoy their breakfast conversation, as they all talk about . . .” He looked over my head, back toward the restaurant. “Never mind. They won’t have to talk about it. I think they all recorded it, so they’ll probably be busy during breakfast, getting it uploaded on YouTube.” The corner of his mouth continued to twitch just a bit as he looked down at my leg and surveyed the damage. “Really, though, are you all right?”
“Are you okay, Hadley?” I heard some people call out.
There was no way for the situation not to be humiliating, but I wasn’t going to also allow it to be uncivil.
Facing back toward the concerned voices, I shrugged and smiled. “I’m fine. Hope y’all enjoyed your dining entertainment!” They laughed, I waved again, and then I turned to Max.
Obviously, the smile went away as soon as I was looking at him. And it turned into a full-blown scowl when I saw the obnoxious smile on his face.
“What?” I asked sharply.
He shook his head and smiled more. “Come on,” he said for the second time, and then he led me around the corner, to the back of a shopping complex. There was no one in sight so we stopped, and I leaned back down to further inspect the damage to my knee.
“Why do you do that?” he asked.
I pulled a tissue from my pocket and dabbed at the scrape. “Do what? Fall? I don’t usually. If you hadn’t been pulling my arm—”
He laughed again. “You’re going to blame that on me?”
I stood up straight and threw my hands into the air. “Of course I blame it on you! You were walking too fast, and you shouldn’t have been pulling me in the first place.”
“I only pulled you because you were about five seconds away from becoming tabloid fodder! I had no idea you were so vain.”
“What? Me? You think I’m vain?” I was nearly choking over all the words that were trying to make their way out, as the heat flooded my head. “I was just being polite! You, on the other hand . . .”
“What are you talking about? I hate this stuff.”
I scoffed. “Don’t give me that. You love the attention.”
“What are you even talking about?” he repeated, his voice growing more elevated. “I was just trying to walk out unnoticed. Meanwhile you’re all, ‘Hey y’all!’”
I put my hands on my hips and stomped toward him. “Are you making fun of me? Because I’m Southern?”
He shook his head. “Of course not. But I do find it interesting that you get more Southern when you have a crowd to entertain.”