Hadley stood up straight. “That has nothing to do with it. I don’t care what anyone thinks. It’s just that I’ve worked too hard and come too far. And if I tried to live your type of life right now, Max . . . if I tried to keep up . . . I’m just not sure I could. I’m Nashville, through and through. I’m a homebody. I eat at home pretty much every night. You love adventure and travel.” She chuckled. “You jumped in your car and drove here from New York on a whim. I don’t do much of anything on a whim.”
As if needing to prove her wrong—because something inside of him felt as if he did—Max stood up from his stool and walked around to her side of the counter. Slowly and deliberately. Waves of pink began rushing up her neck and he had a gratifying epiphany.
So I’m the cause of that shade.
Although, really, he knew he was the cause of all the shades. But he sure liked that one best.
“I don’t know, Hadley. I think it’s been a pretty whimsical night.”
Her lips curled up in acknowledgment. “This has all been very unlike me. But that doesn’t change the fact that down the road, beyond right now—”
He leaned down so they were eye-to-eye and whispered, “Who said anything about beyond right now?”
Max moved to kiss her again, but she placed her hands on his chest and stopped him before he could. She didn’t push him away but rather clinched his T-shirt into her fists and took a deep breath. And released it with slow deliberation.
“That’s what I mean, Max. I don’t . . . I don’t live in the moment. At least, I don’t live just in the moment. And I can’t be your next Miss Fancy Pants Kitty Cat.”
“I’m sorry. My what?”
She closed her eyes tightly. “Forget I said that.”
That would probably be easy to do, since it had just sounded like a string of random words. Candle Bluetooth Winnebago artichoke dip.
“The point is,” she continued as she rolled her eyes—at herself, he was pretty sure. “You confuse me. You distract me. And don’t get me wrong . . .” She released his shirt from her fists and gently smoothed out the creases she had created. “You’re a very nice distraction at the moment. But I’m on Renowned. We’re on Renowned. I just launched a magazine, and I really want a third Michelin star. And yes, I want to be number one on the network. I just don’t think I can afford to be any more confused than I already am.”
She was driven. Competitive. Hardworking. Focused. Determined. If he was honest with himself, those weren’t usually the personality traits he found attractive in a woman. Not that he had a problem with any of those things. They just hadn’t ever been important. Very little had ever mattered beyond how the woman would look on his arm at a nightclub opening.
Hadley would look strange on his arm. Beautiful, no doubt. Absolutely breathtaking. But strange. She didn’t seem to care about fashion—not that she wasn’t stylish, but she wasn’t trendy hotspot stylish. Max didn’t care about fashion either. He’d found an outfit that worked for him and he’d stuck with it. But the women on his arm always cared. And Hadley barely wore any makeup. She didn’t need to. But he’d dated women he knew he wouldn’t even recognize on the street if he ever saw them with a natural face. For that matter, there were a lot of women he probably wouldn’t recognize if they were wearing a “Hello, my name is . . .” badge. Even if the badge added helpful information like, “We went on three dates in 2015,” or “You left me for that supermodel.” Nope. Not specific enough.
“I’m sure you’re right,” Max finally said. He wasn’t sure she was right, and he wasn’t even sure what he was saying he thought she was right about. But he liked Hadley. He liked her a lot. Maybe he liked her a little too much. The more he thought about it, the more he realized he definitely liked her too much to date her.
He wouldn’t do that to someone he actually cared about.
Her hands dropped from his chest. “So that’s that, I guess.” She stepped back from him.
“I guess so.”
That was all that was needed. Now was the time when he could just calmly walk over to her, kiss her on the cheek, and say, “Tonight sure was fun, though,” or something like that. He would be cool and distant, say goodbye, and then he’d head out to a bar for a drink. There he’d meet someone else and have a conversation that would probably be a lot less complicated than any he had ever had with Hadley Beckett.
Except he wasn’t going to do any of that. Not a chance. Not this time.
“Hadley, I . . .” He chuckled uneasily and scratched his cheek. The facial hair was driving him nuts, but he knew he’d keep it awhile longer because she liked it. “I just want to say . . .” Cool and distant would be so much easier. “I probably said all the wrong things. I don’t know. But I just need you to know that whatever we’ve got going here . . . being friends, or whatever . . . it . . . well, it matters to me. I’m not sorry I kissed you. But if it messed things up, well . . .” Just end the blasted thought already. “I just hope it didn’t. Mess things up, I mean. That’s all.”
She looked at him for what felt like an eternity. Not moving. Not speaking. But finally, the trace of a smile appeared, and he breathed again.
“You know this whole Renowned thing? How they’re pitting us against each other and setting us up to fail and all of that?”
He tilted his head and stared at her as if she’d lost her mind. “Um . . . yeah?”
“I just had a brilliant idea. Maybe we should practice.” A wide, playful grin spread across her lips and he laughed harder than he’d laughed in a very long time.
18. Blanch all ingredients.
HADLEY
“What was I thinking? What was I thinking? What was I thinking?” I muttered to myself as I hurried through my ridiculously oversized house-for-one to the door. I looked down at my outfit one last time and smoothed it out and then took a deep breath before reaching for the knob.
“Hey, Max.” I greeted him with a smile and moved out of the way so he could come inside.
“Hey, hey.” He stepped past me with his canvas bags of groceries. “How are you today?”
“I’m good, thanks. You?”
Small talk. Nice, friendly small talk. It just didn’t feel natural. The most common of all types of conversations was a complete anomaly between the two of us, who seemed to operate at only two levels with each other: friendly texts which had nothing to do with reality or shouting matches overflowing with disdain.
Well, there was that new third level: full-on making out in my living room. But of all the levels, that one—which, after a night of playing it over and over again in my mind, had been cemented as my favorite—was the one I was desperate to avoid.
“I’m good. You look rested.”
I tilted my head. Really? I was not rested. I’d hardly slept a wink, thanks to him. “Rested?”
“I just mean . . . you looked tired yesterday.” He shrugged. “Today you look rested.”
Ah. Thanks for clearing that up.
I nodded and smiled. He was clearly feeling as uncomfortable as I was, so I decided to cut him a little slack. “Come on in. You know the kitchen, of course. Feel free to set everything down wherever.”