Careful What You Kiss For (36 page)

“I have something to show you,” Max said. He moved away from her and toward one of the front bookshelves. He grabbed a hardcover book and brought it back, handing it to her. The title read
Nine-One-Done.
The author’s name, in tall red letters, was M. T. Hunter.

“Max,” she breathed, staring at it. “Hold on. Are you serious? You’re M.T. Hunter.”

“That’s me.” He gave a small bow. “Author of the Detective Will Fox series.”

“That’s amazing!” She wanted to burst with pride, relief, and fourteen other emotions she couldn’t name or decipher.

“Here’s what I wanted to show you.” He opened the book to the dedication page. It read
“With love and gratitude to Tensley, who always knew I could do this. Even when I didn’t.”

Her eyes filled. “Max.”

“I’m here for a book tour. Decided to start it in my hometown.”

She shook her head. “I can’t believe it.”

“Neither can I. Keep thinking somebody’s going to pull it all back, say they found out I don’t really know what I’m doing.” At the edges of his smile, she saw a distinct wobble.

“You’re a wonderful writer,” she burst out.

“And that’s why I couldn’t wait to see you.” He paused. “Was wondering if you might like to go to dinner with me tonight.”

“Dinner? With you?” she echoed. She still couldn’t believe he was standing here, in front of her, in her living, breathing
real
life.

“Seems like the least you could do, since I put your name in print, and all.”

“In print,” she repeated, wondering if there was any possible way he could remember the night they’d spent together. How could that much passion be wiped away, with a murmur of a Madame Claire spell?

He misinterpreted her hesitation. “Hey, sorry. I didn’t even ask if you were — with someone.”

“No!” She took a deep breath. “Not with anyone.” An even deeper breath. “You?”

He shook his head.

“Great!” she said brightly. “I’d love to have dinner with you. On one condition.” She didn’t want to give up being with him, but if he couldn’t accept this …

His eyes narrowed. He looked skeptical. “What’s that?”

“I don’t want to talk about high school. At all. This isn’t about the past.”

Relief spread across his face. “Don’t want to. I just ran into Rhonda Reardon. Purely by accident. That’s all the going back to high school I can take.”

“Rhonda the Skank?” It was out before she realized it. “Oh. Sorry.”

He laughed. “I think her skanky days are behind her. She’s married to a police detective and they have four children. She’s a soccer mom now.”

“Sure she isn’t sticking those soccer balls under her shirt?”

Max laughed. Tensley did, too, but then she added, “Sorry. She didn’t deserve that. I’m glad she’s happy.”

“So about dinner.”

Her heart had begun beating way too hard for its own good. She pointed at the book dedication page. “If this isn’t about the past, what is it?”

“I did that a while ago. At the time, it was about thanking you. For believing in me. But now … .” He shook his head, putting a hand up to scratch behind one ear. “You’re going to think I’m crazy, but for the last few weeks, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”

It wasn’t as crazy as he might think.

“It’s like all day and all night long.”

“Really.”
Go on.

“Not about high school, though. I swear I must have seen your picture somewhere, because I pictured you just like this.” He swept his hand up and down. “And I felt as though I knew something about your life now. Almost doesn’t make sense.”

Her heart soared. Hallelujah for another possible Madame Claire screw-up, in the right direction this time. “Oh, it does.” She nodded, grinning from ear to ear. “To me.” They would be great together, her and Max. Her inner guide said so. In a flash that felt a lot like a vision, she saw children. With deep blue eyes. Oh God. The damn psychic must have rubbed off on her.

She cleared her throat, willing herself back to the present. “Dinner,” she croaked. “Pick me up here. At six.” Patsy would be back by then.

His entire face, a face minus a certain small scar, was wreathed in smiles. “I’ll be here.”

She didn’t want him to leave, even for that short amount of time, and he didn’t seem to want to, either. He grabbed both of her hands and held on.

After a few minutes, and more prodding from the cat, they broke away from each other. “I’ll see you at six,” he said, walking backward toward the door.

“Six,” she promised. “Oh, and Max?”

He stopped.

“I’ve started working on my own book.”

“Really? That’s great!”

“It’s called
‘Tips for the Self-Employed: Stripping Down to the Basics.’
”

“Love it.”

“Oh, you have no idea.” But give her a few days and he would.

After he left, Tensley started humming as she put a hand lightly on the counter for balance. She put one leg forward, then curled it around a virtual pole and executed a spin. Perfect.

Oh, yeah. I still have it.

Wait until Max saw her use it.

In the mood for more Crimson Romance?

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Wicked Paradise
by Erin Richards
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