Page 31 of Max's Mission

Because she couldn’t.

That kiss—and what they’d almost done—had upended her world. Saying they wanted more and acting on that were twoentirely different things. Talking about it meant thingscouldchange. Acting on it meant thingshadchanged.

And she needed to know where they went from here.

Thirteen

Max stifled a yawn as they got out of the car at Westwood Bank & Trust bright and early Monday morning. On Saturday morning, he’d asked Margot if she happened to have the key to her deposit box on her. To his surprise, she did. It was on her key ring. She kept a spare in her safe at home.

Armed with that information, he’d changed their flight reservations that afternoon, and they’d flown out of Minot on Sunday. They had a flight home at noon today, so here they were at eight a.m. on the dot.

He stifled another yawn as they reached the door. The hour was a respectable one, but he hadn’t slept much the last few nights. Too many thoughts of Margot and what they’d almost done running through his mind. Neither of them had the courage to bring up their kiss, despite already acknowledging that they wanted more than friendship. So, they’d continued on like nothing had changed, and he’d lain awake staring at the ceiling, contemplating what life with Margot by his side could look like.

Hushed air enveloped them as they stepped inside the two-story lobby. He always marveled at how a building withmarble floors and high ceilings could be so quiet. It must have something to do with the acoustics.

He glanced up. Marble arches soared overhead. Above the teller’s desk was a wooden balcony, where he assumed the bank executives had their offices. Cream-colored walls kept the space bright and airy, but did little to muffle the sound of their footsteps on the marble floors. It was a stunning space and lived up to its slightly pretentious name.

Margot walked up to one of the tellers, who greeted them with a smile.

“Hello. How can I help you?” The woman, whose nameplate read “Brittney” asked.

“I need to get into my safe deposit box.”

“Of course. Do you have your key?”

“Yes.”

“Perfect. I don’t have access to that area yet.” She gave them a sunny smile. “I’m new. Let me get the manager. If you could meet us over by that door?” She pointed to her right.

“Okay, thank you.” Margot backed away and turned.

Max glanced around the nearly empty lobby as they wandered over to the area the teller indicated, noting the lack of other people. There were no other customers yet.

“It’s eerie in here,” he whispered.

Margot let out a soft chuckle. “Banks always remind me of funeral homes. Quiet and formal, with a hint of secrets behind the scenes.”

He snorted. “That’s the truth. But places like that—like this”—he twirled a hand—“always make me want to break the rules. When I was a kid, my grandma slapped my hands with her fan at a funeral once because I kept playing with my cousin’s braids while the preacher talked.”

Margot laughed, the sound echoing through the grand space. She slapped a hand over her mouth, amusement dancing in her eyes.

Max’s low laugh joined hers. “We’d both definitely get a swat if she were here.”

“Good thing she’s not.”

They reached the area near the vault, where the teller had asked them to wait. Margot took his hand and leaned into him, looping her other arm over his.

“You doing okay?” he murmured against her hair. She’d held up fairly well since her breakdown, but he knew grief could hit when it was least expected.

“Yeah. Ready to go home and hug my babies.”

Max was too. He missed the little rug rats.

Margot straightened, but didn’t let go of his hand as the teller walked up with an older gentleman in a suit who carried an electronic tablet in his hands.

“Hello.” He held out a hand. “I’m Andrew Skokar.”

“Margot Gaultier.” She let go of Max to extend a hand. “Nice to meet you.”

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