Page 26 of Max Bannon

But instead… Max was patient. Gentle. Funny, even. He never pushed.

And somehow, without even trying, he made me forget—just for a little while—that I was supposed to keep my guard up.

I stepped inside the cabin and shut the door behind me. It still smelled like fresh wood and lemon cleaner, and my mop bucket sat by the door where I’d left it earlier. I toed off my sandals and sank down onto the couch, hugging a pillow to my chest.

He didn’t know I’d overheard. I was sure of that now.

And maybe that was a good thing. Or maybe it meant I was just being a coward—punishing him for something he didn’t even know he’d done.

Still… I couldn’t shake the way he’d looked at me when I said I felt out of place. Like he understood. Like he felt it too.

When he apologized, something inside me cracked a little.

Not all the way. Not enough to let everything spill out. But just enough to let some of the weight lift from my chest.

He cared. I knew that now.

And maybe—just maybe—that was enough for tonight.

I curled up on the couch, the pillow still clutched against me, and let myself replay the moment when his hand brushed mine across the table.

I hadn’t pulled away.

Not this time.

I wasn’t going to call him. I told myself that a dozen times since dinner.

But every time my phone buzzed with his name, I answered.

Every time I ran into him in town—or he “just happened” to be near the school—I felt myself softening again. Falling back into his warm gravity,

But this wasn’t a crush. And I wasn’t a teenager hoping a guy would change his mind.

So tonight, when he textedYou hungry? I’ve got leftover enchiladas and no one to share them with,I didn’t hesitate. I texted back:

Come over. We need to talk.

I didn’t try to make the place look nice. I didn’t fix my hair. I didn’t even change out of my soft, worn-in leggings.

I just waited.

When Max knocked, I opened the door without a word and stepped back to let him in. He carried a foil-covered dish and that sheepish smile that made it harder to be mad at him.

“I brought dinner,” he said, holding it up like a peace offering.

I folded my arms. “You always this generous with people you don’t want in your life?”

That got his attention. His smile faded. He set the dish on the counter and turned to face me.

“Tessa…”

“No,” I cut in, arms crossed tighter. “I want to know why you keep calling me. Why you keep showing up. Why you’re acting like you care—when Iheard you, Max.”

His brow furrowed. “Heard me?”

“That day,” I said, my voice sharper now. “Outside the lodge. You and Frasier. You said you didn’t want a relationship. That I was just some girl staying in your house. You didn’t want to screw things up.”

He blinked. “You heardthat?”

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