Page 75 of Colliding with the Coffee Shop Owner
We lie tangled together, his arm heavy around me, his body still thrumming with heat against mine. There’s no going back—I’m his as much as he is mine, and that thought both terrifies and thrills me, leaving me breathless beneath the weight of everything unsaid.
Chapter 26
The dayI've been dreading has arrived with cruel inevitability. Max leaves today.
We stand in his rented cabin, surrounded by the sparse evidence of his stay. One suitcase packed, his laptop bag ready by the door. The space already feels empty, as if preparing for his absence while he's still here.
"I think that's everything," Max says, surveying the room with his hands on his hips.
I pick up a charging cable he missed, coiling it neatly before offering it to him. Our fingers brush during the exchange, and the simple contact sends a current of longing through me.
"What time's your flight?" My voice sounds too bright, too normal for the storm raging inside me.
"Four." Max checks his watch.
Mere hours separate us from the start of an uncertain experiment of long-distance love. Video calls and weekend visits. Planning our lives around snatched moments together. My throat tightens at the thought.
Max's hands come to rest on my shoulders, his gaze serious as it meets mine. "We'll make this work."
"I know." I manage a smile that feels fragile. "It's just harder than I expected."
"Come here." He pulls me against his chest, arms encircling me completely. I breathe him in—bergamot cologne, coffee, the indefinable scent that's uniquely Max. His heartbeat beneath my ear is steady, reassuring. "This isn't an ending."
"It feels like one." The admission escapes before I can contain it.
He draws back enough to cup my face between his palms. "It's a beginning. A beginning that requires some logistics we haven't quite figured out yet." His thumb traces my lower lip. "I meant what I said about the remote workspace at Mountain Brew. That project alone will have me back here at least monthly."
"Monthly," I echo, trying to imagine the spaces between visits, the hollow days of waiting.
"For now." His voice softens. "While we navigate these early stages. But Lily—" He hesitates, unusual uncertainty flickering across his features. "I've spent my career building infrastructure that lets people work from anywhere. Maybe it's time I followed my own vision."
Hope blooms dangerous and bright in my chest. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that my life doesn't have to be in Silicon Valley forever. That there might be a future where Angel's Peak becomes more than just a place I visit." His gaze holds mine, serious and intent. "I'm not making promises I can't keep. This needs to unfold naturally, but I want you to know the possibility exists."
The revelation leaves me momentarily speechless. I've been so focused on managing the inevitable pain of separation that I hadn't allowed myself to consider a future where it might not be permanent.
"For now, though," he continues, "we have a three-hour drive to the airport and a goodbye to get through."
The drive passes too quickly, conversation flowing easily between comfortable silences. We avoid the subject of separation, instead discussing Mountain Brew's expansion plans, the community's response to the workspace concept, and the details of implementing his security platform. Professional topics provide safer ground than the emotions threatening to overflow.
At the airport departure area, time suddenly seems to compress. We stand beside the car, the moment of parting impossible to postpone any longer.
"This is ridiculous," I say, attempting to laugh through the thickness in my throat. "It's not forever. It's just?—"
"Two weeks," Max finishes. "Sixteen days until I'm back for the official launch of the workspace."
"I'll have everything ready." I focus on practicalities, clinging to them like a lifeline. "The contractors start tomorrow on the renovations."
"Lily." Max steps closer, one hand settling warm against the side of my neck. "Stop planning and be here with me. Right now."
The gentle admonishment breaks something loose inside me. I surge forward, arms wrapping around his neck as I press myself against him. His response is immediate, arms encircling my waist, lifting me slightly as his mouth finds mine with fierce possession.
The kiss holds everything we haven't said—fear, hope, promise, need. My fingers thread through his hair, committing its texture to memory. His hands press against my lower back, eliminating any space between us. When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard, foreheads pressed together.
"I love you," he says, the words dropping into the space between us like stones into still water. "I wasn't planning to say that yet, but it's true, and I need you to know before I leave."
Joy and terror collide inside me with equal force. "Max?—"
