Page 72 of Crossing the Line
On Paper
Paisley Grove
Despite my not going to the office today, my day starts with gusto. I’m sitting on my sofa, trying to make sense of what’s happening in my life, when Kelly and the furniture-delivery guys knock on the door. While my beds are being set up, Kelly walks me through my apartment again, convincing me to get rid of Davey Yee’s furniture, which she calls odd and fetishized. Her showing me different design combinations on her iPad eats up a large chunk of time. In the end, she convinces me to swap out Davey’s leftover furnishings for my own. I’m even getting rid of the cool coffee table, which I have to admit is eccentrically tacky.
It’s three in the afternoon. In three hours, I’m to meet Ru at the Blue Cherry. Standing in the middle of my living room after everyone is gone, I breathe in deeply, filling my chest with air and holding it for one, two seconds, and then slowly release it.
That settles me. I’ll have to plan my next steps.
But why hasn’t Hercules called?
“Maybe I should call him,” I whisper and take steps toward my phone, which sits on top of the coffee table. But then I stop to search my body for physiological responses.
Maybe not. Maybe space between us is required.
Someone knocks on my door. Thinking it’s Lake, I race over to open it. But when I see who it is, I feel choked by surprise. “Oh.”
Max holds up a paper bag with something that smells warm, delicious, and familiar. “I come in peace,” he says, taking a stab at a sincere smile.
* * *
Max brought my favorite—abarbecue chicken salad sandwich from Delta’s Grill. I make us cappuccinos with the fancy barista-style cappuccino and coffee maker installed in the kitchen. So far, Max has been on his best behavior. He’s only asked me questions about Lake. I hate to thwart his hopes, but I let him know that she’s getting married soon to Mason, who of course my brother knows.
Max is always hard to read when it comes to matters of the heart. It’s hard to even suss out whether he likes or hates someone. Usually, I know how he feels by what he does. As they say, actions speak louder than words—or in his case, facial expressions.
“But they’re putting it off because Mason hasn’t been feeling well lately.” I hand him a white porcelain cup topped with the creamiest foam.
Max’s bottom lip pouts thoughtfully as he rubs it.
“Do you like her?” I sit on the white marshmallow-like sofa. Despite its pretty form, it’s not very comfortable.
“Not if she’s getting married. And maybe you should follow my lead.” He raises a thick dark and naturally manicured eyebrow.
Here we go. Although I’m not going to lie to myself—I love sitting with Max while I eat my favorite sandwich and drink the cappuccino I made for us. It’s been too long since we’ve done this. In the past, we sat down together a lot and shared a meal. Max and I have always found something to talk about. Not many people get to see or engage with this side of him—the likable side.
“You don’t have to warn me about, Hercules. We’re just friends.”
Chin lowered, he studies me with critical eyes as he takes a sip of his cappuccino. No words are needed. That’s his way of saying, “You’re not fooling me or yourself.”
“So, why are you here, Max?” I say, briskly readjusting in my seat.
“You missed the meeting. Why?”
I keep my expression even, realizing that this little get-together of ours is the natural progression of last night’s dinner with my parents. “I never agreed to work with the TRANSPOT team. And with all due respect, I’m not letting you or Mom or Dad bully me into it.”
“No one’s bullying you, Paisley.”
I grunt facetiously. “You want me to count the ways?”
Max sets the cappuccino on the coffee table. He takes a moment to frown at the tabletop. He must notice the LCD screen.
“You used to like trying to figure out TRANSPOT. What happened?”
I want to spill my guts about the letters that point at Grandfather deceiving Grandmother into marrying him—how she was in love with this Garnet person. But maybe Max already knows.
“Have you ever heard of someone named Garnet?” I ask.
His expression doesn’t budge. “Garnet? No.”
