Page 41 of Can We Skip to the Good Part?

TWENTY

The Great Martini Swap

N oticing the charged glances passing between Max and Ella, the rest of the group got the message.

With a flurry of friendly goodbyes and quick packing, they filtered out one by one, leaving the two of them alone in the quiet hum of the nearly empty room.

Only the custodial staff remained, their movements methodical as they tidied the last traces of the event.

Max stood there for a beat, heart ticking faster than she let on.

“So …” she said, a soft smile playing on her lips as she let out a breath.

“There’s a bar two blocks from here that stays open late during the week.

Totally walkable.” Max tilted her head slightly, the corner of her mouth lifting in invitation.

“I’m buying, if you’re up for it. What do you think?

” She held her breath, unsure if she’d been too forward.

It felt like a moment balanced on the edge of something hopeful and terrifying all at once.

Ella’s eyes lit up, and the visual was an anchor in the storm. She relaxed and smiled without trying. “I skipped all the champagne opportunities tonight simply because I didn’t have a spare second to enjoy a glass, so I would love a drink, actually, and am refusing to pay a cent.”

“Sounds like a match to me.”

Downtown was in that late-night lull, the space between the late dinner crowd and last call.

Some places had gone dark already—boutique windows empty, chairs flipped onto tables —but others still glowed soft and inviting.

The coffee shop on the corner was open late, and a couple of college kids hunched over laptops in the window.

Somewhere farther down the block, music spilled out of the cracked door of a dive bar, laughter trailing after it.

Max didn’t let herself reach for Ella. Not yet. But every step they took together down Main Street felt like easing pressure off a bruise she’d been pretending didn’t hurt.

She’d missed this. Not just Ella, though, yeah, that was a constant ache—but this with her. Walking side by side like it was easy. Like it was allowed.

Dirty Little Secret was a popular martini bar in town, and it was still bustling when they walked through the main room, which housed the bar. The plastic high-top tables were all occupied, and they waited at the host stand for directions.

“Hey there, Max. Please feel free to seat yourself,” Peter said. She’d gone to high school with Peter (Go Huskies!) and had handled his sister’s divorce two years prior.

“Thanks, Peter. Busy tonight.”

“Everyone knows Peter,” Ella murmured.

“Oh, you’ve been here before?”

She nodded. “With Rachel. Many a cucumber martini. Mild headache the next day.”

“Well, Marco makes the best. Want to see if there’s space in the back? It’s likely quieter. We can … talk.”

“I’ll follow you.”

The sentence was innocuous but sent a shiver down Max’s spine, signaling that her body was ready to catch up to what her heart was already reaching for. Hope was a tricky thing. She wasn’t sure whether to tamp it down or release it more fully.

They found an available, but less-than-comfortable-looking couch in a dimly lit section of the bar. It was shaped like an elongated clamshell and probably cost more than most people paid in rent.

“Is this the hardest couch you’ve ever sat on as well?” Ella asked, hopping a little to try and get comfortable.

“It’s the literal worst,” Max said with a laugh, giving her hips a shake to see if she could wiggle her way into the cushion a little. No go. “Can you imagine curling up with a good book on this thing?”

“It would be a total mistake.” Ella smacked the couch’s rigid backing to absolutely zero give. “I guess the upside is you wouldn’t fall asleep in the middle of the chapter.”

“Remind me not to try to seduce someone on this thing.”

“Well, there goes my entire evening,” Ella said, her eyes dancing. They were loosening up around each other, and it felt so damn good, like water to someone parched.

“How have you been?”

Ella shrugged, the emotion she’d held back in regards to all that had happened came rushing up on her in a whoosh of untethered feelings. “I’ll say this. It wasn’t my favorite period.”

“No. Mine neither. So, tell me what shifted for you and Rachel?”

Ella quickly relayed the conversation they’d had at the pop-up and sat back on the couch, shaking her head. “Between losing her job and potentially her best friend, I think Rachel is on a journey of rediscovery. Maybe forgiveness is a part of that.”

“I think maybe we all are,” Max said, smiling up at the server who delivered their drinks. “Thank you so much.”

Ella was watching her with interest and a small smile.

“What?”

“You’re always so polite. I appreciate that about you.”

“Really? I’ve always worried I was too direct. I blame law school and my no-nonsense mother.”

Ella leaned her head on her hand, which was propped up on the back of the couch. “Well, you are direct. And confident. I’ll give you those. But there’s an undercurrent of kindness woven into your interactions, too. Best of both worlds. Don’t get a big head, either.”

Max smiled, feeling seen and understood in a manner she wasn’t entirely used to. “Only temporarily. I’ll surely do something to get trolled before this conversation is over.”

“We can only hope.” They shared a smile, and Max reminded herself to breathe, taking in air beyond the nervous, shallow intakes.

She knew the reason. She was excited but also so very ready to flip the pages to see where they ended up.

She wanted more than anything to skip ahead to a moment of certainty where she knew exactly what they were to each other and what the future held.

She also understood that the ground beneath their feet felt a little different than it had before their time apart, and she had to be prepared for feelings to have shifted.

She wanted Ella to give them a shot, but she also wanted her to be sure.

And what an ask that was. How many times had she cursed and sworn off romance herself recently?

Yet, sitting here in close proximity to Ella fucking Baker, she was falling all over again, the cynicism sliding off of her like a long day at work.

Was it dangerous to shove her chips to the middle of the table?

Definitely. Maybe she slid one stack at a time and went from there.

She reached for her passion fruit martini and winced a tad at the sweetness.

Ella made a similar face at her dirty martini, which came with blue cheese olives.

Without a word, they switched drinks, an unspoken understanding that it might go better the other way around, and it was the most clichéd couple thing Max had maybe ever experienced.

“Much better,” Ella said, brightening.

“I can safely say the same.” It was a metaphor if she’d ever encountered one. The right drink and the right person made all the difference. Maybe romance was only problematic when you’d ordered the wrong drink for yourself.

“What’s going on in that head over there?” Ella asked, sitting up taller and enjoying her newly acquired colorful drink.

“I’m happy to be sitting here with you, and I’m also wondering what it all means.”

“Because you’re an absolute type A control freak.”

“Who really likes these olives.” She grinned around a bite. “Good lord.”

Ella’s eyes were on her mouth, and that was more than okay. “Good lord is right.” They shared a smile and maintained eye contact that neither seemed in a hurry to break.

“I think we need a plan,” Max said, sliding a little closer to Ella on the couch.

“I thought you might say that.” Ella took a sip of her drink, then held it up in a small toast. “How about two drinks, then home? I’ll grab an Uber, sneak in six hours of sleep, and pretend I’m a well-adjusted adult tomorrow. You?”

She flashed a cheeky grin that Max had half a mind to kiss right off her face. Instead, she just looked at her—really looked—and waited.

“What?” Ella asked, setting her glass on the low table in front of them. A group shuffled past their couch on the way out of the restaurant, forcing a brief pause. When they were gone, Ella turned back to Max. “Not the kind of plan you had in mind?”

“Not exactly,” Max said, her voice low.

Ella’s smile softened. “Well … I’ll say this. I’ve missed you. I’ve missed your words. I’ve missed your laugh. Your body.”

Max’s heart thudded, but she waited, needing to hear everything else Ella had to say.

“I’m feeling rather hopeful,” Ella continued, sincerity lacing her delivery. “Of course, I want to be sensitive to Rachel’s feelings. But I also really want to spend time with you.”

Max nodded, her voice steady. “I hear you. And I’m going to take it one step further.”

“Do,” Ella said, giving a gracious little take-the-floor gesture.

“I want us to give this a real shot. Officially. If I had my way, you wouldn’t be catching a ride home tonight. You’d be coming back with me.” She paused, studying Ella’s face. “But I get the need to take it slow. I do. Especially after … everything.”

“We were a twister,” Ella said, awe in her voice. “Tearing through everything in our path.”

Max smiled at the image. “Powerful and focused. That’s us.”

Ella inhaled like she needed a moment to ground herself. “I admit that it’s hard to focus on anything else when you’re in the room.”

Without thinking, Max reached for her hand and tugged it gently into her lap, lacing their fingers together. “I can’t recall much about the last few Weepers meetings we attended together. But I can tell you exactly what you wore and thought about each book.”

“Good,” Ella said, her grin returning. She leaned in. “Because I happen to have opinions, ma’am.”

“You don’t have to remind me.” Max’s chest tightened with the urge to close the space between them, but she held back. “So. About us. What I tossed out there.”

“You want to date me officially,” Ella said.

Max raised a finger. “And exclusively.”