Page 27

CHAPTER

TWENTY-SEVEN

DELANEY

I t’s been several months since Max and I started officially dating, and honestly? It’s been great. Besides moving from my bedroom into his, not much has changed. Everything has been wonderful—and, if I’m being honest, that’s what worries me.

Max says it’s just my old insecurities creeping in, trying to convince me that the other shoe is going to drop and this incredible life will fall out from under me. He keeps telling me that when it’s right, the other shoe never falls.

We’ve had this conversation so many times now that I keep a sticky note he wrote me taped to the bedroom mirror. It says:

No shoe left behind.

It makes me smile every time I see it. No one else would understand it, but I do—and I get the meaning loud and clear. I'm not sure why I used the falling shoe metaphor to describe our relationship in the first place. But it stuck. And we’re going with it.

A couple of days after the No shoe left behind note, Max left me another one:

Our shoes work together to make the perfect pair.

Cheesy. And equally adorable.

One of the things I love most about Max is that he doesn’t play games.

He says exactly what he’s feeling, no matter how silly or sentimental it might sound.

I hate to admit I’m the kind of woman who needs that…

but I do. At least right now. I hate that I still have these insecurities, but they’re there.

He sees them, and instead of pulling away, he doubles down—showing me, in the smallest, most consistent ways, that he’s in this for real.

Even the cynical part of my brain can’t ignore the truth—he wouldn’t go through all this effort for something temporary.

Max has the morning off—a rare event. He told me to sleep in and said he’d take care of the baby.

I’ve managed to sleep maybe an hour later than usual, which is impressive considering my brain’s trained to rise before the sun.

Years of early mornings will do that to you.

And in my experience, most kids don’t sleep in… which means neither do I.

Later this afternoon, we’re heading to my apartment to box up more of my stuff and bring it here.

It’s a very expensive apartment I’ve barely used.

I think I’ve stepped foot in it only a few times since moving in last fall.

For a long time, I kept it as my safety net, just in case this placement didn’t work out.

But I’m starting to realize that by holding on to it, I was quietly waiting for things to fall apart here.

I’m trying to be better. Trying to trust what I know to be true, that I belong here with Max and Caroline.

If the worst did happen—if everything fell apart—I know I’d be financially okay. I’ve added a solid chunk of money to my savings thanks to Max’s generous pay. I could afford another place. I’d figure it out.

But I don’t want to prepare for failure anymore.

I want to believe this is it. Because it feels like it is.

Heading into the bathroom to brush my teeth, I find the first note stuck to the bathroom mirror, neon pink and impossible to miss:

Warning: Objects in the mirror are cuter than they appear. Especially when wearing my shirt.

I roll my eyes, but my lips betray me, curling into a grin. I’m still in said shirt—Max’s navy Crane Hockey tee, oversized and worn soft with time—and I definitely don’t hate the way it smells like him. I threw it on after some very toe-curling events last night.

Down in the kitchen, I find Caroline babbling in her high chair, smearing mashed banana across her tray like she’s finger painting a masterpiece. There’s yogurt in her hair, a spoon on the floor, and she looks entirely pleased with herself.

“Uh, Max?” I call out, glancing around the kitchen.

He pops out of the pantry, holding a new container of protein powder. “Good morning, beautiful,” he says, leaning in for a kiss.

I stop him, holding up a hand. “You’ve got banana on your face.” I chuckle.

He swipes his palm across his cheek. “That explains why I can’t get the smell of banana out of my nose.”

I laugh. “Okay, not trying to be critical, but did Care Bear actually get any food in her mouth?”

He glances over my shoulder with mock seriousness. “Bear, did you get any food in your mouth?”

Caroline giggles and slaps her yogurt-covered hands against the tray, sending white splatters flying across the room.

Max looks back at me with a shrug. “She says yes.”

“God, you’re such a menace,” I mumble through a smile.

He grabs a paper towel and wipes his face. “Thank you. I love you, too.” This time, when he leans in, I let him kiss me.

“Can you watch her for a minute? I need to transfer the laundry,” he asks.

“Sure,” I say, watching him disappear down the hall.

I take in the chaos of the kitchen—banana smears, yogurt streaks, a dropped spoon—and shake my head with a soft smile. I turn to Caroline. “You totally know how to eat without making this big of a mess. I think you’re taking advantage of your daddy.”

I reach in and squeeze her sticky little belly.

She giggles and nods, probably because she likes the way the mushy banana feels under her chin, but I choose to believe she’s agreeing with me.

“I need coffee before I even attempt to clean this up.”

I step into the pantry and find a sticky note stuck to the front of the coffee container:

You’re my favorite part of every day. Also the reason we’re always out of ranch.

“Guilty,” I whisper, my heart squeezing.

I peel it off the coffee canister and slip it into my pocket. There’s a box on our bedroom dresser where I keep the ones that really make me smile. I don’t know what I’ll eventually do with them, but they feel too special to throw away.

The morning continues with Max and me moving in sync—cleaning up, bathing Caroline, and making our way over to my apartment. We grab lunch out, then the three of us take a quick trip to the grocery store, which turns into a full-blown scavenger hunt.

I throw together a simple but delicious dinner, ribeye steaks with mashed potatoes and broccoli. We spend the rest of the night playing with the baby and reading her favorite books before Max carries her off to bed, her head resting on his shoulder, thumb in her mouth.

I draw a steaming hot bath, complete with lavender bath salts, a glass of wine, a few candles, and my current romance novel.

I lean back with a sigh as the jets kick on, massaging my back.

I don’t know where Max got this tub—or if it came with the house—but it’s hands-down the most luxurious one I’ve ever been in.

I feel like I’m soaking in a five-star hotel suite.

I’m mid-sip of wine, toes just starting to prune, when the bathroom door creaks open. Max steps inside, shirtless, holding a folded towel in one hand and wearing a familiar crooked smile that tells me he’s up to something.

“Room for one more?” he asks, his voice low and playful.

I raise a brow. “What do you have to offer? I’ll see if I can make room.”

He grins wider and drops the towel onto the chair. “Just me. But I’ll do just about anything. Name your price.”

“I like that. Come on in.” I scoot up.

He climbs in behind me, careful not to slosh too much water over the sides, and settles with a groan like he’s been waiting to do this all day. His legs frame mine, his arms slip around my waist, and his chin rests lightly on my shoulder. I feel him exhale, deep and content.

“This bath is magical,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss just beneath my ear. “You smell like heaven and feel even better.” He splays his hands across my waist. “So soft.”

“Bath salts,” I say, relaxing against his chest.

“Pretty sure it’s you,” he whispers.

We soak in the quiet for a minute, the candlelight flickering soft shadows across the walls, the scent of lavender thick in the warm, humid air.

His fingers move lazily over my arms, drawing light circles on my skin that send little sparks through my limbs.

I close my eyes and lean back further into him.

“I like this,” he says, nuzzling into the curve of my neck.

“Me too.”

“I had a great day,” he says, kissing my shoulder.

“Same. But every day is great with you.” I tilt my head to the side, giving him more access, and hum softly.

His lips brush my shoulder again. Then my collarbone.

Each kiss is softer and slower than the last. His hands move more deliberately now, trailing down my sides, then back up to cup my face as I twist slightly in the water to face him.

Our lips meet in a kiss that starts sweet but quickly deepens—the kind of kiss that makes the world outside this room feel impossibly far away.

I press my hand against his chest, feeling the familiar thrum of his heartbeat. He kisses me again, slower this time, like he’s memorizing every part of it. My fingers slide along his jaw, the scrape of stubble grounding me in the reality of this moment.

When we finally pull apart, breathless and smiling, he rests his forehead against mine.

“Best bath I’ve ever taken,” he murmurs.

I chuckle. “Told you it’s like a five-star hotel in here.”

I shift slightly, water sloshing around us, and rest my hands on his thighs beneath the surface. His breath hitches, and I smile. I feel his desire hard against my back and know how much I affect him.

One arm tightens around my waist while the other hand slides slowly up my thigh under the water, creating a trail of tingles in its wake.

“You ruin me,” he breathes against the shell of my ear. “In the best possible way.”

My breath catches as his fingers splay across my stomach, his touch feather-light.

The slow drag of his fingertips just beneath the water makes my whole body hum.

I turn my head, brushing my lips over the stubble on his jaw.

His hand tightens on my hip as I angle to kiss him, this time deeper—slick and slow and a little desperate.

The water ripples with our movement as we shift again. I end up straddling him, knees resting against the tub, my hands braced on his shoulders. His hands are on my hips now, holding me steady, grounding me and igniting me all at once.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers. His thumb brushes along the underside of my breast, and I lean into the touch with a soft sigh.

I kiss him again, slower this time, savoring it—the steam, the candlelight, the feel of his body beneath mine. His hands roam freely now, exploring every inch like he’s mapping me by memory. My lips move to his jaw, down to the strong line of his neck, tasting his skin, warm and damp.

He groans, low and rough, when I rock my hips against him, and water splashes against the sides of the tub.

“Laney,” he says, his voice raw. “This is torture.”

I smile against his throat. “Good.”

I can feel him, hard and ready, and I want him—desperately—but this moment feels too perfect to rush. So I take my time. I kiss his collarbone. His chest. I rest my forehead against his as our breaths tangle in the small space between us.

“Tell me what you need,” he rasps, his grip tightening.

“You,” I whisper, leaning in again, “always you.”

With a swift motion, he rises from the water, lifting me with him. I cling to his shoulders, laughing softly as he steps out of the tub, dripping and glorious, and carries me toward the bedroom.

The bath may have ended, but the night is just beginning.