Page 17

M ax rushed to let Remi in. As he pulled open the door, he realized it was the first time he had let her into his home as a guest. He wondered if it was weird for her to have knocked on his door as a friend after months of punching in her code as a cleaner.

When he opened the door, he found Remi standing there, a single-dimple smile present, but not lacking a hint of pity for him, and for the first time in his life he didn’t want to think about hockey. In fact, he wouldn't mind Remi acting as a distraction from it for a while.

“Thanks for coming over,” he said, stepping to the side to let her in.

She reached down and removed her signature checkered Vans, and Max couldn't help but watch in anticipation to see what color her toenails were this time.

“Pink,” he said under his breath and then looked up to find her smiling at him.

“Pink?” she asked.

“Oh, it's just, they’re a different color every time I see you,” Max said, hinting at her feet.

“Oh,” she said, looking down, wiggling her toes. “Yeah, it relaxes me,” she admitted.

“Painting them different colors?”

“Well, just painting them in general. But I hardly ever do the same color twice in a row. I like to keep things interesting.”

It was working, because Max found everything about her to be interesting, nail polish included.

Remi made her way into his living room with ease and familiarity.

“I see you're a big lights kinda guy,” she said, hinting at every light in the house being on. “I guess hockey players don't sweat the electric bill,” she teased.

“They’re on dimmers if it's too bright,” he offered, and Remi didn't miss a beat. She lowered the lights in the living room and without fail, his vision strained against the sudden loss of light.

Making her way to the couch, she stood there a little awkwardly, waiting for him to join her; only he needed a minute. Just a minute and things would refocus, and he could make his way next to her without stumbling over his own feet.

“Do you want something to drink?” he offered, trying to make it less noticeable that he wasn't moving from where he was standing.

“I’m good,” she said, and to his relief, his eyes adjusted, not fully, but enough to get him from point A to point B without tripping.

Remi sat down on the massive couch, her tiny body engulfed by its depth, and Max realized they would both fit, lying side by side, if they happened to fall asleep together one day.

He sat next to her, nervously wiping his sweaty palms on his sweatpants.

“So, do you want to tell me why you’re home early from the road trip or are we going to ignore that part?”

“Am I out of passes?” he asked.

Remi turned her body to face him, tucking her bare legs under her.

“I’ll give you a pass tonight,” she said empathetically.

“Are you sure?”

She reached out and steadied his leg that was bouncing anxiously.

“I’m sure, but you have to promise me that tomorrow you’ll tell me what's going on. I don’t want to pry, but I do want to be someone you can talk to. I want to be that person for you because you need me, but I also want to be that person for you, because I need you.”

“Why? Why trouble yourself with my bullshit?”

“Because if I don’t know what you're going through, I won't know how to care for you.”

“What if I don’t want you to treat me like there's something wrong with me? I couldn't handle your pity.”

“I don't pity you, Max, I care about you. Those are two totally different things.”

“For tonight, can we just pretend that me being home has nothing to do with hockey? Can we pretend it's just a random night, and I’m fine, and you're here because you want to be here…” He paused and then added, “And can we pretend that I’m a brave enough man to kiss you?”

“Why would we have to pretend any of those things when all of them are really happening right now.”

“Except the part about me kissing you.”

“Maybe we just haven't gotten to that part yet.”

“I’m working on it,” he said with a playful smile.

Remi laughed. “I can wait. I’m patient if nothing else,” she said, taking his hand in hers as she pulled him to his feet. “I have an idea.”

“Donuts?” he asked.

“No, better.”

“Cat ears?” he teased.

She tugged on his hand. “A tour.”

“A tour?”

“Yeah, show me your house, Max.”

“But you've seen it, you've cleaned it a million times.”

“Yeah, but I want to see it through your eyes.”

“I don’t even know if I’ve seen it through my eyes. So far, it's just been a crash pad.”

Remi pulled him along, nearly causing him to trip over a throw pillow he hadn't noticed on the ground. “Then let's see it together. We can pretend we’re looking into buying it.”

“Like…” He paused. “Like role play?”

“Exactly.” Remi paused to think, then went on, “I’m Marsha Bumbly, I run a butterfly conservatory. Incredibly famous for my advocacy for the monarchs.”

Max wasn’t good at normal conversation, and now he was being asked to look at imaginary houses for sale with none other than Marsha Bumbly, butterfly conservationist extraordinaire—it was all too much.

“Who will you be?” she asked excitedly.

“You tell me,” he said.

“Oh no, you have to come up with your own character.”

Max smiled at her excitement over this new, silly game they were about to play. But really, when he considered it, it was the perfect opportunity to be someone other than himself for a while, so why not choose someone bold, brave, and outgoing? The kind of man that would not only tour this home with Remi, or should he say Marsha, but the kind of man that would do it with her hand in his, and his body finding any way he could to press against hers.

“Walter,” Max finally said.

“Walter who?” she prompted him.

“Walter Shmalter ?” he asked, laughing at his own absurdity.

Remi quirked her eyebrows and then began to laugh too. “Shmalter? Really?” she asked.

“I’m not good at this,” he defended.

“No, no, it's fine. Okay, so Walter…” She chuckled then added, “Shmalter. What do you do for a living?”

“I don’t know, maybe a car salesman?”

She broke character. “Of all the jobs in the world and you choose a car salesman? Not happening. Pick something ridiculous.”

A goalie? he thought.

That seemed ridiculous in his current state.

“Okay, I’m Walter…”

She cut him off and giggled. “Shmalter.”

“Shush, you,” he said, shaking his head at her, “I’m Walter, and I’m a professional party clown.”

The smile he wore for her was effortless. Remi made the muscles in his face work on autopilot, it didn’t feel forced when he was with her, it felt the way smiling should feel. It felt like home.

“So, are we married and shopping for a vacation spot, or maybe engaged, looking for our forever home?” Remi asked.

The plot thickens , Max thought.

“Maybe we’re dating, and we just really like to tour homes for a unique date experience?” Max offered, surprising even himself.

Remi pressed up on her tiptoes and brought her finger to his nose to boop it three times. “Ding-ding-ding! That’s it. We are Marsha and Walter, and this is our favorite kind of date night.”

Mine too, Max thought, because this felt like a date, an unconventional one, but a date, nonetheless.

“Shall we?” Remi asked, offering him her arm.

“We shall,” he agreed, taking her arm and letting her lead him to the front door.

Remi looked up at him, and her smile was wild and silly, clearing her throat as she spoke with a posh accent. “Well, Walter,” she said and giggled, breaking character for a split second, “I’m sorry, I still can’t believe you went with Shmalter.”

Max started laughing too, then cleared his throat and decided to take the lead. “Funny you should laugh at my last name, Martha, darling, considering Shmalter will be your last name soon since we’re engaged to be married.”

Remi pulled herself back into character, popped out her chest, and said, “And what makes you think I’ll take your last name, Walter, darling?”

Max fought back a laugh. “How silly of me to assume.”

“Silly indeed… but would you look at this entryway, darling. It’s so…” She paused.

Blah?

Boring?

Lifeless?

Sterile?

“Stunning,” she finally said. Max would have called it a million different things, but she was right, this entryway was rather stunning with her standing there. Because Remi made any room she stood in come to life.

“Indeed,” he agreed, as she led him to the kitchen.

“This could use a pop of color, what do you think?” she asked, and Max wasn't sure if she was still speaking as her character Marsha, or as Remi, but yes, he absolutely thought the kitchen could use a pop of color. He had just never found the time to actually add any.

“Maybe a plant?” he offered, thinking of all the potted plants on her small front porch.

“Oh, yes, a plant would be lovely. Greenery always brings a house to life, Walter.”

“I couldn't agree more, Marsha.”

Remi looked up at him, and Max watched as Marsha’s smug demeanor washed away, only to be replaced with Remi’s soft smile. The blush of her cheeks returned, and then, with her voice a bit lower, a bit less campy, she asked, “Should we check out the bedroom…” She cleared her throat and added, “Walter, I know you’d love to see the master.”

Max felt his face burn hot and damned his red hair and pale skin for giving him away every time because something about the mention of his bedroom with Remi made his entire body heat.

“Not as much as you’d love to see the walk-in closet,” he added, no sign of Walter in his tone.

Somewhere in the last few words they’d exchanged, they had both ditched their characters, aside from the silly names, and they were speaking entirely on their own behalf. They were both saying the things they wanted to say under the guise of characters, in the name of roleplay.

“The bedroom is this way,” she said, and of course she had seen his room before, only this time was not like the rest. This time she was here because he invited her, and because she wanted to be. There would be no paycheck at the end, no clocking in or out, no entry codes that were specifically created for the housekeeper.

Max’s arm dropped, and her hand slid from his forearm down to his hand where she intertwined their fingers and tugged him towards his room.

“It’s a bit disappointing,” Max offered as they walked into the massive space.

“It just needs some personal touches,” Remi said.

“I’m not good at that sort of thing,” he said.

Remi turned to face him, stepping into his space, her fingers still gripping his tightly. “You keep saying that.”

“I’m sorry,” Max offered.

She smiled. “ And that.”

Rubbing his thumbs over her knuckles, he wanted to be brave, and for this to be the part where he kissed her. The part she said she was patient enough to wait for.

Each day as he woke up and tried to blink away the uncertainty of his career crumbling beneath him, he was learning that he had been waiting his whole life to see things clearly. And now, while his vision grew tired and unreliable, he realized Remi was the clearest thing he had ever seen in his life. He wanted to spend forever memorizing every fleck of the ocean in her blue eyes, every sun-induced freckle that spattered across the fine lines of her collar bones, and each beach day sunburn on her sand-covered toes.

He was done waiting.

Because time was always running out, and the clock slowed for no one.

The time was now, Remi was here, and he was somehow still breathing despite how close their bodies had become, pressed against each other.

“Indulge me, Walter,” she said, her voice low, “show me the closet.”

“If that’s what you want, darling,” he said, his tone matching hers.

“I do love a good walk-in closet.”

Max took the lead for the first time tonight, tugging Remi towards his pristine, organized closet. It wasn't exactly where he thought they would end up, considering he had a bed, but if she wanted to see the closet, he would show her the fucking closet, be it Remi, Marsha, or any other alter ego, roleplay character she chose to be. Hell, he would show her anything she wanted. He wanted her, and he had known it since that day on the couch, with the punk music, his black boxer briefs, and the lamp crashing to the ground.

He wanted her.

He wanted to take his time with her.

He wanted to rush every second.

He wanted the world to stop spinning just long enough that he could catch his footing.

They entered the closet and Remi looked around the space with an appraising eye.

“It’s big enough to be listed as a bedroom,” she teased.

“It’s a good size,” he agreed.

Remi pulled him all the way into the space. “Shut the door,” she said in a whisper.

Max did not hesitate to do as told, pulling the door closed behind him. The closet he often found to be obnoxiously big suddenly felt so small with the two of them taking up the space there.

“We’re in your closet,” she said, taking a step towards him.

“It’s definitely not something that was on my bucket list of things to do with you, but I like the way you surprise me, Remi. I’ve never been good at surprises.”

“And yet you continue to surprise me too, Max Miller.”

“How so?” he asked.

“Everything you say you're not good at, you end up being amazing at.”

“Conversation?” he asked.

“Top tier.” She smiled.

“Decorating a house?”

“Well, you mentioned getting a plant, which is a good start.”

“And being brave?” he asked, pressing his body against her, leaving no space between them for uncertainty, no room left to guess what came next.

“I saw you wear cat ears; I think that's pretty brave.”

Max brought his hand to the back of her neck and gently let his fingers push through the wild tangles of her blond hair. “And the kissing you part?” he asked softly.

“I was waiting to find out, but I’m almost certain you will excel there too.”

Reaching for the light switch, he pulled down the dimmer, keeping his eyes intent on her face, trying like hell not to lose her in the lack of light.

“How’s that?” he asked.

“Purrrrfect,” she said in a low purr, a play on cat puns making a reprise.

“I'm going to kiss you meow,” he warned, a faint boyish smile on his lips.

“Hurry,” she said, closing her eyes. “I feel like I’ve been holding my breath for this moment since I met you.”

And who was he? Who was Max to deny this woman the very air in her lungs?

He pressed his hand against her lower back, drawing her body up against his as he leaned down. His eyes closed tight as he let his lips finally meet hers.

It was a million glass bottles of freshly squeezed lemonade.

It was soft lips pressed against the sweet brim.

It was the lingering sugar coating his tongue with the faint reminder that hers must taste the same.

Max kissed her like he had a million things to say but didn’t know how to articulate them.

He encouraged her mouth to open for him and with gentle strokes against hers, he showed her all the things that had been stuck at the very tip of his tongue in the way he kissed her.

He kissed her as though he was making up for a million words lost in translation.

She responded, her lips a perfect fit against his as his beard tickled the corners of her mouth. Deepening the kiss, she wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him close.

She wanted him in her space.

She wanted him .

In his closet.

In his house.

In all his awkward splendor.

He was glad she wanted to keep him close because Max wasn't sure how long he would be able to see the details of her face when she was far away.

Slowly, and with every trained muscle of his body, Max lowered Remi to the plush carpet of his closet, an unlikely place to share their first kisses, but what a story it would be. Max realized he had been craving this very thing. An uncommon kiss, a memorable date, a connection that lasted longer than three periods being counted down by a clock on a jumbotron, and Remi was all those things.

He let the darkness steal his vision as he counted on his other senses to enjoy this moment; the soft hum of her moans against his lips, the heat between their bodies, her fingers gripping his shoulders as she wrapped her legs around his hips allowing all their most intimate parts to align as he pressed against her fully clothed body.

He found optimism with his eyes closed so tight as he trailed his nose down along her neck and was able to make out the very shape of her body this way.

Because even in this moment of pure bliss, Max could not drown out the deafening reminder of what this pitch-black kiss held.

He allowed himself to breathe in the scent of her.

He allowed himself to listen to the sounds she made as he gently nipped at the lobe of her ear.

He allowed himself to taste the salt water that lingered on her skin.

He allowed himself to feel the way his body ached for more of her.

Max allowed himself to accept all of these things with his eyes closed tight, because he knew the day would come when he wouldn't have to close his eyes to avoid the lingering dimmed lights, because, for the first time in his life, Max admitted to himself that he was going blind.