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S he had just started making the bed in the master bedroom when she heard the garage door open, the smart home announcing his arrival. He had snuck off at some point when she was mopping, and she honestly wondered if he would return for their beach picnic.

“Hey,” she called out, “I’m just finishing up your bed.”

He crept in quietly, lingering in the doorway of his bedroom, watching her as she pulled the top sheet up into place.

“It’s noon,” he said, and Remi didn’t miss the nervous undertones in his voice.

Turning to face him, she saw that he had a farmers market tote hanging from his massive arm.

“Whatcha got?” she said, hinting at the floral print tote she had seen for sale at one of the vendor booths this morning while she was picking up the hummus and pretzels.

“Oh, this?” he said, looking down at the bag. “I got the one with flowers. I thought you could use a new one,” he said, hinting at her battered old tote hanging from the barstool in the other room.

Remi pulled her bottom lip between her teeth to keep herself from smiling too big. It was just a farmers market tote, but the gesture made her heart hammer in her chest. The thought of him choosing the floral tote for her and then proceeding to shop with it was an image she couldn't help but feel giddy over. Massive Max Miller, with his tight black Violent Gentlemen shirt stretching over his big chest, pulling on his biceps, walking through the Huntington Beach farmers market with his vibrant floral tote.

She wished she could have seen it in person.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, turning back to finish making his bed. “Thank you for thinking of me when you saw it.”

Before she realized what was happening, Max was at the other end of the bed, helping her pull the comforter up.

“I don’t sleep in here,” he said.

She didn’t stop what she was doing, she didn’t want to make a big to-do over him admitting it. It was obvious that he didn’t sleep in this bed, but she didn’t push back. Max would tell her things in his time. She felt her role in this friendship was to just be safe. Safe enough that one day Max could share freely. Safe enough that one day Max might consider her a friend.

A new friend sounded nice.

“More of a couch guy?” she asked with a playful wink.

He took a moment before responding, placing the pillow she tossed him in its spot. “I think sleeping in a bed makes this all feel too official,” he said shyly.

This made her pause.

“What do you mean by that?”

Max ran his hand along the pillowcase, smoothing it out. “If I sleep in this bed, I’m afraid I might realize how this isn’t a proper home. It might make it more real how messed up it is that I have all this ,” he said, hinting at the house, the view, the beach, “and no one to share it with.”

“And why is that?” she asked, in the most welcoming voice she could muster. She didn’t want him to feel pressured to talk, but she also wanted him to know she was safe if he chose to.

“Why don’t I have anyone to share it with?” he asked, his eyes on her, laced with so much emotion she thought her heart might actually break for him.

“Yes, Max. Why do you keep this all to yourself when anyone would be so lucky to be invited into your space, and so lucky to get to know you?”

“I already told you. I’m not good at this sort of thing.”

“But what if you are? What if you just need the right person to show you that you are capable of friendship, and conversation, a house full of memories, pictures, and love ?”

She watched as he shrunk into himself.

“And what? You’re the person to show me that?” he asked, a hint of challenge in his voice.

“I’d like to be.”

“Why?” he asked.

“Because, Max, I’ve got all this hummus and a free afternoon.”

“I might disappoint you,” he said shyly.

“You might disappoint me. That’s always a possibility. But you also might surprise me, and you might just surprise yourself, too.”

***

When he got down to the beach, he found Remi had already laid out a blanket for the two of them. She sat cross-legged, her feet bare and her hair pulled up in a messy blonde knot on the top of her head. When she turned to smile at him, he noticed she wore classic Ray Ban sunglasses, just the same as him, and everything about her vibe was welcoming.

Remi was a cool ocean breeze on a hot day. She was all of the best parts of the West Coast in human form: sunshine, carefree comfort, walking barefoot in the hot sand.

His stomach fluttered.

“Why do you still have your shoes on ya’ big goon?” she teased, and he looked down at his Sk8-Hi Vans and wondered the same damn thing.

“I didn’t think to take them off,” he said, sitting next to her on the blanket.

“So, what's in the bag?” she asked.

“I didn’t know what you like, so I got a little bit of everything,” he said shyly, reaching into the farmers market tote to pull out a glass bottle of fresh lemonade. “This was made this morning,” he said, “but it just dawned on me that we don't have any cups.”

“That’s okay, we can drink straight from the bottle. I won’t backwash, I promise.”

His entire body stiffened.

“Or not?” she said reluctantly.

It wasn't that he didn't want to share a drink with her. He didn’t care. He shared a locker room and showers with a bunch of men, so sharing a bottle of lemonade didn't scare him.

His body had stiffened at the thought of her lips and his lips sharing something. It was so far from being a kiss, and yet the most intimate thing he could imagine doing with her at this moment. Sharing a drink felt like something sacred when sitting next to Remi. He wondered what sharing himself would feel like. His life, his past, his mind… his heart?

“No, it’s fine. I don’t mind,” he said.

“Okay, but if you don’t want to, I can run up to your house and get some cups.” She looked behind her at his house only feet away from where they sat in the sand, the ocean pushing and pulling, working masterfully in front of them.

He didn’t do this enough—enjoy this enough.

“It’s fine. Really.” He continued to pull other things he had gotten from the farmers market out of the tote, fresh strawberries and blueberries, a bag of plantain chips, a jar of pickled veggies, and a bag of “California” trail mix that was essentially just normal trail mix with dried pineapples added.

“Well, looks like we have ourselves a proper picnic now, thanks to you,” she said, reaching into her own worn tote and pulling out the infamous hummus and pretzels.

“I’ve never done this,” Max said, looking at the spread of fresh goodies in front of him.

“Had a picnic at the beach?”

“Yeah. You would think I come down to the water often, considering I live here. But I’m on the road a lot with hockey, and I sometimes forget to enjoy the simple things in life.”

“I live at the beach,” Remi said, popping a handful of blueberries into her mouth.

“As in you live close by, or you come often?”

“Both. I live in Huntington, close to where the farmers market is. I have a little rental. It’s tiny and out of date. I don’t think you would even fit in the bathroom, it's that small. But I always promised myself I would live close enough to smell the water when I got older.”

“And you kept your promise to yourself.”

“I did.”

“It's good to keep promises,” he said as she opened the bottle of lemonade to take a drink.

He watched as her pink lips pushed against the glass, her neck elongating so elegantly as she pulled her head back to drink. She was beautiful.

There, he had let himself think it.

It wasn’t as if he was on to something revolutionary. Any person within reason would look at Remi and see her beauty.

She handed the bottle back to him, and he hesitantly brought it to his lips to drink. It was more bitter than he expected but refreshing. When he finished, he decided against wiping away the sweetness that lingered on his mouth, because that sweet lemony reminder was all he might ever know of Remi’s lips.

“So, tell me, Max. Where did you grow up?”

She came in with such a simple question, completely unaware of how difficult it would be for him to answer.

He wanted an out: to say pass, next question, please. His leg began to bounce, shifting the blanket below him.

Looking over at her, her face was inviting, even as she squinted with the sun in her eyes. No one had ever been this nice to him, not since his college year at the Mayberry house, and Allison…

“I grew up all over the place,” he finally answered.

She shook her head in agreement. “Me too,” she said, patting his knee before gripping it and holding it in place, slowing his anxious movements, “we already have something in common.”

“What other states have you lived in?” he asked, wanting to keep the attention off himself.

“Only California, but I never stayed anywhere long. We bounced around a lot. My mom had issues, so we were constantly getting the boot.”

“What kind of issues?” he asked, then immediately took it back. “Unless you don’t want to talk about it.”

Remi dipped a thick pretzel stick into the hummus and took a bite while she considered his question.

“My mom was a bit of a mess,” she started.

“Oh,” Max said, assuming that was all he was going to get—it was all he would have given if the tables were turned.

“I mean that literally and figuratively. She was an absolute mess.”

“How so?” he pressed.

“She wasn’t healthy—she had some mental stuff going on—so she drank a lot to mask her problems. She was a hoarder.”

Max felt his facial expression falter with shock; Remi began to laugh.

“Didn’t see that coming, did you?” she asked, busying herself by picking through the bag of trail mix to find all the chocolate candies hidden amongst the nuts, raisins, and pineapple chunks.

“I didn’t see that coming. I think I always assume people have a perfect life because I…” He paused, struggling to admit what came next.

“You what?” she encouraged.

“I don’t ever get to know anyone well enough to know these sorts of things actually exist. I thought hoarders only happened on reality TV.”

“Nope. I’m the product of a hoarder childhood,” she said, pressing out her shoulders in a bit of mock pride.

“Is that why you clean for a living now?” he asked.

Remi brought her finger to his nose and tapped it as she said, “Ding-ding-ding.”

“Do you find it cathartic, cleaning up after others?” he asked.

“I do. I always wanted to clean up after her, but she was fragile, ya know? She hid under her trash, her pizza boxes, empty bottles, and filth. What a clean house does for my peace of mind, a mess did for hers. It’s hard to explain if you didn’t know her. She wasn’t a bad person; she was just trapped in something I couldn’t help her out of as a child. It was a vicious cycle. Move, drink, hoard, evict. Over and over.”

“Where was your dad in all of this?” he asked.

“He would come and go. But usually, it was just to drink with her. They would go on a bender together, trash the place, and then he would be gone. Toxic love is a real thing, I saw it firsthand throughout my entire childhood.”

Max wondered if that’s what he had with his parents. Parents who on paper look like saints, but the older he got, he wasn't so sure they were all that great.

He looked out at the ocean. It was beautiful and terrifying, like this girl sitting next to him and the conversation they were having.

“You're burning. You need sunscreen, even in October,” Remi said, running a gentle finger up the warm skin of his freckle-spattered forearm.

“Redhead problems,” he offered, causing Remi to laugh.

“I like it,” she said, bringing the same finger that was just on his arm, up to brush a stray hair off his sweaty forehead. “The red hair, the red beard, and now, after fifteen minutes in the sun, the red cheeks.”

“I should have worn a hat.”

“Next time,” she said, bumping her shoulder into his.

Next time, he thought. Would there be a next time? Had he somehow convinced her to consider him for a next time?

“Hey, Max?” she asked.

He turned to face her, the dimple on her left cheek was present; his heart raced.

“You're not as bad at this as you think you are.”

“I’m not?”

She smiled up at him, through squinted eyes. “Not at all. I think you just needed someone to give you a chance.”

“A chance to what?” he asked.

“A chance to talk.”

Max looked away. It felt like a lot of pressure. A lot of expectations to live up to. She had done the talking, he had only asked the questions, prying into the details of her past, one he wasn't even sure she wanted to share had he not been so nosy.

“Sorry for asking questions about your mom.”

“Don’t be. I think sometimes I only talk about her flaws, which makes her seem awful. How much she loved me often gets lost in all of that.”

It was crazy to think that Remi’s mom had managed to love her while struggling with mental illness, a toxic relationship with Remi’s father, and a drinking problem, while all his mother managed to do was send him away. His mother was healthy, and wealthy, and never left a dirty dish in the sink a day of her life. It made Max consider how he perceived love. He guessed it looked different for everyone depending on where you were standing.

To most people, they would have seen him as an entitled boy with a mother and stepfather who loved him so much that they invested in his hockey career—sending him off to the finest training camps and billet homes. But to Max, he saw a lonely child who didn't want any of that, one who only wanted his mom back, and her affection and time. Time, she didn't have with a new husband and new kids. It was a life Max suddenly didn't fit into. He would have done anything for a father who hadn’t run out on him. A father who told him “good game” and celebrated his wins.

“What about you? What was your family like growing up?” Remi asked as if reading his mind.

The sun suddenly felt much too hot, and his brain was starting to feel fuzzy as the sweat gathered on his forehead.

“To be continued?” he offered hesitantly, taking the uncomplicated way out. He wasn’t ready for that conversation. Not yet anyway.

Remi leaned into his space, her body pressing against him, a calming reassurance that it was okay to take a pass this time. And for that he was grateful.

Remi began to pack up her hummus. “Deal. To be continued, Max Miller.”

He also gathered his things, putting the cap back on the lemonade, and closing the bag of trail mix.

Standing at the same time, and without having to ask the other, they shook the sand from the blanket, with each of them holding an end in their hands as they walked together to fold it in a team effort. When they met in the middle, with only the blanket between them, Max thought he saw something new in Remi. The way she tilted her head to look at him, and the way she didn’t smile this time—not even the single-dimple kind; he thought maybe she saw something in him too. But the moment passed before Max could act on it. They finished folding the blanket, and without saying another word, they made their way up the trail back to his house as he fought off the strobe-like flashes of light he was experiencing from being out in the bright sun.