Page 29 of Tide and Seek (Dr. Maxwell Thornton Murder Mysteries #8)

“Think nothing of it,” Max said, then murmured to me, “I’m sure I can coerce Girdy into writing a glowing review.”

Now there’s the Max I know.

I had to stifle a laugh.

“Well, you gentlemen have a good day,” Reggie said, heading to the tow-truck’s passenger-side door. “And remember, if you visit again, don’t forget Tippity Top Car Rentals would love your return business.”

“We’ll certainly keep you in mind,” Max said.

We watched the tow truck pull away, and I slipped an arm around Max’s waist. “Now that we’ve got wheels again,” I said, smiling, “are you ready for some culture and good food?”

Max sighed, holding up the BMW keys. “I’m so ready, I’ll even drive. You just sit back and let your rich boyfriend spoil you rotten today.”

“Deal.” I didn’t say a peep about Max spending money on me. It bothered him when I fixated on that stuff, and I wanted this day to be perfect.

Max moved to the BMW and opened the passenger-side door. “Have a seat, Sheriff. You can ride shotgun.”

“Why thanks, pardner.” I slid into the car with a self-conscious laugh. I wasn’t used to guys opening my door for me.

Looking elated, he closed the door and hurried around to the driver’s side. “Ahh, it’s so nice not to have to scale a mountain just to get in my car.”

“Yeah, this is a nice ride.” I smoothed a hand over the black leather dash. “Way more your style.”

“I shall always be grateful to that hideous Hummer for saving our lives, but I can’t say I’m sorry to see it go.” He started the car, grinning as the engine hummed. “Just listen to that baby purr.”

I couldn’t help laughing. “You’re in heaven right now, aren’t you?”

“You know I am.” He smirked. “Okay, I say we hit the Getty first, and then lunch at Geoffrey’s.”

“Absolutely.” He looked so happy it made me happy, too.

He pulled up to the security gate and waited for it to open, then eased onto the main road. “After yesterday’s excitement, I’m looking forward to a quiet, civilized day.”

I stretched my arm across the back of his seat, teasing the hairs at the nape of his neck. “We can do whatever we want. No obligations.”

“I love the sound of that.” He grimaced. “Until tonight. We still have C.J.’s party. She keeps saying the party is in my honor, but I hate being the center of attention. How does she not know that about me?”

“It’s just a few hours, and she means well.”

“I suppose.” He sighed. “At least I get to spend the day with you before I have to suffer through small talk with a bunch of people I don’t know and don’t want to know.”

“We’ll survive. It’s just one little party.”

The morning drive up the Pacific Coast Highway felt peaceful after all the recent chaos. Max handled the BMW with obvious pleasure and skill, taking the winding curves with a relaxed set to his shoulders.

“It’s so nice to ride in a vehicle that isn’t a small aircraft,” he said.

I chuckled. “You don’t think the Hummer had personality?”

“Oh, it had personality all right. The personality of a parade float,” Max said, smiling. For the first time since those threatening texts arrived, he looked genuinely serene.

After a while, the Getty Villa came into view, tucked into the Malibu hills like a film set. Even from the parking area I could see the elegant columns and manicured gardens—a world away from anything we had back in Rainy Dale.

“It’s so peaceful here,” I said softly as we walked through the entrance gardens. The sound of trickling fountains mixed with the scent of salt air and what smelled like jasmine. The villa itself rose before us in perfect symmetry, all cream-colored columns and red tile roofs.

We collected our tickets and wandered into the first gallery, where Greek and Roman sculptures lined the walls in spaces so quiet I could hear our footsteps on the polished floors. The light was different here, filtered and golden, making the marble look almost alive.

Max stopped in front of a bronze of a handsome young athlete frozen mid-motion. His whole face lit as he studied the piece, and I found myself watching him more than the sculpture.

“So beautifully detailed. You can see every muscle,” he murmured. “The Romans were masters of realism.”

I smiled, eyeing the genitalia between the young man’s thighs. “Yeah, it’s not just muscles on display.”

Max laughed. “Don’t be a prude, Royce.”

“Me? A prude?” I pretended to cover his eyes. “All I’m saying is I think your gaze shouldn’t drop below his chin.”

Smirking, Max batted my hand away. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“Maybe I need to spray myself with bronze paint so you’ll look at me that way.”

He squinted at me. “Are you pretending I don’t love your body? Because that’s a flat-out lie.” He crowded me against the wall. “Shall I have my way with you right here, just to prove a point?”

“No,” I said in a strangled voice. “That won’t be necessary. I don’t want to get kicked out. You can look at the pretty bronze boys so long as you go home with me.”

He planted a kiss on my mouth and backed off. “Romans had a different relationship with the human body than we do. Nudity in art was about celebrating physical perfection, not sexuality.”

“If you say so,” I grinned. “But if I see you trying to put this statue in the trunk, I’ll have to stop you.”

“You’re the only naked man I… er… want in my trunk.”

I laughed. “Well, thank you. I think.”

He smiled, took my hand, and we continued on.

We moved through the galleries at our own pace, and I found it endearing how Max read every placard, sharing aloud all the details listed.

We were treated to displays of glassware, jewelry, coins, and fragments of frescoes and wall paintings of faded gardens and mythological scenes.

I leaned closer to one delicate piece of painted plaster, and murmured, “Life can be so strange.”

Max glanced over. “What do you mean?”

I lifted one shoulder. “All those people lived their whole lives, had families, likely worried about money, fell in love, fell out of love, fought wars, probably fell in love again—and this little piece of their wall painting is all that’s left.”

Max turned toward me, something shifting in his expression. “It’s a good reminder to live in the moment, isn’t it?”

That was an unusual thing for someone as pragmatic as Max to say. Warmth spread through my chest as I held his gaze. “That’s right, Max.”

“I try to do that more these days.” He dropped his gaze and then seemed to force himself to look up again. “Do you see that?”

“Yeah, I do.” I smiled and touched his cheek. “Seeing how hard you try, it makes me feel even closer to you.”

His smile was shy and a hint of pink touched his cheeks. “Then it’s worth it.”

We wandered out into the main peristyle garden, where a long reflecting pool stretched between rows of columns. Light played across the water while a few visitors moved quietly through the space, voices hushed like a church.

Another hour passed in mosaics, dining-room floors pulled from Roman ruins, jewelry and coins that made me think how little human nature had changed.

“Makes you wonder what we’re doing now that people will marvel at in two thousand years,” Max said. “Assuming anybody’s still around to marvel.”

“Always the optimist,” I teased, bumping his shoulder.

“I’m being practical. If they dig up Geoffrey’s Malibu in the year 4000, they’ll probably think we were a pretty sophisticated bunch.”

“Probably.”

“Speaking of Geoffrey’s,” he said, checking his watch, “I’m starving. Are you getting hungry yet?”

“I was hungry an hour ago. I say let’s go pig out.”

“Um… right.” He grimaced. “Let’s get our… pig on.”

The drive to Geoffrey’s took us back down the coast, and I found myself staring out at the Pacific stretching endlessly toward the horizon.

The restaurant looked exactly like Max had described—perched on the edge of the cliff like it had grown there naturally, all weathered wood and enormous windows designed to showcase the view.

“Now that,” I said as Max pulled in, “looks like the kind of place that charges forty dollars for a sandwich.”

“Probably. Not that I’ve ever gotten a sandwich at Geoffrey’s. That seems sacrilegious,” Max said. “Although I’d bet the sandwich would be worth it. And the view is priceless.”

He was right about the view. The hostess led us to a table on the deck that felt like it was suspended over the water, and I could see the coastline curving away in both directions.

The sound of waves hitting the rocks below mixed with the quiet conversations of other diners and the clink of silverware on plates.

“Okay,” I said, settling in. “This is worth whatever they want to charge for a sandwich.”

Max smiled.

Our server glided over, a polished young man in a black shirt and slacks whose confident demeanor suggested he was just as comfortable serving Hollywood executives and tech billionaires as he was little ol’ nobodies like us. His professional warmth felt both genuine and expertly deployed.

“Good afternoon, I’m Marcus, and I’ll be your guide through what I can confidently say will be the best lunch of your life.

” His grin was infectious. “Now, can I start you with something to drink, or would you prefer a moment to soak in that view? I completely understand if you need a minute. It gets me every time.”

“I’ll have a glass of the Sancerre,” Max said.

“Ahh, I see someone has a sophisticated palate.” Marcus winked.

I smiled. “Let me guess, is that some sort of French wine?”

“It certainly is,” Marcus agreed before Max could respond. “It’s a white wine from the Loire Valley in France, made primarily from Sauvignon Blanc grapes. It’s known for being crisp, dry, and elegant, often with citrus, green apple, or mineral notes.”

None of that meant much to me, but I was in the mood to live a little. “Make that two.” I met Max’s gaze. “When in Rome, right? Or Malibu.”

“Exactly.” Max nodded. “Since we’re both drinking the Sancerre, we’ll take a bottle.”