18

NOW

Isaac sat silently at the table during breakfast. Van chatted away about her work, about how she'd been sleeping, about what she wanted to eat for lunch, about movies she wanted to see. Maxie wondered how Van didn't notice Isaac's cold disposition.

He barely looked up from his plate, and when he did, his gaze always fell on Maxie. He'd meet her eyes and hold her stare, unblinking, unmoving, until she had to look away. She wanted to ask if he was alright, but feared the answer. Obviously he wasn't alright.

When Van finished her breakfast, she stood. "That was good, Max, thank you. Isaac, are you leaving with me?" she asked.

"No."

She waited a moment, maybe expecting him to say something else. "Oh," she said finally. "Okay, then." Her eyes moved from Isaac to Maxie, then back to Isaac. She leaned down, wrapped her arms around him, and pressed her mouth firmly to his.

For nearly a minute, they sat frozen in a passionate kiss, Van moaning lightly, Isaac simply receiving her affection. Maxie looked away uncomfortably and gathered her plate to bring to the sink. When Van pulled away, breathing heavily, she smiled. Stealing one last glance in Maxie's direction, Van headed out.

"Who was that for?" Isaac called after her. It was the most he'd said all morning.

"You, babe," Van replied before the door shut behind her, but Maxie doubted that.

When she was gone, Isaac rose from the table and came across the kitchen to Maxie. She gasped as he approached, stepping so close to her that she had to back against the sink.

"What?"

"Tell me what I was doing here that night," he said, his voice low and urgent.

"What?"

"You heard me. Tell me the truth. Why was I here at three in the morning, Maxie, while my girlfriend was at work? Why did they find me in my underwear?"

Maxie's heart pace quickened. What did he know? Why was he asking? "You were looking for something—"

"You're a liar!" he lashed out.

"What's wrong with you?" she demanded, backing further away, but he only followed her.

"My problem is you're the only person I've trusted since this whole thing happened, and you've been lying to me!"

She shook her head. Where was this coming from? "No, I—"

"What was going on between us?"

"Nothing."

"Were we fucking?"

"No!"

"Were we...together?"

"No, Isaac!"

He glared at her. "Tell me the truth, Maxie. I deserve to know."

"That is the truth. We're friends, Isaac. We've always been friends."

"Just friends?"

"Yes."

Exhaling heavily, he took a step back, reached into his back pocket and pulled out three pictures. "Then who are these people?" he demanded, thrusting the photos at her. "Because these people are not just friends."

Maxie's mouth fell agape when she looked at the pictures. They were the ones she'd given to Jenny. Jenny. Jenny must have left them in Isaac's apartment that day. Left them there for him to find. She sighed, ran her fingers over the first photo, her face pressed against Isaac's as she smiled widely. And the next one, her head resting on his shoulder as his lips rested on hers. And the last one. Bea had taken the last one. Maxie and Isaac stood against the brick wall of the tattoo shop, Maxie leaning on his chest, gazing up at him with awe and a smile, as he stared back down at her with the same tenderness. Her hands were in fists, gripping the sides of his shirt. His hands were on her, of course, one wrapped tightly around the end of her long ponytail, the other lying flat on her behind. Maxie remembered that day as if it had just passed.

"Maxie," he said, going to her again. He lowered his voice. "Maximilienne. You're the only thing I even vaguely remember. You're the only person I trust. You're the only person I feel has truly gotten to know me this past year and a half. And I don't even know why I feel like that. Tell me why."

Finally, she raised her eyes to his. Don't forget to breathe. She exhaled.

"I..."

She could tell him. If the opportunity was never presented to her before, it was surely presented to her at that moment. She could tell him everything. She could get him back. He would be hers again.

And Van?

Suddenly, the doorbell sounded, followed by three firm knocks. Both Isaac and Maxie turned toward the door. Maxie let out a soft sigh of relief. "Who the fuck is that?" Isaac demanded, irritated.

Dropping her gaze to the floor, she replied, "Gnar. I'm spending the day with him."

His eyes widened, and then his jaw tightened and he shook his head, turning away from her. "Of course."

Maxie slipped away from him and went to answer the door. Gnar stood there, smiling, smelling fresh, looking handsome. "What's up? You aren't dressed yet?"

"Almost," she said.

He moved past her into the apartment. When he saw Isaac, his smile wavered. "What's up, man?"

Isaac nodded.

His eyes fell on Maxie again, who still stood at the door. "Where's Van?" Gnar asked.

"Work," Isaac replied. "Aren't you supposed to be at work?"

Gnar grinned. "I took the afternoon off, boss. You don't mind, do you?"

"I guess one of us should be there," Isaac replied, making his way to the front door. "We'll finish this later?" he asked, though Maxie knew it wasn't a request.

Reluctantly, she nodded, and then he was gone.

"Finish what?" Gnar asked, eyeing her nonchalantly, though she could hear the curiosity—or was it suspicion?—streaking his tone.

"Nothing," she said, hurrying to her room. "Be right back. I'm going to get dressed."

 

"So," Maxie said, still as captivated by Gnar's apartment as she'd been the first time she saw it. "What is all of this?"

Gnar looked around. "My dad was a collector," he said. "When I was a kid, we would go around to yard sales and antique stores and secondhand shops and pick up tons of old and rare finds, things people underestimated the value of. He would just hold onto it all until we needed the money, and then he would sell it."

"Is all of this worth a lot?" she asked.

"Most of it," he said. "Like those." He pointed toward the collection of violins hanging above the piano. Each one older and more fragile looking than the last. "I can get twenty-five grand for all of those, easily." Maxie gasped.

"And these," Gnar said, picking up one of three vintage toasters from a shelf. "They're from the twenties. Four hundred dollars each, maybe more."

Maxie looked around at everything again, now with a new appreciation of it all. "What else?" she asked.

He led her to a large closet at the end of the hall and pulled it open. "This is my gun collection," he said, revealing a trunk of antique guns. Pistols, rifles, even a machine gun. "All from the forties," he said. Then he grabbed a box from off one of the top shelves. "And these are my most prized possessions," he said. Maxie opened the box and inside were three old pocket watches. "This one is from the forties," Gnar said, carefully lifting the first one off the soft, velvet pillow they rested on. "That one is from the thirties. And the last one was my father's, from the eighties. Not as valuable, but priceless. You know?"

"Wow, Gnar. They're beautiful."

He shook his head. "Not as beautiful as the one Isaac has. His mother's fiancé gave it to him back in France. It's from the eighteen hundreds, Maxie. Worth thousands. Thousands and thousands." He shook his head. "I've told him over and over he's a fool not to sell it. A fool."

"I'm sure plenty of people would say the same thing about you and all of this. It sounds like you're sitting on a goldmine in here, Gnar."

"One day I'll sell it all," he said. "I'll sell it all and use the money to go see Europe, like Isaac got to. Europe and Australia and Africa. Every continent, every island, every paradise." He smiled wistfully.

"That's great, Gnar. I used to want to travel." With a chuckle, she said, "Travel, and then come back and open a restaurant." Though she'd given up nearly everything for her dreams, they still sounded so impossible when she spoke them aloud. Why didn't she feel as confident when she didn't have Isaac there encouraging her? Maybe because he'd been the only one encouraging her. She dropped her eyes. "I hope your dreams come true."

Gazing fully at her, he replied, "I hope so, too." After a short pause, he said, "Hey, I have some old cookbooks, too. Do you want to see?"

With that, she beamed. "I would love to."

 

Maxie whipped up a meal from one of the cookbooks Gnar had provided, and they sat on the couch eating. A movie played, though neither of them even glanced in the television's direction.

"Where did you learn to cook?" he asked, swallowing down the last of his food.

She shrugged. "I sort of taught myself. When I was young, my mom would get super high and I'd cook her dinner. She always wanted something new, and from as far back as I can remember, I always loved thinking of different things to serve her."

'Mm,' Noelle says, her eyes drifting shut as she tastes the first bite of Maxie's stew. 'This is the best thing I've ever tasted, baby.'

Maxie laughs. 'That's what you said about the lasagna. And the chicken pies.'

Noelle nods, taking in another mouthful. 'I know, but this. This is definitely the best.'

"Is that why you smoke? Because your mom did?"

With a sigh, Maxie admitted, "When I used to dance, I would close my eyes and it would feel like she was right next to me again. Watching me. It was like all the rest of my thoughts cleared a path for her. I felt closer to her." She shrugged. "Same thing when I'm high."

Solemnly, Gnar replied, "I'm sorry you lost her."

After a moment of silence, she said, "I haven't smoked. It's been about three weeks."

"I'm impressed," Gnar said.

"You were right about the music," she admitted. "It just takes me away. Thank you for showing me that."

He nodded. "I'm glad to have been able to help."

"Anyway, it's not like I need to smoke. I've quit before, in high school. After almost three years of smoking pretty much every single day, I just stopped cold turkey."

"Why?"

She lowered her eyes. "Van's dad caught me once. I went off into the woods behind the house, and he followed me. At first, I thought he was going to flip, but he just..." She paused and chuckled at the memory. "He asked if he could join me. We smoked a joint and sat under the trees laughing and talking like old friends. It was the closest I'd felt to anyone in so long, even Van. And then—" She stopped. Gnar waited, his eyes fastened on her. She bowed her head, pressed her lips together. "He kissed me," she said, at last.

Gnar inhaled. "Van's dad?"

"Anyway, I stopped after that, except for on a few occasions. And then Isaac had to go and get shot," she added. "Knocked me right off the wagon." She chuckled lightly, but Gnar remained silent, still staring at her.

She averted her eyes, dropped her gaze to Gnar's fingers that were holding onto the sleeve of her oversized sweater. His apartment was always chilly. Once in a while, when he'd offer her one of his huge sweatshirts to put on, she would imagine herself curling up in his arms.

He was so strong, so assertive. Even when she rejected him, he handled her with such confidence, as if she belonged to him anyway. She wondered if being in his embrace would make her feel as if she belonged to him as well.

She bit down on her bottom lip, trying to reel her thoughts back in, her eyes still on the fabric of the sleeve tucked between Gnar's fingers. And then he gently tugged at it, pushed it back, and slid his hand into Maxie's open palm.

 

"I got this one playing basketball," Gnar said, showing Maxie a scar on his elbow. "This one in a bar fight," he said, tracing his finger over the pale slit across the knuckles of his right hand. "Some guy hit me with a bottle. And this one," he said, raising his face to show her another healed gash just under his chin. "Is from a scuffle when I went to jail in high school."

Her eyes widened. "You've been to jail?"

He shrugged. "Not for anything major. A few nights here and there."

"I almost went to jail once. I was with a friend who got caught stealing from a department store." She shrugged. "The manager ended up just calling our parents."

Gnar laughed. "You're practically a felon, then." She, too, laughed and shrugged again. "Do you want to have a little bit of real fun, Maxie?" he asked.

She was curious. "Yes."

"Alright. This has to stay between you and me, though."

She nodded excitedly. "I won't say anything," she promised.

"Okay, c'mon," he said. He stood up and went to the kitchen, where he pulled open a drawer. From it, he revealed a large brass ring, full of keys. "I only pay a quarter of the rent that this apartment is worth," Gnar told her, holding up the keys, "Because I agreed to be a part-time super for the building when I first moved in."

"You're the super here?" He nodded. "So you're good with your hands?"

With a grin, he replied, "In more ways than one."

Also grinning, she shook her head.

"Anyway, these are the spare keys to every apartment in this building."

Maxie stared at him. "Gnar."

His smile swelling, he motioned for her to follow him, and they made their way out the door and up to the second floor.

"Remember," he said, stopping at the last door at the end of the hallway. "This stays between us."

Once she agreed, he turned back to the door and unlocked it. Maxie held her breath as he peered around the hall to make sure it was clear before leading her inside. "What are we doing?" she demanded, holding tightly to the back of his shirt as if something would jump out at them any moment.

"You don't have to whisper," he said. "No one's home."

"And no one is...?"

"Keith Henry," he said. "Young guy, even younger than me, I think."

She peered around the apartment, still uneasy despite Gnar's assurance. "What are we doing?" she repeated.

"Haven't you ever been curious about your neighbors?" he asked, glancing at her over his shoulder with a small grin. "I have. Fortunately for me, I have the keys to all of their apartments."

She gasped. "And you just come in and... snoop around?"

"Pretty much," he said, tossing the keys down on the coffee table as if he owned the place. He casually picked up a stack of mail and began to flip through it. "Bills," he said, frowning.

"We should go. What if he comes back?"

"He won't. I know the schedules of the tenants as well as I know my own. Go ahead, take a look around."

"Me?"

"Well I've seen it all," he said with a shrug. "I already know what goes on behind the closed doors of the sickos this building seems to attract."

She shook her head, backing toward the door. "No. No, I'm not going to just go through this guy's stuff!"

Gnar looked at her with a raised eyebrow. "You're sure? You won't believe what there is to find," he said. She kept her arms crossed defiantly over her chest, not moving from her spot, despite the growing curiosity budding within her.

Finally Gnar shrugged and grabbed the keys from the table. "Fine, we can go."

"Wait," she conceded, stepping forward. "Are you sure we're safe?"

He smiled. "Positive."

"Alright," she said, still hesitant. "Show me to the goods."

He led her to the bathroom attached to Keith's room and pulled open the medicine cabinet. She gasped, leaning forward to get a better look the bottles upon bottles of prescription pills that neatly lined the narrow shelves. She reached out to grab one, but Gnar caught hold of her wrist. "Don't touch anything," he instructed.

She nodded, tilting her head to read the small labels. They were all prescribed to Keith Henry, Jr. "Oh my God. Is he...a drug addict?"

"Not quite," Gnar replied, kneeling down and pulling open the cabinet beneath the sink. She kneeled down beside him and peered into the space where she, in her own bathroom, kept the cleaning supplies. Her eyes bulged when they fell upon the large bags of marijuana and an even bigger assortment of pills.

"He's a drug dealer," she concluded aloud.

"That's what it looks like," Gnar agreed.

"Maybe he's doing it to pay for college," she suggested, feeling a strange need to defend the boy.

"Maybe," Gnar replied, rising to his feet. "Anyway, let's get out of here. I have an even better one for you." He pulled a rag out of his pocket and began to wipe down the surfaces of the bathroom.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Fingerprints," he said. "Just in case."

 

The next apartment was on the fifth floor. "Who lives here?" she asked as Gnar led them inside.

"Reverend and Mrs. Pittman," he replied. "They're an older couple who walk around here turning their noses up at everyone. Once I came in to fix their toilet, and they pretty much told me I was going to hell after he found out I'm not baptized. A Jehovah's Witness used to live next door to them, but the Pittman's ran her out of here after just a few months."

Inside of the apartment, she noticed the crosses immediately. They were everywhere, spread throughout the apartment, all colors and sizes, paired with scriptures and rosaries and religious poems and pictures of J.C. himself. Then she saw the four-foot statue of Virgin Mary, standing next to the armchair like a houseguest.

"Wow," she said, bewildered.

"Holy shit," Gnar said. "No pun intended." He and Maxie exchanged glances and a chuckle. "C'mon," he said. "Let me show you the bedrooms."

She followed him to the first bedroom. It was small and plain, painted a pale blue, with oak furniture. There were more crosses, a big one hovering over the bed like a dark cloud on a sunny day. A few family pictures were scattered about, and they even had a small television on the dresser. "I like to call this their day room," Gnar said.

She glanced at him, confused, and he motioned for her to follow him. They went to the second bedroom next, which had to be unlocked. Maxie stepped inside and gasped, placing her hand on her chest as she peered around. Black curtains over the windows darkened the room, and there was no furniture, just...devices. The room resembled a medieval times torture chamber with its chains and locks and swings. There were whips, and gags, and blindfolds, and leather costumes. Sex paraphernalia decorated the room like trophies, like art. She wrapped her arms around herself as she stepped further inside, afraid to touch anything that may have previously been somewhere less than sanitary.

"They're masochists," she said.

"He is," Gnar said. "She's a dominatrix."

"Oh my Go—"

"Don't even say His name," he interjected, peering around the room. "Those two walk around judging everyone else. I have no problem with fantasies and fetishes. But the hypocrisy."

Maxie moved to the armoire and pulled the doors open to reveal a large flat screen TV accompanied by a broad collection of S&M-inspired porn movies.

"Better than any sex store you've ever been in, huh?" he asked.

She shuddered. "Let's get out of here. I feel violated."

He chuckled, and they headed toward the front door, stopping short when the knob clicked and Mrs. Pittman's voice carried from the other side. Maxie sucked in a sharp breath and reached for Gnar, but he already had her by the arm and was dragging her down the hall. She heard the front door open just as they disappeared around the corner.

"I don't know," Mrs. Pittman said into her cell phone. Her heels clicked across the living room to the kitchen. "One minute I was drinking my coffee, the next, I was heaving into the garbage can!"

"What are we going to do?" Maxie cried, her voice barely a whisper.

"Sh-h!" Gnar hushed, pulling open the closet door and shoving her inside. "Don't make a sound," he ordered, and before she could reply, the door was closed and she was alone.

Her heart pounded against her chest with the intensity of a jackhammer. She sank deeper into the small space as Mrs. Pittman's heels clicked past the door, biting down on her bottom lip and silently praying the woman wouldn't hear the merciless thumping behind her breasts.

"Pregnant?" Mrs. Pittman shrieked into the phone, and then laughed. "At my age? Don't be ridiculous, Meg."

Her footsteps moved back, pausing in front of the closet door. Maxie shut her eyes tight, held her breath. What if she needed something out of the closet? What if she caught them? She could call the police. They could get arrested. Just when Maxie thought her heart would burst through her shirt, Mrs. Pittman's footsteps receded.

"No, I didn't want to bother Andrew at work. I'm sure it's nothing. Just a stomach virus, prob— Oh! Oh-h!" she moaned. "Meg, I need to call you back," Mrs. Pittman choked out, and then Maxie heard a loud crack!—the phone falling to the floor, she guessed—followed by Mrs. Pittman's footsteps racing past the closet. A second later the bathroom door slammed shut, and a second after that, the closet door flew open and Gnar was there, reaching in and pulling Maxie to her feet.

"Let's go!" he whispered, hauling her toward the front door.

"Andrew?" Mrs. Pittman called from the bathroom, her voice now hoarse and strained. "Andrew, is that you?"

Gnar shoved her out of the door and shut it quietly behind him. "Run!" he instructed, and they dashed off down the hall, not slowing down until they reached his apartment.

Stumbling inside, Gnar slammed the door behind them. He bent over to rest his hands on his knees, breathing hard. They were both silent for a moment, and then he chuckled. In seconds, his chuckle turned into full-on laughter.

Maxie stared at him, wondering what the hell was so funny. "What are you laughing at?" she lashed out, but he didn't reply, just continued loudly cackling.

"Weren't you there?" he finally managed. "How could you not find that funny?"

"She almost caught us," she breathed, the memory of it making her shudder.

He laughed again. "I know! That was fucking close! And she's..." He paused to laugh more. "She's pregnant!" Maxie fought back the smile that tugged at the corners of her lips. "They'll have to replace that dungeon with a nursery! That kid is bound to turn out fucked up with a start like that!"

Finally Maxie giggled. It was a little funny. And they did get away. She sighed, sliding down the door as she laughed a bit harder. "I don't think I've ever done anything like that in my whole life. I've never been so scared."

Still chuckling, Gnar took a seat on the floor beside her.

"Thanks for not leaving me," she said.

He looked at her, his face suddenly growing serious. "Leave you?" he said, raising an eyebrow. "I wouldn't have left you, Max."

She nodded. "I know. Thank you."

 

Maxie laced her arm through Gnar's and leaned tiredly on him as they rode the elevator up to her apartment. "Was this a good day?" he asked her.

"Very good."

"I thought so, too."

The elevator stopped, and they stepped off. He escorted her to the door, where she began to fumble for her keys. "Will I be seeing you again tomorrow?" she asked.

"Why? Haven't you had enough of me?"

She giggled and shook her head. "You're completely right. I think I've had all that I can bear of you for a while—"

He cut through her words with his mouth, pressing it gently to hers. She was a bit taken aback at first, but his lips were very full, very soft, very inviting. Her eyes fluttered shut, she raised her hands to his chest as he pulled her closer, and although all the alarms of her better judgment were sounding, she didn't pull away.

Her eyes remained closed, savoring the sensation of his affection for a moment or so even after he let her go. When she finally opened them, he was wearing that grin of his. She couldn't help but chuckle.

"Now," he said, tilting his head slightly to the side. "Wasn't that worth the wait?"

She playfully swatted him and let him kiss her one more time.

"You know," he said, still so close to her that she could feel the heat of his breath on her face. "You don't have to wait until tomorrow to see me again. I can stay."

For the shortest of seconds, she considered his offer. Then she shook her head. "No, you can't."

With a chuckle, he said, "It was worth a try." Dropping one last kiss on her lips, he left.

Inside, she found Van and Isaac sitting on the couch, watching a movie. Van sat up immediately.

"Finally!" she said. "You're home! How was your date?"

"It wasn't a date," Maxie said.

"I spoke to Gnar earlier today," Isaac piped up. "Trust me. It was a date."

Van laughed. "Well, what did you guys do? Candle-lit dinner? Romantic movie?"

"We, ah..." She paused, unable to concentrate while Isaac stared at her that way. "We just hung out. I'm really tired, though, can we talk more in the morning?"

"Did you kiss?" Van asked, and Maxie felt her face grow hot.

"I'll tell you everything in the morning, Van," she insisted, turning toward her bedroom.

"Just tell me!" Van called after to her. "Yes or no?"

But she closed herself in her room without an answer.

As usual, Maxie made Charlie breakfast, crushing his six AM pills up into his serving. He ate it all as they conversed across the table.

"...And he tells me that the boy is having trouble getting adjusted," he said of his son and grandson. "And I says, 'it's fucking potty training for Christ's sake. If the kid's having trouble adjusting to shitting on the toilet, you may as well give him the loaded pistol to shoot himself right now, because it only gets harder from here!' Then he gets pissed and hangs up the phone. What the fuck?" he grumbled.

"Maybe that wasn't the advice he was looking for," Maxie suggested.

"It wasn't advice. It was fucking facts. Let me tell you something about me, kid. I don't give advice. Advice isn't anything but some asshole's opinion. I give the facts. When you're being a fucking idiot, I say so, and I tell you that you should stop being a fucking idiot. That isn't advice. It's goddamn facts, and common sense."

She shrugged, knowing arguing with Charlie would only be a waste of energy. "Well, I need some facts, Charlie."

"Fine, I'll give 'em to you."

She told him about the photos Jenny had left for Isaac to find, and the bout she'd had with him after he found them. "I've been able to avoid him the past few days," she said, "but I'm going to have to face him eventually. What should I say?"

"Tell him the truth." Maxie sighed and shook her head. "Well, why the hell do you ask if you're not going to listen, anyway?"

"Let me rephrase the question. What lie should I tell him to avoid the truth?"

He opened his palms to her. "There ain't a lie good enough to disprove those fucking pictures, kid. He saw them with his own eyes. And seeing is believing."

She frowned. "I know. I just... there has to be something I can say."

"What's the big deal? Just tell him the truth."

"I can't. You know I can't."

"Why the hell not? Let's just say the cosmos are out to get you two. The Man himself sent that fucker to go in there and shoot your boyfriend in the head so you wouldn't break your best friend's heart. But now look. He found those pictures. Maybe that's a sign."

"It's not a sign. The cosmos didn't leave those pictures, Charlie. Jenny did."

He shrugged. "Fine, then. Tell him you two were just fucking. I don't know," he said, scraping the last bit of food off of his plate and shoveling into his mouth.

Running her fingers through her hair, she let her head fall back and moaned. "He's going to think I'm such a slut. Sleeping with my best friend's boyfriend behind her back. Then I turn around and date his best friend."

"So you are dating him now?"

"No," she said, quickly. "I mean, I am, but not officially. We're just hanging out, you know? Enjoying each other's company. I wouldn't put a label on it or anything. We've never even spent the night together." With a chuckle, she added, "Not that he doesn't try."

"You like him?"

She lowered her eyes. As much as she hated to admit it, she simply couldn't resist Gnar's charm. Not his confident grin, not his arrogance, not his tenacity. Ever since she saw him last, she daydreamed of his hand in hers, his lips, the heat he radiated when he stood too close to her. "Yes. Am I a slut, Charlie?"

"'Course not," he said. "I know you're feeling guilty, but you can't keep beating yourself up, kid. You want to spare Van's feelings, Isaac's feelings, Gnar's feelings. What about your feelings?"

 

They went for their usual walk and stopped by the café to see Milla on the way back. "Hello, Maxie!" Milla greeted with her signature enthusiasm. "Charlie! You look so handsome today."

Charlie's face reddened, and he lowered his eyes. "Thank you, Milla."

She smiled, batting her eyelashes, and then motioned toward a nearby table. "You two have a seat. I'll be right back with your usual."

They sat down, and Milla disappeared behind the counter. Maxie nudged Charlie. "She's flirting with you."

"Don't start."

"C'mon, Charlie—"

"What did I say?"

"What happened to all of that moving on stuff you were saying? I thought those were the facts," she whispered. "Charlie, your wife isn't with you anymore. You're allowed to be happy again."

"Take your own advice," he snapped.

"If you take yours first." He rolled his eyes. "Seriously. If you agree to give Milla a real chance, I'll agree to give Gnar a real chance. For the sake of our happiness, Charlie—"

"Fine, fine. You can cut the bullshit song and dance, I'm not paying for a goddamn performance. What the hell am I supposed to say to her anyway? Milla, go out with me? For the sake of my happiness?"

"Invite her over for lunch. I'll cook for you two."

"Hush, here she comes," he said.

"Tomorrow!" Maxie quickly whispered. "She doesn't work on Tuesdays!"

"Sh-h!"

"Okay," Milla said, setting Charlie's coffee down in front of him, and Maxie's muffin in front of her. "Can I get you anything else?"

Charlie didn't reply, just brought his coffee cup to his lips. "Actually, Milla, we were wondering if you worked tomorrow," Maxie said.

"What? No, you know I'm off on Tuesdays."

Charlie's eyes widened. "Right! Charlie did mention that. Well, there you go, Charlie, now you can ask her."

"Ask me what?" Milla asked, eyeing Charlie with a small grin.

He cleared his throat. His face was impossibly red. "Oh, well, nothing much," he stammered. "Don't feel obligated to say yes or anything, but I just figured maybe you'd like to come over for lunch tomorrow afternoon?"

"I'm testing out the menu for my cookbook," Maxie added. "I need taste-testers."

Milla's grin swelled into a full smile. "Charlie, I would love that. Tomorrow afternoon, huh? What time? Should I bring anything?"

He breathed out a small sigh. Maxie assumed it was relief. "Well, I'm going to run to the bathroom and let you two get the details in order," she said, standing.

Charlie's eyes widened as he silently demanded she sit back down, but she pretended not to notice and went to the bathroom.

When she came out, she slammed right into a little girl, no older than four, nearly knocking the child to the floor. "Ooh!" she cried, catching her. "Are you okay?"

"I'm okay!" she said, bouncing up and down excitedly. She had a wide smile, big cheeks, and a head full of wild curls. Maxie recognized her immediately. She frequented the small café with her mother, and sometimes Maxie watched them, wondering what their days were like, imaging what days with her own mother would be like if Noelle was alive.

"Addison!" a woman called. Both the little girl and Maxie turned as the little girl's mother rushed toward them. "Addison, what did I tell you about running off like that?"

"Sorry, Mommy. I just have to go pee-pee."

The woman sighed and brought her attention to Maxie. For a moment, she said nothing, just stared at her. Her eyes moved over the contours of Maxie's face, down the frame of her body, and back up again. Maxie wondered if the woman recognized her as well. "Hi," she said.

"Hi," Maxie replied. "She's alright. I caught her as I was coming out of the bathroom."

"Oh," the woman replied, still eyeing Maxie. "Thank you."

"No, problem." She leaned down to the little girl's level. "Bye, Addison. You know, my name was supposed to be Addison."

Addison smiled widely. "Why isn't your name Addison?"

"Because my mommy and daddy decided to name me Maxie instead."

Addison reached for her mother's hand. "This is my mommy."

Smiling, Maxie nodded. "I see. You're a very lucky girl."

When she returned to the table, Charlie and Milla were still talking.

"Well, what do you like?" Charlie was asking her. "Maxie can make just about anything."

"Maxie, honey," said Milla when Maxie sat. "Charlie is really talking you up. I can't wait to taste your cooking."

"Maybe you can make that stuff you made last week? That soupy stuff," said Charlie, looking at Maxie. "You'll love that, Milla. Do you eat beef? Oh, she can make a mean steak, if you do."

Maxie couldn't help but smile as Charlie continued to rave about her one-of-a-kind steaks, and to-die-for beef stews. Bragging almost. He was proud, she realized, flushing red. And suddenly, the familiar blaze of longing that usually burned in the pit of her stomach as she watched Addison and her mother faded to nothing but a wistful sting.