If I didn’t have the pleasure of hearing Maisy’s uninhibited, genuine laughter, I would have bolted at the first sign of Benoit in the poofy white shirt. He looked like a wannabe pirate or a man on an old-fashioned romance book my mother used to litter the end tables with.
I had no clue what the hell Francois was talking about with longing and nostalgia. For a long, agonizing moment, all I felt was panic and acute embarrassment.
But Maisy Stratford laughed, and everything changed. She allowed herself to get swept up in the moment, in the enthusiasm of Pam, in the spectacle of Benoit’s sword brandishing.
And I reveled in her.
There aren’t many women who could get me to stay in this class and paint a male model in a ridiculous shirt with an even sillier sword, but, it turns out, Maisy is one of them. I settle in for the long haul, soothed by her laughter, aware of every glance and grin she tosses my way.
Focusing on Francois’s guidance, I give this whole portrait painting a real try. I outline Benoit’s frame, adding more detail to his facial expression and the confidence he holds in his shoulders. However, while Pam spends most of the class focused on Benoit’s pants, I skip that part of his body altogether.
I don’t chance a glance, except to confirm that dude must be in pain. Britches ain’t no joke and his are…painfully tight.
“Wonderful, Mr. Daire.” Francois nods over my shoulder as he takes in my portrait. “You have a natural eye.”
“Doesn’t he?” Maisy pipes up beside me.
I turn to give her a look, my expression softening as I take in her smile. It’s breathtaking and playful and makes my body relax. Being with her relaxes me in ways I haven’t felt in years.
“Well, he is here with you, so yes,” Francois agrees. A smooth talker, this one.
Maisy giggles and I fight the urge to roll my eyes.
We finish the class and relief mixed with a strange sense of regret washes through me. I don’t want tonight to end. Maisy and I drank our wine and picked at the charcuterie board, and I want more. Conversation and long side looks and playful smirks.
“Want to hit the diner?” I ask, cleaning my last brush.
“I’d love to.”
“Make sure you come back next week,” Pam whispers, sidling up next to Maisy’s canvas. “It’s a nude lesson!” She claps her hands together.
Maisy’s cheeks burn and her eyes dance. “Sounds riveting.”
“It is,” Pam agrees. “Hope to see you.”
“Good to meet you, Pam,” Maisy offers, noncommittally.
“You too, darling.” She waves before exiting, making better time on her cane than she ought to.
“She’s a hoot,” Maisy comments.
“She’s the type of grandmother grandkids wish for.”
“Ah, my aspiration in life,” Maisy laughs.
I tip my head. “You aspire to be a grandmother?”
“You know how some people peak in high school? Their glory years are their teens?”
I nod, knowing exactly what she means. I think of some of the guys I played hockey with back in high school. They’re all good guys, some have families, some don’t. But when I pass through my hometown, they’re all telling the same stories, relieving the same moments from twenty years ago. “Yeah, I know some of them.”
“Well, I’m certain I’m going to peak in my third act. Maybe my eighties.”
I snort. “What?”
“I’m serious.” Maisy grins but the look in her eyes is…well, serious.
“Okay.” I frown.
“I want to do the family thing. Have a whole house filled with kids. I want to raise them and be at their football games—”
“Hockey games,” I correct her.
She rolls her eyes. “And make dinner and quiz them for spelling tests. But when I’m a grandma…I want to paint and bake cupcakes and not worry about bedtimes and routine. I’m gonna peak in my third act, like Pam.”
I bite back my smile. “Got it all planned out.”
She shrugs. “Well, that used to be my plan. If it doesn’t happen, I’m going to travel the world.” She watches me curiously, biting her bottom lip. “Do you want to have more children?” Her tone is light, but her gaze is serious. She’s not only asking out of curiosity.
The question pulls me up short. “I, I haven’t really thought about it,” I say slowly. Honestly. I mean, I guess with the right woman, with the right commitment, I could but…when have I had that until…maybe now?
Maisy grins, too big and too bright. She’s backpedaling now. “Yeah, well, at least you have a shot at being a grandpa. You can peak in your third act too.”
I nod, letting out a gruff laugh.
We thank Francois and Benoit and make our way out of the Art Attic. As I drive to the diner, Maisy’s question loops in my mind.
Would I ever have more kids? Another family? Can I see myself getting married and having a more traditional life? The one I missed out on the first go-around?
I glance at Maisy, sitting in the passenger seat, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her expression thoughtful as she stares straight ahead.
Maybe. With a woman like her, with Maisy…maybe.
The realization doesn’t scare me the way I thought it would, but it gives me pause. Because in a handful of weeks, Maisy Stratford has opened my mind to new ideas, to new ways of thinking, to the possibility of a different, better future than the lonely one I always envisioned. She’s underlined the point Lola’s been making for years: I need to “seek happiness.” I can’t live my life following in Lola’s path.
I sigh, running my palm over the steering wheel. Maisy has opened my mind and maybe, even cracked the lock on my heart.
“Wait, this was where you hung out in high school, wasn’t it?” I tease Maisy as we slide into a booth in the back of the diner.
She laughs but her eyes confirm my theory. “There’re three stoplights in the whole town,” she says by way of explanation. “Thank God Knoxville is only forty minutes away.”
“Hey, I grew up in a town just like this one. There’s something to be said, to be admired, in places where neighbors look out for each other and kids grow up with tight bonds, together.”
Maisy’s expression softens. “Where did you grow up?”
“I’m from a small fishing village in Maine.”
“Maine!” Her hand claps over her mouth, whether in surprise from my answer or from her reaction, I’m not sure. Either way, her blue eyes are filled with mirth, her cheeks pink with embarrassment.
“Not too far from Portland.”
“Wow.” She shakes her head, a few blonde strands falling from her bun.
“Why are you so surprised?”
She tilts her head, studying me. “I don’t know. Now that I know the truth—”
“It’s hardly a secret.”
She giggles. The sounds tugs on something in my chest and I rub at it absentmindedly. Maisy Stratford is adorable. “Well, now that I know, I can see it.”
I quirk an eyebrow.
“The sexy lumberjack vibe you could rock. I mean, if you traded your mock turtleneck for a flannel shirt. It’s very Jason Momoa of you.”
I open my mouth, prepared to groan, but instead, a laugh falls out. An actual, real, genuine laugh that causes the corners of my eyes to crinkle.
Again, Maisy claps a hand over her mouth. Surprised. “You’re laughing!”
Her reaction makes me laugh harder as I nod in agreement. “I do that sometimes.”
“Twice tonight,” she shoots back, her own laughter chiming in, mixing and blending, with mine.
It sounds nice, the two of us laughing in unison. More than that, it soothes me to know that we find the same things funny. That the easygoing conversation, the quips and jokes, I usually only have with Lola and Jasmine, or Asher, can be shared with Maisy too.
It feels like a win.
“So, you’re from Maine, and then you moved straight to Seattle?” she asks tentatively.
“You googled me, didn’t you?” I deadpan.
Her cheeks blaze and I relish the fact that I can make her blush.
Putting her out of her misery, I lean back in my seat. “Seattle came later. First, college in Minnesota. But I spent the majority of my career with the Rams in Seattle and now, here.”
“Because of Lola.”
“Yep. I’ll probably just move anywhere she settles. When I was a kid, I thought Asher and I would live near each other, but he’s never put down permanent roots so…” I shrug.
Maisy watches me for a moment, her gaze searching. Swept up with a touch of sadness.
“Hey, y’all, what can I get for you?” Our server appears, causing Maisy to snap out of her thoughts.
We order milkshakes and coffees, burgers and French fries.
Afterwards, I steer our conversation in a new direction. “Tell me something, Maisy.”
“What?”
“Anything. Something…something no one knows.” I’m going out on a limb here, but I like how spontaneous and in the moment she is. It’s so different than anything I’ve ever known that tonight, at least, I want to try to be like Maisy. Live in the moment, ask the questions that spark my curiosity, just be with her.
“Well, I’ve told Mila this, but no one else really knows.” She wrinkles her nose. “Okay, Mila and Cohen, because the three of us were having lunch.”
“Okay,” I say slowly, hating that the mention of Cohen’s name causes my jaw to clench. They’re friends; I know they’re friends. But…how the hell can a man just be friends with a woman like Maisy?
She’s incredible and at some point, if not already, Cohen’s going to notice that. Hell, even River who probably couldn’t find himself out of a paper bag gives Maisy sincere smiles and warm greetings when he sees her. If River Patton’s figured it out, every straight man in Tennessee ought to be next. By logic alone.
“I want to move to Costa Rica,” she announces, pulling me from my spiraling thoughts.
“What?” I sputter out, sounding a little too much like a dad. “The surfing camp?”
“Yes. I don’t just want to visit. I want to move there. Well, first, oh, thank you.” She smiles warmly at our server who drops off our burgers.
“You want to live there?” I prod after a long moment of watching Maisy salt her fries and add a dollop of ketchup to her plate.
“Yes,” she confirms, her eyes sparkling as they catch mine. “I think so; I’ve never been.”
Huh? I frown. “How can you want to move someplace you’ve never been?”
She shrugs. “When you know, you know.”
Internally, I groan. That’s an answer Lola would flip my way. One I’d never accept but now…well, I can’t tell Maisy that, can I?
“But my dad said something similar—”
Cue internal groaning again. Now, I sound like her dad?
“So, I want to go to the surf camp there first. At Witch’s Rock.”
“Witch’s what?” I ask, my burger forgotten.
“Rock,” Maisy says, her hands moving along with her words. She launches into a detailed description of the surf camp in Costa Rica, peppering it with day trips that include zip lining and yoga on the beach. It’s the second time she’s brought it up and I can tell it’s important to her. That this trip, this potential move, is something she’s thought a lot about. She concludes with, “Who wouldn’t want to live there?”
I open my mouth to respond but…I’ve got nothing. Because the picture she painted, coupled with her in it, sounds pretty damn mesmerizing.
I clear my throat. “I’ve never been either.”
Her eyes sparkle at my words. “Yet.”
“Yet,” I agree, feeling lighter after I admit it. Just because I haven’t had a very spontaneous, live-in-the-moment life, doesn’t mean I never will. As unsettled as Maisy’s outlook leaves me, it’s also exciting. She’s thrilling and I like the way I feel when I’m with her.
My appetite returns and I pick up my burger, taking a big bite.
Maisy dunks a fry in her milkshake before popping it into her mouth. She shoots me a smile and I wink back, wanting to stay on this date forever. Wanting to learn as much as I can about Maisy Stratford and her big dreams.
When I drop her off at home, a sense of déjà vu rolls through me. I remember walking her up to her porch and kissing her lips after our not-so-great first date.
My palms grow clammy at the reminder, and I take the porch steps slowly, stalling.
Maisy spins toward me, her expression open, her face glowing. “Tonight was the best, Axe. Thank you.”
“No, thank you.” I stuff my hands in my pockets and rock back on my heels. “I had fun, Maisy. I had…more fun than I’ve had in a long time.”
“Me too,” she admits, shuffling a half step closer.
The scent of her perfume rolls over me and, screw it, I pull my hands from my pockets. Didn’t I say I was going to live in this moment with her? Just be? I don’t know what the future holds and I sure as hell don’t want to rush it but…God, do I want to kiss this beautiful woman good night. Take a second to hold her close and slide my hands down her delectable curves.
“Maisy.” My tongue swipes over my bottom lip. I clear my throat.
She tilts her head, studying me. “Do you want to come in?”
I feel the apology color my face as I swear softly. “I have an early skate tomorrow.”
“Oh, okay.” She looks down, steps back, and my chest twists painfully.
“Hey.” My hand darts out, tucking under her chin and lifting her face. Regret lines my words as I admit, “There’s nothing I want more right now. Trust me.”
A flicker of relief flares in her gaze. “I—”
Before she can voice anything else, I kiss her. I plant my lips over hers and get my first real taste of Maisy Stratford.
Intoxicating.
My hands glide up to hold her cheeks as she pitches forward, her hands wrapping around my wrists, holding on tightly. She whimpers as I deepen the kiss and I slip my tongue inside her mouth, my eyes closing as my tongue meets hers.
Maisy steps closer, her chest pressing into my abdomen as I lean down, arching over her. One arm wraps around her back, holding her steady, anchoring her. But my other hand slips into her silky tresses and holds the back of her head.
I kiss her fiercely and she melts into me, as sweet as honey. A whimper leaves her throat, and the sound rolls through me, kicking up my adrenaline and causing my need for her to spike. With one last tug of her hair, I force myself to step back.
My body is nearly buzzing with want for her. It’s been so damn long since I’ve been with a woman who turns me on so quickly, intense like this.
“Maisy,” I nearly growl, not wanting to leave her on her doorstep.
“I know,” she murmurs. “Your skate.” Her tone is gentle, her eyes still clouded over in the same lust and desire that color mine.
“My skate,” I confirm, my voice wobbly.
Maisy steps forward and reaches up on her toes. I dip my head and we kiss, one sweet, simple, perfect kiss.
“Good night, Mais,” I mumble against her mouth.
She pulls back and gives me that sweet smile. “’Night, Axe.”
I wait for her to go inside, lock her front door, and turn on the lights. Then, I go home and take a long, cold shower that does nothing to relieve the ache snaking through my body.
That night, I dream of Maisy Stratford and the way she’d look in my bed, splayed out beneath me. It’s the first dream I’ve ever wanted to become a reality.
It’s the first dream I’ve ever had that’s made me hopeful.