Kelsey’s on the Lake is a Windermere hot spot and I’m not surprised to see a couple people I recognize. They’re way more interested in Max than they are in me, but he seems oblivious, which is further proof that this is his life now. I give awkward waves, but Max just follows the hostess to a secluded corner table. The hostess gives Max her best smile and then leaves us our menus with the promise that someone will be over soon to take a drink order.
“Do you still like vodka?” Max asks.
I will my cheeks not to turn red, but I’m not sure it works. I do manage to keep myself from smiling, though, as I say, “I’ve been known to have a vodka tonic now and then. You?”
Max shakes his head. “I don’t drink during the season. Maybe an occasional beer, but nothing more than that. In the summer, I like a decent rosé.”
“You what? Rosé? Really?”
“Hey, don’t be that way.” Max laughs. “I did an ad for a French rosé a couple years ago and what can I say? I became a fan.”
“You did an ad for French rosé?” I feel like I’m parroting back everything Max is saying, but it’s more that I’m surprised I missed it. I may not follow Max’s career, but it’s hard to miss his endorsements. He was on a damn bus stop near the office a couple years ago promoting trainers. That, I expect. The rosé? Not so much.
“It only came out in France. I did a watch commercial in Japan, too.” Max smiles. “Foreign advertising is odd, but lucrative.”
“Do they know who you are in Japan?”
“Do they know who I am? What kind of question is that?” Max rolls his eyes and laughs, then says, “Honestly, they probably don’t, but the advertising agency did, so they hired me.”
“So what you’re saying is that you’re kind of a big deal?” I can’t help grinning this time as I ask the question, even though I already know the answer. Max has always been kind of a big deal, even before he was a football star.
“It’s all relative, right?” Max opens the menu. “Any idea what’s good here?”
I open the menu and for the next several minutes, we make innocuous conversation about the food. In addition to no alcohol, Max follows a pretty strict diet – lots of veg and protein, not a lot of carbs. I pass on the bread in solidarity, but it means I’m drinking my vodka tonic faster than I should because I have nothing else to do with my hands. It also means I’m drinking on an empty stomach, which isn’t the best idea when I’m out with a guy.
When I’m out with the guy.
Shit.
So much for keeping that thought locked in the vault where it belongs.
I take a gulp of water and make my voice bright when I say, “So, tell me about life as a famous footballer. Is it everything you hoped it would be?”
“It’s fine.” Max’s tone is dismissive, but then he lowers his voice and leans across the table. “I don’t really want to talk about football to be honest.”
“Oh, okay.” I twirl my vodka tonic on the wooden table. “What do you want to talk about?”
“Why you’ve ghosted me the past twelve years.” All of the ease is gone from Max’s expression.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I take another sip of my vodka tonic in an attempt to look casual. Inside, though, that corkscrew in my stomach feels like it’s tearing through metal.
“You know exactly what I’m talking about.” Max holds my gaze and doesn’t let up.
My mind races and finally I settle on, “Would you believe me if I said I didn’t know?”
“No.” Max leans back and stretches his legs out. “And you wouldn’t believe you if you were me either.”
No, I wouldn’t. But how do I answer him without telling him everything?
I’m saved from answering by a waiter coming over to take our order. Bonus: he wants Max’s autograph. Then they talk about Norcastle’s team standings for a bit. It buys me time, but it’s not enough. But let’s face it, if twelve years hasn’t been enough time for me to figure out how to answer that question, a few minutes is nothing.
The waiter walks away and Max turns back to me like we haven’t been interrupted. I don’t wait for him to speak before saying, “First of all, I haven’t ghosted you. You left and I felt like we couldn’t possibly have anything in common anymore. You had this whole other life that was so far away from Bishop’s Blue Coat, and it seemed like keeping up for nostalgia’s sake wouldn’t be good for either one of us.”
I’m surprised to feel the tightness in my throat when I finish speaking, but I make myself hold Max’s gaze. It’s way harder than it should be.
“But it wouldn’t have been keeping up for nostalgia’s sake.” Max furrows his brow. “I mean, Jesus, T. I loved you.”
Ooof.
His words hit me like I’ve just taken a goal kick in the stomach.
“I know.” My voice is small. “But all the more reason. We wouldn’t have lasted anyway and you know it.”
“So dropping out of my life was your solution?” Max is the most even-keeled person I’ve ever known, but his voice has a definite edge now. “I texted Will and Harry, but you were the only person at Bishop’s I ever really talked to. There I was in Spain. I didn’t speak Spanish and my so-called football skills weren’t at the same level as the other players. Never mind that I missed you so much it felt like I’d cut off a limb. I emailed you that I wanted to come home because I didn’t think I could do it. I was sore all the time from training and feeling stupid homesick, and I needed you to tell me to suck it up, which you did. Then I never heard from you again.”
Because what if next time I told you to do it? To come home? To be there with me and hold my hand as I tried to navigate the nightmare turn my life had taken? How would I live with myself?
“I was afraid I’d give you the wrong advice.” I can’t talk about how much I missed Max, too. I just can’t. “And I knew that once you found your feet, you’d be amazing, which you were.”
“Truth.” Max gives a reluctant grin.
“See? Modesty has always been your strong suit.” I let my shoulders relax a little. He doesn’t know. He can’t tell I’m faking it. The realization makes me drop my shoulders another notch.
“But then you moved and didn’t tell me.” The edge is back in his voice now. “I came home and Will said you moved over to the Lake District. You didn’t even leave a forwarding address.”
Not true. Rina knew my address, but she was under strict instructions not to share. Aloud I say, “My dad got a new job and we moved pretty quickly so I didn’t miss any school. It sucked, but it was better than leaving in Year Eleven. And I met Scarlett, so it turned out all right in the end.”
“It turned out all right in the end.” Max’s mouth is set in a firm line and I feel frustration roil in my stomach.
“Don’t tell me it didn’t. You’re living your dream, Max.”
“One of them.” Max looks down in his lap and I hold my breath. I feel like reminding him he paid a lot of money for a night out with me to spend it arguing. I see the minute he decides not to continue and when he looks back up at me, his expression is almost friendly again. “Where are your parents now? Are they still up here?”
“No, they’re over by Leeds now. My dad’s gone into business with his brother, which is good. They like being closer to family. How about your mum?” I ask, although I know the answer to this. Talking about parents is safe. Rina told me years ago that one of the first things Max did when he went pro was to buy his mum a house and put her on his payroll. It kind of made my heart melt.
“She’s in Norcastle. She more or less works for me?” Max looks a bit sheepish. “I have a few investment properties, so she helps with those, and she helps organize stuff for me during the season. That probably sounds bad, but I swear she wants to do it. I’d be happy to take care of all of her living expenses and she could chill, but she says she’d be bored senseless.”
“I think it’s nice.” I reach over and put my hand on top of Max’s without thinking. The second I realize, I try to jerk it away, but he threads his fingers through mine before I can.
I pray he can’t feel my pulse through my fingertips. For all the care I took to avoid touching Max getting into his car and then to casually reach for him now is a mistake of the highest order. Because my instinct isn’t to let go, it’s to curl my fingers around his and hold on. Tight.
“Do you remember that time your brother caught us making out in the street?” Max asks, his voice low. “I thought he was going to kill me.”
“Oh, if anyone was going to die, it would have been me. I got a stern talking to that day.” Tariq had told me Max was nothing but a player and I’d regret hooking up with him. Tariq was right. I regretted it all in the end. This thought makes me slip my hand out of Max’s and put it in my lap. My voice is soft when I say, “That was a long time ago. Tariq has mellowed since then.”
Max studies my face for what feels like an hour, but he chooses not to ask about whatever he sees there and fixes a half smile on his face as he says, “I would hope so. You are an adult, after all.”
“Tariq has his own family now. He has a little girl whom he adores.”
Max grins and for the next hour – all the way through starters and mains – we trade stories, catching up. It’s mostly surface level conversation, but it’s like Max knows I’m not capable of more right now. He tells me about some of the practical jokes he and his teammates have played on each other. I tell him about work at WS Consulting and my latest design for a pub renovation. It’s outside the scope of what I normally do but restoring listed buildings has become an unexpected area of expertise for me, and it’s an area in high demand.
“So basically, you get to geek out on the history, as well as the design?” Max asks.
“Basically. Bradley, the owner of WS, is great at providing his employees opportunities they didn’t know they were looking for. He knew this would be right up my street way before I did.”
“It sounds like a great job. You’re lucky,” Max says.
“Says the professional footballer.” I glance around. “Speaking of, this place is bound to get pretty packed since it’s Saturday night, if you’re worried about staying under the radar.”
“In other words, you want to get out of here before the masses descend?” Max asks, the corner of his mouth turning up.
“Yeah, something like that. Plus, I don’t feel like being on the gossip sites tomorrow. Scarlett’s friend, Claire, dates Greyson Vaughn and I’ve heard some horror stories.”
“You know Greyson Vaughn is a major Hollywood actor?” Max asks while signalling for the bill. “It’s a little different.”
“It is, but still.” I don’t want to be linked to Max online and have people start digging to try to find out about his mystery woman. Neither one of us need that.
God knows what they’d uncover.