Chapter Twenty-One

Monday at five thirty p.m., Aggie stood at her desk and rubbed her eyes. It had been three nights and three dumpster nightmares since the trash incident. On the bright side, last night’s nightmare hadn’t been scary. Gross but not scary. She’d dreamt Maxwell Treadwell had kissed her while standing in all those germs.

What kind of girl dreamed of a guy kissing her in a heap of garbage?

A weird one, for sure. Probably suffered from the I’m-not-good-enough syndrome, damn it.

Then again, what kind of girl forgave a guy responsible for her searching through trash for something that’s not even in there? And forgive him she had.

A weird one, for sure. Probably suffered from I-can-fix-the-guy syndrome, damn it.

Lucky for Max, she was the revenge and forgive type. Why dwell on what’d been handled? Especially when you knew your own antics set the series of unfortunate incidents into blazing motion.

To his credit, not once all day had he mentioned the incident. Or the pre-incident. Nor had he asked her to clarify if it was her number she’d given Richard. Which pointed to his being the I-deserved-that-and-forgive type.

Instead of rehashing their latest fiasco, he’d been on overdrive working out the details of his bid proposal.

Not that she was complaining about that part. Planning with him made her soul sing, and she didn’t use that phrase lightly.

Not only did he ask for her input, he listened to her responses and he incorporated her ideas into his proposal.

“Aggie,” he said.

She tensed. While she’d be okay with acting like Friday never happened, she knew realistically they would have to eventually talk about it. It was, after all, the adult thing to do. And taking the adult road meant she would admit she gave Richard Meemaw’s number so Max would stop thinking the worst of her.

“Yes?” She pretended to be busy with something at her desk because her stomach was suddenly feeling quite twisty and turny.

“Come look at this.”

She glided over to him while nonchalantly wiping her sweaty palms on her hips. She didn’t stop until she stood close to him. Surely, if he planned on handling this like an adult, as well, he was about to tell her she was worthy of so much more respect than he’d been showing her, and things would change and then he’d kiss her. Okay. The last part wouldn’t happen. But, due to last night’s dream, she had a fierce craving for his grumpy lips.

He pointed to the blueprint on his desk.

The guy really had nice hands. The kind of hands that enticed her to ruminate about things other than work. She peered at where he pointed. Okay. False alarm. They were not about to adult.

She forced her brain to engage in logic. “Wow.” He’d taken her idea and enhanced it like a master artist might a stick figure. “That’s perfect.” Did he even freaking remember Friday? “You’re going to win the bid for sure on this project.”

He stepped back and rubbed his neck. “Let’s call it a day.” His eyes didn’t meet hers despite her efforts to catch his gaze.

As a way of masking her disappointment, she yawned. To be fair, it might not have been a mask. Quality sleep didn’t occur when scary dreams had you by the throat. “Sounds good. I plan on getting up in the morning and running before work.” Get up early. Run. Where the hell had her mouth found those words? She didn’t run. Not even in her nightmares when being chased by evil and finding refuge in a trash can.

Max gave her a nod of approval. The kind most guys gave a girl when she’d walked out of the bedroom wearing nothing but a smile. “I didn’t know you ran.” Admiration hugged his words, squeezing them so tight they turned blue.

She silently groaned. She’d been Meemawed. The ornery thing had mentioned in passing this weekend that Aggie should take bagels to work on Monday, because Ms. Grace said Max ran every morning. And runners needed their carbs. And she knew how Aggie tended to take on a guy’s hobbies when she liked him.

When Aggie had laughed at Meemaw’s suggestion, Meemaw had then mentioned Max’s last lady-of-interest ran marathons.

The thing about lies, they’re hard to backtrack out of. Especially when they were rewarded with approval. “I love to run. It’s great for stress.”

He grinned.

Did he know? “What’s so funny?” It wasn’t like she couldn’t run. She probably could run. Probably super-fast. How fast did he run a mile? If she beat his time, he’d have to respect her. Then again, why did she have to be the one searching for respect? Too bad she didn’t have that thought before doubling down on her lie.

He shrugged. “I find it hard imagining you as a runner.”

“You should join me sometime. See for yourself.”

He reached out and slid a strand of hair out of her face. “How about tomorrow morning?”

His fingers touching her cheekbone stirred her desire to be kissed. “Tomorrow morning, what?” It called upon all of her willpower not to touch where he’d touched.

He cocked his head. There was something in the way he looked at her that hadn’t been there before. She had absolutely no idea what it was, but it was new. And unnerving. And it wasn’t there before she mentioned her love of running. Was he, too, thinking about kissing?

“How about I join you on your run in the morning?” he asked.

No, no, no. That wasn’t going to happen. “Aren’t you a peach for trying to bond with your employee, but, to be honest, I don’t think running with my boss would relax me. You’d no doubt want to talk business.”

A devastating grin stretched his lips upward. “I much prefer when it’s me you’re calling a peach. How about I promise not to talk business?”

Not having another reason to say no and liking that he liked that she called him a peach, she said the one thing she most didn’t want to say. “You have a date. Say seven thirty. Sharpish.”

His face lit up. “Where?”

The guy genuinely wanted to run with her. Why? “You pick.”

He shut down his computer. “I could meet you at your place. We could run in your neighborhood.”

She moved to her desk and turned off her computer. That may not be their safest bet. When people ran in her neighborhood, it was often away from the cops. “I’m tired of running in my hood. Why don’t I meet you at your condo, and we can run in yours?”

He nodded. “I’m looking forward to it. And Aggie?”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry about Friday. I don’t know what got into me asking you to do that. It’s like…”

“Like what?” she urged.

“Nothing. I just want you to know, despite our differences, I’m impressed with your knowledge and vision. When our contract is over, you should find a job drawing upon those strengths. I’ll be happy to write you a reference.”

Differences? They were both educated. They were both manipulated by grandmothers.

Was he referring to their different social-economic standings in the community? Damn it. Could the guy not go one day without triggering her insecurities?