The deputy chuckled. "Can I get a Heineken draft, Grace?" he muttered over the bar. He winked at her when she placed it down in front of him. "You look sweet tonight." Max watched Grace's reaction carefully from the corner of his eye, but saw no blush or flutter of lashes. If anything she appeared to tense up, losing the softness of her pretty face.
"Flattery will get you nowhere, Deputy. You know that. You still need to pay me a tip," she remarked, making Max smile into his glass.
"Are you okay with that?" she asked suddenly, gesturing to Max's almost empty glass. "I could buy you a beer to say thank you for today." She looked toward the ceiling, her nose scrunching endearingly. "And to apologize for the other day."
Max shook his head, smiling. "No beer. But another juice would be good. Thanks."
"The other day?" Fern asked, looking between them. "What the hell else trouble are you two getting into?"
Grace chuckled. "It was all my fault. Again. Damn near knocked Max over on his ass; I was hurrying down the hallway so fast. Gave his shin a good kick, too, while he held me up."
Despite the laughter and comments, Max could feel the deputy's stare burning into the side of his face. His expression was amused, though his eyes were dark and suspicious.
"Held her up, huh?" he asked, leaning his elbow on the bar.
Max cocked an eyebrow. Asshole was as transparent as the glass in his hand. "Yeah," he answered.
Deputy Yates nodded slowly, glancing at Grace. "Sounds like you're Grace's hero of the hour."
Grace's face flushed. "Oh, no. It wasn't like that, I-"
"Sounds like it," Max interrupted, keen to make the deputy squirm. And squirm he did. A muscle in his jaw jumped and a huff of breath shot from his nose. The deputy swigged from his beer once, dropped a ten on the bar, said his good-byes, and left.
Max couldn't explain it, but watching the deputy leave so affronted, and seeing the small smile on Grace's face, left a more than satisfied taste in his mouth.
Max O'Hare was an enigma.
Since she'd fallen into him and he'd then saved her from the demon pipe burst, Grace had thought regularly about him. As the weeks passed, and in spite of the deputy's warning about Max's less than golden past, Grace allowed herself to approach him with tentative familiarity. She spoke to him when he sat at the bar and now knew that his go-to drink was OJ, and greeted him when she encountered him in the boardinghouse or at the house site.
He wasn't as aloof or evasive as he'd been when she'd first come across him, but his guard was still unquestionably up. Bizarrely, instead of seeing his distance as a reason to step back, Grace found herself even more intrigued. With forced indifference and the occasional smile to the bar regulars and even Max's aunt Fern, Grace had discovered that Max had been to rehab for more than three months. She didn't know what for-though Deputy Yates had mentioned drugs-and, the more she thought about it, the more she realized it was irrelevant.
Surely what was important was that he'd gotten help and wanted to be healthy. At least that's what Grace told herself when searching to explain her continuing interest in him.
The thing was, when Max was with his family, or when he thought no one was looking, his barriers dropped. It was only ever for the briefest of moments but when they did they revealed a more contented, less edgy guy who, there was no denying, had a killer smile. Grace knew without a doubt that he'd look great on film. She'd spent time considering the photographs she could take of him.
He was never eager to be the center of attention. Even over Easter, when the boardinghouse had been filled with people, food, and laughter, he'd be sitting on the periphery watching and listening to everyone else, which Grace found . . . attractive. There was nothing worse than an attention-seeking idiot who loved the sound of his own voice. He was quiet, but not brooding, rather the epitome of the strong and silent type.
And unlike the deputy and others who came into the bar, Max was never flirty. He never made unsubtle comments about the way she looked or called her anything other than her name. On occasion, Grace had caught him looking at her in that sideways, inconspicuous way of his and every time it made her stomach twist. Yet he maintained his distance.
Grace wasn't ignorant to her looks. She knew she was attractive to members of the opposite sex. It had been a privilege, before her ex-husband walked into her life and made her believe that being beautiful was something to be ashamed of. Nevertheless, men still stared, smiled, and sometimes commented, but not Max. He remained resolutely apathetic. He was polite, and pleasant, but never showed an interest, and Grace fought to understand why that bothered her so damned much.