She sighed and didn’t fight him. “Thank you.”
“Come to Minneapolis. The butterfish will be waiting for you.”
“I’m actually in Minneapolis. I’m staying at my sister’s.”
She was?
“Um . . . how would you feel about a trip to Milwaukee?”
“Now?”
He could hardly keep himself from shouting. “Uh-huh. I’ll pick you up in an hour?”
“Seriously?”
“Grace . . .”
More laughter. “Right. I’ll be ready.”
He hung up and pushed through the double doors to the parking lot. The rain had stopped, the slightest hint of sunshine breaking through the clouds.
Max had chartered a plane to fly them to Milwaukee and rescue their butterfish from the coastal food market, the mistaken destination of her order.
The sheer generosity of his action took Grace’s breath away, and by the time they’d returned from their adventure Thursday night, her determination to keep him off the playing field of her heart had taken serious hits.
She kept clinging to her moment on the beach, when she’d recommitted her heart to Jesus. She hated how fickle it now proved to be, how easily she turned to Max, hoping he might pull her into his arms. Reignite the flames that he’d stirred in Hawaii.
“Ready to flash sear the ahi?” Max stood at his stove, a beautiful stainless steel gourmet appliance that fit perfectly in his condo kitchen. In fact, she could live forever in his made-for-an-Iron-Chef work area. A Sub-Zero fridge, a long black quartz countertop, two sunken sinks, and a bar for guests. It all looked into a living room with an oversize leather sofa, a flat-screen TV. On the screen, a rerun of an old Blue Ox game played on the NHL channel. Max barely looked at it as he cooked.
This Max she recognized, the one dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt, barefoot and wearing an apron.
This was her favorite Max.
Or maybe it was the fact that cold and nervous Max, a man she nearly didn’t recognize, had vanished two days ago, somewhere over Eau Claire.
Sports-cover Max had met her at Eden’s door, tucked her into his Audi convertible. He slicked up well—she knew that—but to see it in person unnerved her. He’d worn a suit jacket over a printed tee, a pair of fancy shoes with his jeans.
Grace, on the other hand, had destroyed Eden’s apartment looking for something that didn’t feel like either a Saturday afternoon on the sofa, watching the Lifetime channel, or Sunday at the park. She finally settled on skinny jeans, a sleeveless shirt, and sandals.
She still felt underdressed and silly sitting next to Max Sharpe in his fancy convertible, driving to the airport and being treated like she was royalty.
After they’d climbed aboard the plane, Max shucked off his jacket, sat down across from her, and smiled. It was the smile, the same one he’d given her just before he put a snorkel mask on her face, that hinted at the man behind the polish. The troublemaker who pushed her, even surprised her with what she was capable of.
Oh, her fickle heart had wanted to push her into his arms at that moment. She stayed planted in her seat, however, listening to him talk about team injury updates and forecasts for the next season—all stuff she’d never heard him mention before, as if he hadn’t wanted to broach the hockey topic.
Maybe forgiving him for hurting Owen had freed Max to share this part of his life with her.
He’d then turned to menus and recipes.
“Why don’t you flash sear the ahi for the poke, for those who can’t manage fully raw fish?”
Then he’d moved on to her dessert problem. Sure, they had a cake ordered, but Eden also wanted something Hawaiian—
“What about a macadamia nut–coconut cake? You could serve it with a warm coconut glaze.”
Yeah, she’d wanted to kiss him right then, and it didn’t help that the shine in his eyes, the warmth, told her that he’d missed this too.
They made ingredient lists as they flew over Wisconsin’s heartland before touching down in Milwaukee. He’d suggested dinner out, but she reminded him of their marinating schedule.
How she loved a man who would fit his life around the seasoning needs of a fish.
They arrived home after dark, but instead of dropping her off at Eden’s, he’d brought her back to his place.
No romance on the agenda, he worked with her to whip up the marinade, a mixture of sake, mirin, sugar, and miso. He’d stored it in his refrigerator, turned, and high-fived her.
She would have preferred a hug, but maybe that wouldn’t do her any good. Not if she hoped to stay untangled from the disaster looming at the conclusion of Eden’s wedding when he walked out of her life for good.