I shoot Blane a look sharp enough to cut bone.“Not everything is a headline.”
He blinks, surprised I’d snap.“I wasn’t saying?—”
“Yes, you were.”I pounce, not willing to let him keep talking.“And it’s gross.So maybe keep it to yourself.”
Meredith’s eyes widen a fraction—approval, unmistakable.Maddox’s gaze flickers to me, something new and warm and too intense burning through it.Blane clears his throat and becomes interested in his napkin.
The subject changes after that.Patsy starts a story about Ray teaching half the town to change a flat tire, and then Katie recalls a memory about a Thanksgiving when the oven died, and he grilled the turkey in the driveway.Slowly, the table fills again with laughter.
But Maddox doesn’t quite rejoin the conversation.He keeps stealing glances at me, and shamelessly, I keep stealing them back.
After dinner, I help Meredith clean up in the kitchen.She saunters into the dining room with clean serving platters, and Maddox reaches above me to put the plates away.
His arm brushes mine—warm, strong, bare to the elbow—and conscious of what his proximity does to me, I step aside too quickly, the movement awkward.
His hand shoots to my waist, steadying me, and I wrap my hand around his forearm as my breath stalls.He doesn’t move his hand right away, and neither do I.
Our kiss pushes its way into my mind, the memory sharp and uninvited.The way he’s holding me now is so like last night.I start to lean into him when Patsy appears in the doorway to say her goodbyes, and the moment shatters.
He steps back first, and I can breathe again.Barely.
Patsy leaves in a flurry of hugs and cold air, then Raf and Katie are talking about heading out too when Maddox’s phone buzzes against the counter.
Once.Twice.
I don’t look, though every part of me wants to.The third buzz lights the screen anyway—bright enough to catch my eye without permission.
Marcosflashes clear as day.
Maddox snatches the phone and double presses the side button before shoving it into his shirt pocket like it’s contraband, or like this is a call he won’t take in front of an audience.
I’m not surprised Marcos Madrigal is calling, but Maddox’s reaction is something else entirely.
Another buzz vibrates against his chest, and his pocket glows, but still, he doesn’t reach for it.
“Excuse me.”He heads for the back door, jaw granite, shoulders square.
He slips outside, pulling the door behind him, but it doesn’t quite click shut.
“Guess we’re waiting.”Katie sighs, glancing after her brother.
Conversation picks up around me, but I don’t follow it.My attention fixes on the window—Maddox on the porch, the motion-sensor light flickering to life above him.His silhouette sharpens, broad shoulders pulled tight, head angled down, as he finally draws the phone from his pocket.
He hesitates for a beat before answering.
I can’t make out the words, only the cadence, muted through the sliver of open door.His voice drops low, steadier than before, but strained at the edges.
His free hand scrubs the back of his neck, a gesture I’m starting to recognize as something he does when uncomfortable or bracing for impact.He paces a fixed loop near the railing.And the cold air slips through the crack of the door, carrying the faint murmur of a conversation he clearly doesn’t want to be having at all.
The reporter in me leans in when Katie slides beside me and drops her voice.“The retirement went smoothly enough, but Marcos was never happy about it.”
“And Maddox?”I keep my eyes on the window.“Is he?”
“I think so.”She pauses.“But Marcos has never quite let him off the hook.”
Before I can ask what that means, Raf appears at her shoulder.“We should go.Mad will understand.”He presses a kiss to her temple.“I need sleep.”
Out on the porch, Maddox turns slightly, shoulders rounding against the wind, and a strand of hair crosses his forehead.He doesn’t brush it away.