It would explain why he was so damn likable.
Stupid magic sweat.
I sighed and turned to close my door, but Cade slipped in before I could.
“You’re looking even angrier than usual, Angry Girl.”
This guy had the worst timing in the world.
I closed the door, and left him for the comforting expanse of my bed. Maybe I was still sleeping, and this all had been one horrible, confusing, awkward nightmare.
“What are you doing here?”
“Just visiting my sweet, loving girlfriend.”
I threw a pillow at him in lieu of a reply.
He caught it easily, and then leaned back against the closed door, staring at me. The guy was straight out of a preppy GAP catalogue.
And I liked it.
What the hell was wrong with me?
“Do you want me to leave?” he asked. “I can make an excuse.”
There was no way my parents would accept an excuse. My mother was like an octopus, and he was pretty damn wrapped up in her tentacles already. But his sincerity made something pinch in my throat, and I had to look away from him again. How did he always know exactly what to say?
Supernatural. Had to be.
“Max, it’s not worth it. Lying just puts off the inevitable. Sooner or later, they’re going to have to accept you the way you are.”
I laughed bitterly. “Well, they’ve gone this long without accepting it. I’m sure they could squeeze in another twenty-two years.”
I heard the floorboards creak as he walked toward me.
“Max . . .”
I sat up and swung my feet over the other side of the bed, so that my back was to him. I’d already spilled enough of my secrets today. I wasn’t doing it again. And I needed to get this all under control before I snapped.
“It’s fine. We’ll just finish out dinner, and then it will be over. I’ll tell them in a week or two that we broke up. They’ll get over it.”
Doubtful. Something told me I’d hear about Cade as the “one that got away” for the rest of my life.
He said, “Just tell them I chose fantasy football over you. Your dad seems like the kind of guy that would buy that.”
“How flattering.”
He laughed, “You know I’d always choose you over football, Max.”
I looked at him over my shoulder and asked, “Are you sure you’re from Texas?”
He smiled and said, “Truce?”
I nodded.
He threw the pillow he was holding, and it nailed me right in the face.
“Now, a truce.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Stalker.”
“Liar.”
“Jerk.”
“Loving girlfriend.”
“You suck at insults.”
“You cringed when I said loving, so it counts.”
“Golden Boy.”
“Angry Girl.”
I smiled, feeling a lot less angry. He was good at that.
We returned to the living room, and though dessert was painful, it wasn’t excruciating. Cade chatted with my parents, so I didn’t have to. Cade was also exceptionally good at keeping them on innocuous topics that wouldn’t erupt into the arguments that normally typified our holiday dinners.
He was exactly what our family had been missing . . . well, since Alexandria’s accident. She was the good one, the one who always knew what to say and how to act. She was the ingredient that made our family work, and she was gone. Having Cade here made it easier to remember her without hurting.
When Mom brought out the pumpkin pie, she wouldn’t let anyone have a slice until they’d said something they were thankful for. Dad was thankful for the good food, and Mom was thankful that they got to be in Philadelphia for the holiday.
I wasn’t even lying when I said, “I’m thankful Cade could be here today.”
He had an arm around the back of my chair, and his hand came up and touched my hair lightly.
My mother said, “What about you, Cade? What are you thankful for?”
His eyes stayed fixed on mine. His hand brushed the side of my neck where my bird tattoos were hidden by my turtleneck sweater. He said, “I’m grateful that the past is the past, and the future is ours to make.”
I blinked, and thought pheromones. I mouthed, “Show off,” then slid him my piece of pie (which I also didn’t like). Somehow, Mom never seemed to remember that.
Mom asked, “Anyone want coffee with their pie?”
“I do,” I said.
Mom stood, and Cade joined her. He cupped my shoulder and said, “I’ll get it.”
“I take it—”
“One cream, two sugars. I remember.”
Seriously, this guy was good.
I watched him as he fiddled with my coffeemaker and chatted with my mom. The guy was too selfless . . . too everything. There had to be something wrong with him. Guys like him didn’t exist. And if they did, one had certainly never been interested in me.
19
Cade
The rest of the night went quickly, and before I knew it, we were saying good-bye. Mrs. Miller hugged me tightly, and Mr. Miller shook my hand.
“Say we’ll see you again soon, Cade. Christmas?”
I looked at Max, and she shrugged and said, “Sure, we’ll talk about it.”
We’d be “broken up” before then. I wondered how she would actually do it. She should make me the bad guy, that way she wouldn’t get any flack over it.
“Have a safe flight tomorrow,” I told them. Mrs. Miller hugged me again, almost like she was assuring herself I was real. Then they walked down the stairs and left. I closed the door and took in Max’s apartment. Her mother had insisted on leaving behind all the dishes she’d bought, along with some pillows, an afghan, the Christmas tree, and who knows what else.