His tongue dueled with mine, never wavering or giving in. Max was as much a part of the kiss as I was, showing an enthusiasm which left me breathless. He tasted of dark rich chocolate with a hint of mint.
Lifting my head, I watched the dazed look in Max’s eyes as a smile crept over his lips. “Wow! I don’t think I’ve ever had a kiss quite like that before.”
“No, I don’t believe I have either.” I shook my head at the thought. Kissing Max was different than kissing Grant. Not better or worse, just different. There was the same fire in this kiss with Max and that scared me. I never thought I’d have feelings for anyone other than Grant.
Faced with Max, I had to wonder if he might possibly have been our third if we’d found him before Grant had died. It was something we’d both considered, but the timing had never been right. We hadn’t met the right person. Looking into Max’s warm eyes, the thought that raced through my mind was that Grant had missed meeting Max. That thought made my chest hurt, not for what I was experiencing, but that I was experiencing it without Grant by my side. He would have loved Max.
Taking a breath, I helped Max up before getting my own butt off the ground. I was reasonably adept at getting up and down under my own steam. I’d had a long time to practice. Keeping my balance, I watched Max stand and check out each body part that ached. It was a relief as he put his full weight down on each leg, flexing his arms, and wriggling his fingers.
“Nothing broken. Just winded, I guess. The breathing is getting easier, too, so I think I’m good.” He looked up at the corner of the house where the lights still hung one bracket short. “I think for now I’ll leave that. It shouldn’t hurt anything. Shall we plug them in and see if they work?”
“Why not. Let’s see what all your hard work looks like.” Laughing, I hopped over to my chair as Max went to the outdoor outlet to plug in the lights. As I settled in and looked up, red and green lights burned bright. After a moment, their flashing sequence began. They weren’t nearly as bright as the smile on Max’s lips as he turned to look at me. That smile sank into me, warming a place I thought I’d buried long ago, waking up a part of me I wasn’t sure I was ready to acknowledge.
I could almost hear Grant’s encouraging voice in my head, telling me I’d be a fool to pass up the chance to find love again. It wasn’t something I was ready to face so, like a coward, I turned my chair around and wheeled myself back to my house while Max’s attention refocused on the lights he’d strung.
Chapter Eight
Max
As the days counted down toward Christmas, my days were spent as a mad rush to finish up projects for clients. December was always a great bump to my income as a content writer. Blogs, magazines, and companies were always trying to entice more readership or sell more products this time of the year with holiday themed content. I’d finished twelve articles and four blog posts in the past two weeks alone. My paycheck this month was going to pay my mortgage for the next three months. Easy.
I typed the last sentence of my current project and mailed it off for approval, crossing off the last thing on my list that needed to be completed this week. The next two days would be a time filled massive baking. I’d stocked up the week before on flour, eggs, four different kinds of sugar, and a variety of chocolate and candies. I opened the folder with my game plan on the computer, printing the large PDF of recipes I’d decided to tackle. Some recipes were old favorites, others were interesting bits of sweetness I couldn’t resist trying out. Considering it was just me, I was probably going a little overboard.
There were worse things than having a house filled with sweets. Though most wouldn’t be staying with me as I had a list of relatives I always sent baked goods off to each year. My uncle Herman was getting up there in years. He always appreciated the old-fashioned gingersnaps I sent him every year, swearing they reminded him of the ones his mother used to make. The compliment always made me proud since it was Grandmother Mag’s recipe I always used. Hopefully, he wouldn’t mind the fact I was woefully behind schedule in my cookie baking efforts this year. Even with expedited shipping, the cookies might not make it to their intended targets before the big day.
My aunt Lidia couldn’t stand over a hot stove anymore so she always appreciated the box of cookies I sent her as well. She used them to emphasize her complaints each year that none of her kids had inherited her baking gene. The flurry of phone calls I received each year from my cousins as they teased me with good-natured ribbing was the highlight of my holiday season. It was a time to laugh and chat and try to one-up each other in garnering the attention of our older relatives. Despite the distance that now separated us, I knew we’d always remain close. They were good people, and I loved them all. Sending them a small part of me filled me with a joy I couldn’t explain. I only knew I’d bake until I couldn’t bake anymore and then take the boxes to the post office to send off to their intended recipients, all the while hoping they managed to get there intact.
Hours later, the scent
