After I hung up on his squawked response, I walked slowly through Maddox’s apartment, seeing it with new eyes. Everything here told a story—a small collection of hand-carved animals his grandfather had made him lined up on a shelf, one with a broken ear that someone had lovingly glued back together. A photo of Maddox holding a much younger Maya at what looked like a fall festival, cotton candy in her hand, both of them grinning at the camera. A stack of books on wilderness photography next to a collection of Maya’s honor roll certificates and something that looked like a little pot of lip balm imprinted with “LHS Band” on the cap.
A life in Legacy wasn’t what I’d imagined for myself. It wasn’t glamorous or globe-spanning or always Instagram-worthy. But I liked who I was here. I liked the man who bragged about his eggs and worked two jobs just to keep his own dream alive. I liked feeling wanted for something other than my follower count or my ability to make luxury brands look aspirational.
I picked up a small wooden horse from the little animal collection, turning it over in my hands. It was imperfect—the proportions slightly off, one leg shorter than the others—but it had been made with love. You could see it in every careful detail, every smoothed curve.
A banded stack of envelopes on Maddox’s desk caught my eye, the paper inside the top one a light red. A note on the outside in his careful handwriting read, “To be paid Jan 1.” I almost picked it up—almost gave in to the curiosity—but stopped myself. Whatever it was, it wasn’t mine to know. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
The sound of boots on the stairs announced Maddox’s return. I quickly set down the horse and moved back to the kitchen, where he appeared a few minutes later with the scent of winter air and the familiar sawdust smell of the hardware store wafting in alongside him.
“Another shipment of Christmas lights,” he announced, moving to wash his hands at the sink while talking to me over his shoulder. “Thanks to you, that makes three more reorders we’ve gone through since the videos you posted decorating the tree. Even Kev Petersen bought another set, and he already has enough lights on his house to attract visitors from outer space. Also, Maya called and begged me to bring you to the ‘impromptu’ snowball fight that always happens around this time at the ballfields. She said, and I quote, ‘It’ll make for prime reels. Tell Adrian.’ What do you say? You up for getting your ass kicked and your fancy clothes messed up?”
I watched Maddox at the sink, noting the careful way he cleaned each finger, the competence in his movements. Everything about him was so solid, so rooted. The exact opposite of my carefully curated nomadic existence.
“Yeah, sure. Sounds good.”
“You’ve got that look,” he said, drying his hands and turning to face me.
“What look?”
“The one you get when you’re thinking hard about something.” Maddox moved closer, concern flickering in his eyes. “Everything okay?”
I could tell him.Shouldtell him. About the call, about the opportunity, about the choice I suddenly faced. But looking at him—hair still mussed from sleep, flannel shirt soft from years of washing, eyes warm with affection—I couldn’t bring myself to shatter this perfect morning with the weight of reality. With theconfirmation that what was holding him back was possibly imminent.
Instead, I kissed him. Soft and sweet and desperate, pouring all my conflicted feelings into the connection between us. He responded immediately, his hands coming up to frame my face, and for a moment, the outside world ceased to exist.
“Toast trauma,” I said when we broke apart, forcing lightness into my voice. “The usual.”
“Right.” His smile was skeptical but fond. “Let me guess—you burned it on purpose so I’d pity-feed you again.”
“Obviously. Gotta stay on brand.” I managed a grin that felt only slightly forced. “Can’t let you think I’m actually competent at anything domestic.”
“Ah, weaponized incompetence,” he murmured, pulling me close again. “My love language.”
I let myself sink into his embrace, memorizing the feel of his arms around me, the steady beat of his heart against my chest. In a few days, I’d have to make a decision that would change everything. But not right now. Right now, I could pretend that the only choice I had to make was what to have for lunch.
“So,” I said, pulling back enough to meet his eyes. “What’s the plan for Date Ten?”
I kept waiting for him to mention the romantic date he owed me after losing our bet, but he hadn’t brought it up all week, and I found myself reluctant to remind him. Was the pressure of planning it too much? Was Maddox hoping I’d forget about it? Did it make our “temporary” thing feel too real?
“Snowball fight and stolen kisses,” he replied, interrupting my wayward thoughts. “Maybe some hot chocolate afterward if you haven’t already drowned in the stuff. You in?”
“I’m all in,” I said and meant it with every fiber of my being.
He grinned, the expression transforming his face from merelyhandsome to absolutely devastating. “Good. Because Maya’s been planning our defeat since yesterday. She has strategies, Adrian. Actual battle plans.”
“Bring it on,” I laughed. “I’ll have you know I was the reigning snowball champion of my prep school. Three years running.”
“Prep school snowball fights don’t count. This is mountain warfare, city boy. You’re not ready.”
As he pulled me toward the bedroom to get dressed, I caught sight of my phone on the nightstand. Before I could second-guess myself, I grabbed it and fired off a quick text to Vic:
Not no. Just… give me some time.
His response was immediate.
Vic
How much time?
