The warmth of the kitchen burned on Sophie's cheeks that were cold from the frosty air outside.

Mary's face lifted, and her dark pink lips turned up. "Max has agreed to drive you to the vineyard each morning."

Now Sophie's cheeks singed again, but from an internal combustion. "No, that's not necessary."

Simon circled the island. "Isn't he supposed to be here for Finn?"

Sophie didn't know Simon well, having only met him briefly before Mary announced they'd eloped a few months ago. Over meals at the lake house, trips into Washington and other little moments, he'd presented an easygoing attitude that balanced out Mary's extravagances. More outspoken than his brother, Simon had a way of making everyone feel comfortable in his presence. But not now. Now his face sat etched with hard lines, his gaze narrowing. He'd brought the frosty air in with him and glared at Max like an opposing competitor in a snowball fight he was intent on winning.

Under Simon's glare, Max's shoulders straightened, his profile hardening. "He's my top priority."

Mary popped off her stool and glued herself to her husband, her fingers tracing the line of his chin. "Maybe Max will bring Finn here. They can both help with the renovation." Mary's gaze slid to Max's and then Sophie's with a back-me-up-here expression.

The burning in her chest matched her cheeks. "Right." Not quite sure how she got there, Sophie found herself standing beside Max, her hand settled on the counter beside his. Her pinkie grazed his, warm compared to the cold tiles, but almost as rough. "They could take turns driving me." Her insides cramped at the thought of being in their debt, but the pain dissipated as the hard lines of Simon's face melted.

With what seemed like effort, Simon tore his gaze away from Mary and, after barely landing on Max, locked onto Sophie's. When he spoke, his voice was laced with hope. "Would he?"

Under the intensity of his stare, she wanted to assure him there would be no doubt Finn would come to the winery, spend time with his brother. But she'd been living at the Montgomery household for two months and had heard the whispered conversations where Finn agreed to be civil to his brother for Emily's sake, but still couldn't forgive Simon for his role in keeping them apart. Sophie swallowed past the stone in her throat. "Can't see why not."

Simon's gaze fell to the floor, and Sophie wished she'd chosen different words.

"Once, on leave, Finn and I volunteered to build a school in Zimbabwe." Max scratched at his wrist, the movement breaking the tiny bridge they'd formed with their touching fingers. "Still hasn't fallen down last time I checked."

Max's joke cracked the pressure pushing against the walls of the room, and the two men offered each other a tiny nod. Mary pulled on the lapels of Simon's jacket. "See. We'll get him here."

Simon kissed Mary's temple and let out a long breath, exhaling the remaining tension in his body. Back was the businessman who'd given her a tour of what he'd referred to as the wine laboratory, but looked more like rows and rows of barrels to her.

He held out his arm. "As you can see, we have a lot of work to do here to transform it into a functioning kitchen. There's a crew coming in tomorrow to complete the demolition of these cupboards." Letting go of his wife, he gestured for Sophie to follow him as he opened a door tucked into the back corner of the room. "I've got the plans for the new arrangement in what will be your office."

Sophie stepped into a space with just enough room for a desk, a chair, and a small couch butted up under a tiny window offering a view of row after row of dormant grape vines. A buzz of electricity surged in her gut. The office wasn't anything remarkable, nothing like Etienne's office back in La Terra. They'd spent hours on slow nights sitting around his table, making plans for new menus, new dishes, new combinations, the aroma of coffee fueling their dreams.

This room smelt more like wet pine. Still, it was her wet pine. For now.

"We'll remodel this area, too. You can choose a new desk and chair." Simon pointed to the wall. "I'm thinking of a whiteboard here, but really it's up to you."

Up to her. She wasn't inheriting this office, conforming to someone else's rules. Simon was giving her carte blanche to create a space unique to her, for her. To stop herself from hugging Simon, she wrapped her arms around her waist. "That's a great idea. Visuals will help keep the staff informed."

Simon's face soured. "Won't have much staff for now. Need to convince the investors first. I can ask Hope to help, but she has her own business. You might have to cook and serve."

Memories of trudging through her parent's restaurant, arms piled with steaming dishes, swam before her. She'd hated interacting with the customers, appeasing their egos in hopes of a decent tip. She shook off the images. "Not a problem. I can do both."

"Good." Simon unrolled a wide sheet of paper covered in blue lines. "Here's the kitchen set up. I've put the steam oven here and the convection here." He pointed to various spots on the layout as he described his thought process. "This is similar to our set up at the Waterfront and Tim, he's the resident cook, likes the flow."

Sophie chewed on the side of her cuticle. Perhaps Simon sensed her hesitation when he asked, "Anything you want to change?"

She met his blue eyes, so similar to his brothers. "You might consider moving the fridge over by the door to the restaurant. While it's good to have it in the triangle for us chefs, by placing it here, the wait staff can access things like prepared items and drinks without wading into the cooking area. Keeps them out of our way and saves them a few steps."

Simon nodded. "Steps count when it's busy."

Her shoulders relaxed. He wasn't upset with her suggestion. When Mary had first proposed this endeavour, Sophie hadn't been convinced she wouldn't be more than a means for Simon to execute his vision. He would want things his way and she'd have to conform. Now, with this minor concession, Sophie could see a true collaboration was possible with Simon. His vineyard, his money, but her opinion considered.

The buzz hummed in her ears. At long last, one of her dreams was coming true.

***

Sophie stared at her reflection in the window of the Jeep. Max in shadow behind her, eyes focused on the road ahead. "You don't really have to drive me."

"I don't mind." The reflection glanced at her, and Sophie wished her irrational fear of driving would disappear as fast as the trees racing by. Max cleared his throat. "Besides, I can't believe I'm saying this, but Mary might be right."

That brought Sophie to study Max's profile. The closely cropped hair a half an inch from the shell of his ear, the firm line of his jaw, the pink skin of his lips. She tucked her hands between her thighs and stared ahead. "Infuriating as it may be, she usually is. What did she nail this time?"

"Finn. I know I've only been here a few days, but I've never seen him so... on edge. And we've been through some shit." The Jeep slowed as Max came to a stop sign.

"What was Finn like, you know, in the Navy?"

The smile on Max's face made Sophie's heart jump. Not the sweet, shy smile he offered her, but a wide grin of a man happy and content. "He's the best. Took me under his wing the moment I signed up to be a Master-At-Arms. No bullshit, pardon my French. No attitude about being my commanding officer." Max stepped on the gas. "Sure, there was some hazing, but only in good fun. He made me feel like part of the team from day one."

"Why did you join the Navy?" Silence hung in the air and Sophie opened her mouth to apologise for prying.

Max got there first. "I needed a place to land when things went sideways. Back in Badger, I had my whole life mapped out in front of me. By other people. My dad, my coach, even my girlfriend, everyone in my life except my sister, all eager for me to sign with a scout, make it to the big leagues, be the baseball star they dreamed of. After my injury, when it was clear I'd miss the season and not get a scholarship to college—" Max scratched his wrist–"things changed."

"You didn't want to go to college?"

Max's fingers tightened on the steering wheel. "My only reason to go to school was to play baseball. It was all I knew. Without it, I was... untethered. With no plan, school seemed like a waste of money."

The concept of not having a plan sent pangs surging through Sophie, and she squeezed her hands together. Plans were how she got through the day. Goals were how she moved through the world since Thomas vanished. They filled the void he'd left behind.

"Surely your parents disagreed?" Her parents offered to put a second mortgage on the restaurant to pay for her to get a 'proper' degree. She could still see the disappointment in their eyes when she came home for the holidays.

Max shifted in the driver's seat. "My dad stopped talking to me."

"What?" The car jerked as it hit a rut in the road and Sophie clutched the door handle. "Why?"

Max's hand flew to hover above her knee, then snapped back just as quick. "I made a foolish decision. Thought I knew what was best." The wheels of the Jeep pounding down the highway whined as Max paused.

Sophie could sense his hesitation, like he wasn't able to form the words to tell this story. She considered changing the subject, perhaps asking what his favourite meal was so she could make it for him as a thank you for driving her today.

Max sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "It was the last game of the regular season. We'd been battling the Smithtown Wolverines all year for the top spot in our division. The game was tight, each team inching a head of the other, back and forth. In the bottom of the eighth, we were again up by one run with two players struck out. I'd hit a double and got on base. My teammate Devon was at bat and he was down two balls and two strikes." Max glanced at her and must have seen the blank look on her face. "Three strikes and you're out."

"If he struck out, that would end the inning?"

"You got it." Max flicked on the turn signal and turned into the lake house's driveway. "Devon hit a fly ball that landed in the crowd. I stole third base even though Coach signalled for me to hold." Max pulled into the garage and yanked on the parking brake. "I can still see the steam coming out of his ears. Not worth the risk, he'd silently yelled at me. But I thought I knew better." Max cut the engine, but showed no sign of getting out of the car.

Sophie twisted in her seat to face him. His head pressed against the headrest, eyelids pressed together. "The next pitch, Devon made contact, and the ball sailed down the first base line. I didn't care if it was in or out. I raced for home base, scoring the potential winning run on my mind. The ball must not have gone far because I could see the catcher preparing his glove, hovering at the plate. If I didn't make it, I'd be out, so I dove for home." Max's fingers curled around his wrist. "The heel of my palm slammed against the hard plastic plate and snapped back. I fractured my wrist. Had to wear a cast for two months. Sat in the bleachers to cheer my team on to the finals."

The ache in her chest mirrored the pain in his voice. Her fingers slid along the console between them. "I'm so sorry."

Max's eyes fluttered open, and his gaze locked on hers. "My team moved on without me. My girlfriend dumped me, Devon took her to prom." Max's arms dropped to his sides. "It felt like I became a ghost in my own town. If people looked at me, their glances were full of pity. The boy who ruined his life with one stupid decision."

Her heart bled for the younger version of Max, abandoned by those he loved, the man in front of her still reeling from the agony of past ills. A feeling she knew all too well. "But you couldn't have known you'd hurt yourself." The tips of Sophie's fingers brushed against the coarse material of his jeans. "You can't be blamed for taking a risk."

"It was my fault." His voice fell to a whisper. "It's always my fault."

She traced the line of his arm, the skin warm and smooth, until her fingers rested on his wrist. Max's head popped off the headrest and the dark pools of his eyes bored into her. He blinked twice as if waking himself from a dream. Sophie felt the muscles underneath her touch tighten and she smoothed her thumb over his rapidly beating pulse.

Max's gaze dropped to her touch, then bounced back to her face. His eyes paused on her lips, then locked on hers. The air in the Jeep stilled as their chests rose and fell, falling into a synchronized rhythm. The seat creaked as Max moved toward her like a magnet drawn to metal, his gaze sinking to her lips again. A tug in Sophie's stomach pulled her forward, leaning in to meet him, wondering if he still tasted like beer and salty goodness.

A horn blasted behind them, and they jolted to opposite sides of the front seat. The cold of the metal door hit Sophie's back. She turned to see Emily and Finn pulling in behind them.

Sophie blinked and placed her hand on her stomach as if to stem the swirling nausea. She clutched at the door, throwing it open and stepping out into the chilly November evening. Her lungs filled with fresh air and the bitter iciness brought the world back into focus.

She'd been about to kiss Max. Proof yet again cars were indeed dangerous.

Hey, DL here. I did warn you there would be more conversations in cars. 

Anyone else feel bad for Max? 

Do you think he should blame himself for his career ending injury?