Page 41 of Want Me, Take Me, Haunt Me, Make Me

Hazel hadn’t been able to justify putting on really nice clothes, even casual ones, or makeup. That would have seemed too much like waiting for Maxwell. She’d finished most of the War of Interior Decoration, though, so she’d come out to the porch in white linen shorts and a blue sleeveless top printed with sunflowers, hair neatly combed.

She waved, trying to look casual, even while she felt her heart speed up.

Don’t read too much into it. He’s dropping by on his way to bird-watching, not serenading you under your window.

Except, as he got closer, she saw that he carried a bottle.

* * *

“By way of welcome to the neighborhood, and in thanks for getting me out from underfoot.”

Hazel blinked at him. “She made me wine?”

“Well, it’s from last year’s batch. I hope wine’s all right—I hadn’t considered you might be teetotal. Awfully sorry if you are.” Maxwell, already uncertain, looked downright alarmed.

“No, no, that’s…that’s kind of amazing. Please tell her thank you. And she’s welcome over here too, of course.”

Relief visibly hit Maxwell like a pile driver. “I’ll pass the word along. Deidre’s not really the bird-watching type. Doesn’t get out much in general, I fear. Still, she’ll be touched you offered.”

“Would you like a glass?” It was sunny on the porch, warm but not too muggy, and Hazel was pretty sure she could risk half an houroutside in company without anyreallybizarre manifestations.

“Ah, well.” Maxwell glanced off to the side and ran his fingers through his tawny hair. “Now that I’ve fretted about you, I, ah, should admit that I don’t really drink wine. So to speak. Not a vampire, I promise.”

Hazel giggled. “Good to know. I’ve got some Diet Coke or water too—and I can have that if you’d rather not be around people who drink. But I don’t want to keep you.”

“Not at all. I’m quite at my leisure today, a fizzy drink would be lovely, and you should absolutely try the wine. If you’d like. No pressure, but itwouldbe nice to get your opinion.”

“I’ll be right back, then,” said Hazel, picking up her research materials. “Make yourself comfortable.”

“Glad to lend a hand,” he said, stepping forward to open the door for her in an act of chivalry that brought him close.

Hazel shook her head. This time, she’d actually come up with a story, or at least a palatable version of the truth. “No, thank you. The project I’m working on is a little private, and my research is everywhere. Nice of you to offer, though.”

“Think nothing of it.” Maxwell’s eyes sparkled at her when he smiled. “I’ll just bide my time and wonder whether you’re a detective or a spy.”

“That’s on a need-to-know basis,” she told him with pretend solemnity, and listened to his laughter as she headed for the kitchen.

Two glasses and a can of Diet Coke made a burdensome handful, and the wineglass stems were thin, so she regretted that she couldn’t take Maxwell up on his offer. He opened the door for her again, though, then smoothly plucked the glasses from her hands. “Let me,” he said, fingers brushing over hers and sending tingles of sensation through her.

“Not to impugn your grace, of course.”

“Impugn away. I gave up on being a ballerina when I was ten.”Hazel laughed a little breathlessly.

Maxwell held the glasses up to the sunlight, turning them one way and another so that the faceted bases became a series of prisms. “They’re beautiful,” he said, “but I didn’t mean to make you get out your best.”

“Honestly, I’m glad to have an excuse. They were one of the few wedding presents I kept—just about the only one from people who actually knew my taste—and my life’s been disappointingly short on elegant dinner parties.”

“A shame. Well, in principle. In practice, some of them are deadly boring.” Maxwell folded himself down onto the step as he talked. His grace caught Hazel’s attention again: Unlike some tall men, he seemed almost to flow from one position to another. “You’re married?”

That was a normal question when somebody mentioned a wedding gift and didn’t have an obvious spouse around. If Hazel thought he might have sounded more than idly curious, that might have been her bias.

“Divorced, about six years ago, and pretty amiable. The paperwork was almost the worst part.”

“Not exactly sure what one says here,” Maxwell admitted, putting the glasses down and taking the bottle from her. His grin was awkward, apologetic, and pretty adorable. “I’m glad it went smoothly, and that you got a pretty set of glasses from the whole ordeal.”

“That’s basically how I feel,” said Hazel. “And that hell will freeze over before I change my name again. I seriously considered putting a curse on the whole RMV at one point, not that it would have made much difference.”

Maxwell opened the wine, very deftly for a man who didn’t drink, while Hazel handled the can of Diet Coke. Each of them pouring for the other gave the whole process an oddly ceremonial feel.