Page 62 of Maxwell

“I’m sorry that happened to you.”

“Don’t be. I’m fine,” he said, speaking in a matter-of-fact voice. He wasn’t looking for sympathy. He seemed at peace with the result of his meeting. “She burst into tears a few minutes later and cried on my chest.”

“She was emotional,” Jasmine guessed.

Maxwell nodded and popped the hush puppy in his mouth, his eyebrows flying higher as he chewed.

“Good, isn’t it?”

“Damn good,” he agreed.

Jasmine spread tartar sauce on her fish. “You said the other two went well?”

“Better. They were awkward but insightful.”

“You’re not sorry you met with them?”

“I’m not, and I understand why you asked me to do that. I learned some things—from all three women. Not only about them but about myself.”

“It’s not easy to apologize.”

“You’re right, and I didn’t expect them all to accept my apology. But they did, and I don’t take that for granted. They didn’t have to.” He hadn’t eaten another bite, all his attention focused on her. “We had a deal.”

“Yes, we did.” Her meal was practically forgotten too as she anticipated his next words.

“You owe me a dinner.”

“Yes, I do.”

“I was thinking Friday night, if that works for you.”

“I’m free.”

“You are?” He said, sounding surprised as he steepled his fingers. “I’ve been thinking about something. I know Nicholas isn’t technically your boyfriend, so should I assume you won’t be telling him we’re having dinner together?”

“Don’t concern yourself about Nicholas. He and I aren’t seeing each other anymore.”

Maxwell didn’t even try to hide his delight. His face lit up in a wide grin.

“You don’t have to be so happy about it,” Jasmine said, fighting her own smile.

“Yes, I do. He wasn’t the right man for you.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Because you’re sitting across from him.”

If it was possible for her stomach to drop and soar at the same time, that’s exactly what it did, as if she were on a rollercoaster with dangerously high loops.

Reaching for her sweet tea, she was aware of the heat that climbed up her neck again as he watched her without looking away.

That was the maddening thing about Maxwell Santana. He never looked away. He was so direct and upfront. Boldly staring.

Few men would dare be so blunt, and those who were would then try to turn the statement into a joke, to downplay what they had said.

Not Maxwell. She hated how good it felt and hated that she was already counting down the hours until Friday night and imagining what she’d wear. She’d probably have to buy something new because right now she couldn’t imagine wearing anything in her closet.

“We’ll see if you’re the right man,” she said.