When I Fall in Love Read online

  Max appeared appropriately horrified. He put down the dish, met her eyes. “Don’t worry, 9B. It’ll all work out.”

  But she couldn’t help it. She sank her face into her hands, the frustration and stress leaking out in hiccuped breaths.

  Max’s arms went around her, his hand running down her hair. He smelled like the kitchen—tangy, sweet—his embrace even stronger than it had been in Hawaii, if that was possible. Her head fell against the hard planes of his chest, and she let herself sink into him.

  Jace was right. Good but deadly, because she hadn’t a prayer of not falling for Max Sharpe all over again.

  WHEN JACE HAD CALLED HIM for a pickup game of hockey, Max assumed the big guy just wanted to work out his prewedding restlessness. After all, he had roughly twenty-nine hours before he walked down that aisle and . . .

  And that might put any guy in the mood to gather his buddies, slap around a puck, play hard into the boards, even without protective gear.

  Marriage. A life with someone you loved. Forever.

  Max tamped the sudden, unwelcome spurt of jealousy and slapped the puck to Kalen Boomer, who juked out Sam Newton, one of Jace’s old buddies and former Minnesota Wild player, sliding it between his skates and heading for the open net.

  The practice arena soared above them, the sound of their sticks on the ice like gunfire. Max loved the way the breath of the ice seeped into his skin, despite the fire of a good sweat.

  Kalen took the shot and it bounced off the post. Sam scooped up the rebound and shot it out to Jace. The two had a groove, and with Sam playing the role of Jace’s best man, it felt like they had history off the ice, too. Max raced down to fight for the puck, but Jace slapped it into the goal, circling behind the net, his arms raised.

  “Had enough there, kiddo?” Sam said, laughing.

  “I don’t know, old guy.” Max fished the puck out. Played with it, kicking it between his feet as Jace came around to steal it.

  “Who you calling old?” Jace said, jabbing for the puck. “I feel like I’m seventeen again.”

  “You play like you’re seventeen.” Max outsticked him, headed for the net, and scored, Jace not even giving pursuit. But his laughter filled the arena.

  The ebullient joy in the air had the power to lift Max out of the dark place that threatened to pull him in, that sad place of reality reminding him of what he and Grace could never have. The camaraderie of the past two weeks, e-mailing, phone calls . . . the memories—the argument it churned inside him could sink him.

  They skated into the box, and Max reached for his water.

  Jace had already grabbed a towel. “By the way, I’m trying not to worry, but I do need to know you got this.”

  Sam grabbed his skate guards. Kalen had taken the puck, begun to work on his stickhandling out by the red line.

  Max swallowed his water. Wiped his chin with his sweater. “No worries. We reworked the entire menu. We’re roasting a pig just for you, dude. Grace hired serving staff and even prep cooks from a local culinary school, and her friend Raina is helping with the preparations. And if this is an excuse to back out, you’d better tell me right now because that pig is going in the hotbox first thing in the morning.” He reached for his towel, seeing Sam disappear to the lockers.

  “Fear not; I’m not going to bolt.”

  “Good. Because Grace and I put too much into this to eat all that pig alone.” He thought Jace might laugh and looked up when he didn’t.

  Jace wore a solemn look. “Don’t break her heart, Max.”

  He stilled.

  “I’m not stupid,” Jace said. “Okay, I might be, but Eden certainly isn’t, and she told me that something happened between you and Grace in Hawaii. And I saw you holding her hand at my condo.”

  “It’s nothing.” But he didn’t look at Jace when he said it, bending instead to fit on his guards.

  “Right. And I suppose it was nothing in Hawaii, too? Because I saw the video of the show. That looked like flirting to me.”

  Max kept his expression easy, nonchalant. “We were teammates.”

  “We used to be teammates. I don’t remember you calling me nicknames. At least not the kind that sound like names of endearment.”

  Max narrowed his eyes at Jace. “Okay, fine. There were sparks.” Liar. He’d call it a full-out inferno. But . . . “It doesn’t matter now. It was just a vacation thing. It’s over; I have to focus on my career.”

  Jace ran a towel over his head. “Huh. I used to say that too. But the fact is, hockey is just a sport. Grace is a life. A future.”

  Apparently now that Jace had turned into a coach, he thought he had the right to speak into Max’s life. Or maybe he always had. “It’s none of your business, dude.”

  “When it comes to Eden’s sister, yeah, it’s my business. And frankly, Max, you’re my business too. We’re friends and that means something to me. You gotta get it through your head that someday all this is going to end. Maybe tomorrow, maybe in ten years, but you won’t have hockey anymore. And then what? If I’d had Eden in my life earlier, I might not have taken so many risks. I’d have had less to prove, maybe a longer career. I don’t know. But I know that having her on the sidelines makes winning that much sweeter. And this next season of my life . . . that was worth the wait.”

  But see, Max had no next season of his life. “I’m no good for her, Jace. Trust me on this.”

  Jace frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  He hadn’t wanted to go there. He blew out a breath, wishing he could escape back to the ice.

  But maybe that was the problem—he spent so much time playing hockey, breathing in the icy air of arenas, because it numbed him to the raw, ugly truth.

  “I’m gonna die, Jace.”

  Silence, and then Jace . . . laughed? A short burst of disbelief that made Max frown at him.

  “We’re all going to die, Max.” Jace shook his head. “What kind of lame excuse is that—?”

  “I have the faulty Huntington’s gene.”

  Jace closed his mouth. His eyebrow twitched, a tiny frown creasing his forehead. “What?”

  “It causes a hereditary disease where your brain starts to deteriorate. Basically, in about five—maybe ten—years, I’m going to stop being able to walk, reason, or even talk. I’ll eventually become totally reliant on someone else to take care of me. And I can’t let that person be Grace.”

  Jace sank down onto the bench. “Seriously?”

  “My dad died from it, and my brother and I both carry the faulty gene that causes the disease.”

  “Are you sure—?”

  “It’s going to happen, Jace. I can’t escape it. Unless, you know . . . I jump from a bridge or something.”

  He was only half-kidding, and Jace must have seen that in his eyes. “And I thought my migraines were a bummer.”

  Max lifted one side of his mouth. “Yeah, well . . . my brother runs a nonprofit organization for the research of a cure, and he wants me to be the poster boy.” He ran his hand across the air, an imaginary headline. “‘Huntington’s Doesn’t Have to Destroy Your Life.’”

  “Does it?”

  “You tell me. Don’t say you’re not feeling sorry for me right now.”

  Jace swallowed.

  “Right. You can imagine my joy when my brother said he was going to put me front and center on his foundation’s website if I won the cooking contest.”

  “He did?”

  “I’m not an idiot. I know the difference between salt and sugar.”

  “You threw the contest.”

  Max fisted his hands in his towel. “It was just a stupid local contest . . . I never thought . . .” He shook his head. “I let her down, I know. But it would be a thousand times worse if she knew the truth.”

  “I’m going to have to fight you on that one. Do you seriously believe that Grace is the kind of person to walk away from someone she loves just because he might get sick?”

  “Will. Full stop. I will get thi
s disease. I will die a long, horrible death. But you’re right. I know she’s not that type of person. It’s not just about Grace’s commitment to me—it’s her future. I can’t have kids. I didn’t want to pass down the disease, so a few years ago, I went under the knife. If Grace is with me, I’d steal her hope of a family. And then she gets to watch me die. Yeah, I’m a real package.”

  “So you’ll break her heart instead.”

  “I already did—and trust me, it’s better left where it is. Now I just have to keep her at arm’s length until the wedding.”

  “How’s that working out?”

  “Not great, thanks to you.” He glanced at Jace, serious.

  Jace rubbed his hands together, staring at them. “I’m not sure I should apologize. You’re good for each other. Maybe you can’t have forever or a family, but you have something rare—someone who loves you. And I can’t figure out, for the life of me, why you’d want to stop living just because someday . . . you’ll stop living.”

  His words settled over Max.

  “Or maybe you’ve never started.”

  Max looked away, the memory of Hawaii rushing through him. Of being caught up in a world where his future didn’t touch him, where it might be only Grace, only . . . grace.

  Yeah. Maybe he hadn’t started living until he’d met the one woman who made him realize that he wanted to.

  Sure, he’d figured out how to hold on to his faith while staring at his bleak future. But how could he ask Grace to do the same?

  “Tell her, Max. She deserves to know. Let her decide for herself.”

  “And what if she decides she . . . ?”

  “Doesn’t want you? That’s the problem, isn’t it? You want to reject her before she gets a chance to reject you.”

  “I have nothing to give her. To give anyone. I am living a worthless life.” He gritted his teeth, looked away. “At least for anything beyond hockey.”

  “I know a little about thinking your life is worthless, Max. God made you, and as long as you are on earth, your life is valuable to Him.”

  Max wanted to shake his head.

  And he wanted to lean into Jace’s words.

  “Your life is also valuable to Grace. It could be that she needs you just as much as you need her.”

  Max didn’t need her—the words nearly crossed his lips, but he bit them back. Because, yes, he did. The thought poured through him. He needed Grace like a thirsty man needed water.

  What if he did tell her he loved her?

  Jace must have read his mind because he clamped him on the shoulder. “I know. Facing death is one thing. But letting a girl know how you feel—that should terrify any man. Maybe we should stay right here and play more hockey.”

  “Grace, you are absolutely a fairy godmother. You create magic wherever you go.” Eden walked through the open space of the warehouse they’d rented for the wedding, nearly floating with the joy on her face.

  Grace looked up from where she was directing the delivery boys with their boxes of fresh fruit back to the kitchen. She put down her clipboard. “Blame Raina. She’s little Miss Tinker Bell with her twinkle-light obsession.”

  Indeed, the space glittered. Raina had draped lights from the girders over the expansive eating area, and on each table, in a tall vase filled with pearly marbles, curly twigs dangled tiny pots with votive candles.

  The service crew Eden rented with the space had already set the tables, covered them with deep-blue tablecloths and gold-rimmed plates. The florist had stopped by with a sample of the bouquets, a mix of orchids and the exotic birds-of-paradise, a few ginger spires. White plumeria flowers would decorate the serving line, even circle the platter on which Grace would serve . . . the pig.

  It had arrived yesterday, an entire 125-pound animal, freshly slaughtered and prepared for roasting, with the ribs split so it could lie flat on the grill that Max had delivered.

  Max to the rescue again. He’d breezed in yesterday, checked her ingredients, then stuck around to help her make the dressing for the salad. And tomorrow he’d run the kitchen while she stepped out of her role as chef to play maid of honor.

  This just might work.

  Especially since, with the overhaul of the dinner, the menu had been simplified. In fact, the entire thing took a turn toward redneck with Jace’s allergic reaction to fish.

  Scratch sushi. And anything to do with seafood. Or, for that matter, Hawaii. She and Max had reworked the entire menu to suit Jace’s palate.

  The only thing that remained was the Waimanalo salad. Now the menu featured, along with the roasted pig, a gingered-mango sauce; truffle macaroni and cheese; roasted zucchini, mushrooms, and summer squash; pineapple fruit kebabs; and Hawaiian sweet bread.

  Grace could finally sleep through the night.

  And Max had been more than she’d expected or imagined. Not only helping her overhaul the menu, order the ingredients, and train the staff, but making her believe, once again, that she could do this. Last night he’d given her another pep talk as they washed the dishes and loaded the sauces into the refrigerator. He even helped her roll the silverware into napkins and tie them with raffia.

  And watching him, sitting on the stage rolling napkins, she realized . . .

  She loved him. More than her fledgling feelings from Hawaii, the fullness of her emotion took root, embedded her bones. He’d glanced at her as she struggled to swallow the realization away.

  How would she possibly say good-bye to him after the wedding? Especially since he had no more reason to be in her life?

  Max seemed to sense her mood because he’d gotten quiet too, and it nearly touched her lips to ask.

  He’d driven her home then, pensive in the darkness, and when they pulled up to Eden’s apartment and she turned to him, the expression on his face stopped her. As if he might want to say something to her.

  She waited in the silence until he looked away and said, “Call me if you need anything. I’ll drop by the venue tomorrow.”

  She’d ached with the frustration of it all when she got out of the car.

  “Do you think Jace will like it?” Eden asked, still surveying the room.

  “Are you kidding me? He will love it,” Grace said.

  “He won’t even see it. He’ll be so entranced with his bride,” Raina said, joining them. She wore her hair up, a pair of jeans and her chef’s jacket. “Grace, I finished chopping the vegetables and put them back in the cooler.”

  “Perfect. Where are we with the fruit?”

  “I have Ty storing it in the cooler now.”

  “Sounds like you have everything under control,” Eden said. “I knew it. Has anyone seen Mom and Dad?”

  “They should be getting to the hotel anytime,” Grace said. “I should go back and change for the rehearsal. I still think I was crazy to agree to be in the wedding party and the head chef—”

  “Listen, that’s what you have me for,” Raina said. “You did all the hard work. We—me and Ty and the crew from the cooking school—have this.”

  The smartest thing Grace had ever done was take Eden’s idea and offer the local Minneapolis Institute of Culinary Arts class a chance to help cater. Not only did she get their services cheap, but she’d met the director.

  A relationship she hoped to cultivate. Maybe someday she could ask for a second chance to apply.

  “Besides, if I get in over my head, Max will be here,” Raina said.

  Right. Max would be here.

  Grace picked up her clipboard. “I just want to go over tomorrow’s schedule with the team, and then I’ll head back to your place, Eden, and get ready for the rehearsal dinner.”

  “You’re a lifesaver, Grace. No one could have pulled this off but you.”

  And Max—ah, there he was again, ever present. “And Raina,” Grace said, winking at her friend.

  But Raina had stilled, was looking past her toward the door.

  Grace turned and spied Casper standing there, holding his motorcycle helmet. “I ju
st came by to see if I could help,” he said, his gaze landing on Raina.

  Grace’s heart twisted at the hope in his expression. Once Raina had told her that Casper was not the father of her child—and had never been a candidate—the sad fate of his heart had Grace wanting to tell him the truth about Raina’s situation.

  But it wasn’t her news to tell. And Raina clearly didn’t have it in her to tell him, not yet, despite Grace’s urging that Casper deserved to know. Did Raina plan on waiting until she started showing and Casper had to ask?

  It didn’t help that he’d pitched in, ordered supplies, helped Grace dig up recipes, offered his suggestions as she experimented with flavors, and generally hung around her planning sessions with Raina for the last three weeks. Despite the fact that Raina barely looked at him, Casper appeared undaunted.

  In the darkest part of her heart, Grace could admit that maybe, despite the hurt ahead for Casper, it would be best for him to let her go.

  She hated to think that perhaps the same thing applied to her and Max.

  Casper entered the room and Raina fled back to the kitchen.

  Grace walked over to him, wanting to hug away the dejection on his face. “Hey.”

  He forced a smile. “Mom and Dad are here. I’m headed to the hotel. Anyone need a lift?”

  She knew who that anyone meant. “I’m headed back to Eden’s in a bit, but Raina might need . . .”

  Her voice trailed off as Max came in behind Casper.

  He could stun a girl by just the way he walked, a sort of easy swagger, as if he held the world in his hand. Now he wore black jeans, a black- and gray-striped button-down shirt, a pair of cowboy boots. His hair had grown, and it looked fresh from a shower, spiky on top.

  He even smelled good, a spicy aftershave mixed with soap.

  “Hey,” he said.

  Grace probably wore the same pitiful, hopeful expression as Casper. “Hi.”

  Casper turned. “Hey. You’re Maxwell Sharpe. I remember you. Owen’s friend, right?”

  Poor Max. For a second, he looked wrecked. Then he met Casper’s outstretched hand. “Yeah. Uh . . . remind me . . .”

  “Casper. I’m the middle brother.”