The Reluctant Nude - Meg Maguire [34]
“I’m going, then,” she said, organizing her bag. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
“Good.” Max tried to stay as even as she was being…but at the same time his body wanted to spin her around and shake her by the shoulders, scream at her to get out of his head before he went crazy. Instead he held the door open to let her by. He changed his mind at the last moment.
He grabbed his wallet and locked the door behind them, jogging to join her in walking up the gravel road toward town.
She cast him a suspicious look. “Are you coming with me on my afternoon off?”
“No. I have a phone call to make.”
“Well, you can use my phone. You don’t need to go all the way into Pettiplaise.”
His mouth twitched. “Thank you, but it is a private call.”
“I won’t listen.”
He smiled tightly. “I don’t want you to see the number after I give you your phone back.”
She shook her head. “Whatever.”
They walked together, the quiet disrupted by their footsteps and the caws of Cape Breton’s prolific crow population. When they reached the edge of town, Max stopped at the co-op market’s pay phone, letting Fallon walk on without him. He didn’t bother saying goodbye.
When she realized she’d lost him, she turned, and he raised his brows playfully. Her pale eyes narrowed with irritation. He caught her shake her head to herself as she continued on her way.
Max dug the number out of his wallet. He slid a few coins into the slot and punched the buttons. Voicemail picked up immediately.
“Good afternoon. You do not know me, but my name is M.L. Emery. I have a rather strange favor to ask you…”
Chapter Six
Fallon rang Max’s bell at ten sharp. She collected herself on his doorstep, feeling a thousand times better than she had yesterday at this time.
He opened the door and smiled, leaning casually in the frame and crossing his arms. “Good morning.”
“Morning.”
He looked her up and down with characteristic mischief and nodded. “I am so glad you dressed practically.”
Fallon frowned with a low-level panic, taking an inventory of her favorite jeans and her NYU sweatshirt, feeling suddenly inadequate.
“Don’t look so offended. That is just perfect for today.” He ceased blocking the door and went inside. Fallon followed, taking in the familiar earthy smells of the studio with its predictable undertone of steeping coffee.
“Did you enjoy your afternoon off?” Max asked, gathering mugs.
Fallon stared at him, still confused by his critique of her clothes. Any other man on earth would look like a slob, dressed the way Max was: filthy jeans and shoes so crusted in clay she couldn’t even make out their color. Something about him could transform such a wardrobe. Even with four days’ stubble and an industrial particle mask hanging around his neck, Max looked styled. Men like him could make burlap potato sacks couture.
“It was fine, thanks,” Fallon finally said. “I rented a bike for a few hours and did some reading. It was very relaxing.”
“Excellent. Can you tell what I did on my afternoon off?” he asked, looking eager.
Fallon studied him again then turned her scrutiny to the studio. She noted the relatively dust-free tabletops and floor. “You cleaned.”
“Not just that. I selected your marble, as well.” He nodded to a block of white stone, streaked with pale gray veins. It was a little smaller than a refrigerator, turned on its side and laid across two dollies in the center of the floor.
“Wow. Does that mean you’re done with the studies?”
“Nearly. By the end of the day, I will be.” He smiled deeper. Sometimes Fallon wished he wouldn’t. It felt like he was removing an item of clothing in front of her when he grinned like that.
“Well… Great. I’m glad.” Relieved was a more accurate word. It was already mid-September and Fallon estimated they should have begun the marble over a week ago. “So, do I have to start posing now? Instead of just sitting around naked for you?” She felt a spark of their old levity, touched by the proof of his respect for her deadline.
He shook his head. “No posing today. No sitting today.”