The Reluctant Nude - Meg Maguire [79]
“And Auntie Rachel?”
She laughed. “She’s as round as she is tall. Looks like Noelle when she’s carrying that beach ball around. And all she wants to eat is enchiladas and Cherry Coke.”
Max grinned.
Fallon studied the scene, this strong man cradling her daughter amid the clutter of his art, such a perfect encapsulation of everything that made her love him.
“What did you two get up to today?” she asked. “I thought I’d find you at home with dinner ready, eagerly awaiting the return of the prodigal mother.”
“Never fear, there’s a casserole made. And we went on the Bird Island tour again.” He ran a palm over his daughter’s back. “She’s on a first-name basis with the boat captain, now. Then we came by to feed Oscar, and she wanted to draw.” Max nodded to the middle of the floor, where the tiny easel he’d built stood beside his own. Fallon saw a cat-shaped blob in the lower left corner of the newsprint sheet—purple, since Noelle thought black was boring. Above were three more blobs Fallon identified as her daughter’s current obsession—puffins.
“Very nice. Has she been good?”
Max nodded. “An angel. Mostly.”
“A demanding one.”
“Like her mama.”
Fallon tugged her elastic out and finger-combed her tangled hair. “Is your commission all done?”
He nodded. “The truck took it away yesterday.”
“You must be relieved.”
He made a grudging face and nodded. “Should keep us in food and utilities for another year and a half. No complaints.”
Fallon sighed. “I’m not looking forward to work this week… I honestly don’t think we’re going to get that cove protected status.”
“Worry about it on Monday, then.” Max tapped a fingertip softly on his child’s nose until her eyes opened. “C’est l’heure de te lever. Look who’s back.”
Noelle’s sleepy brown eyes swiveled to Fallon. “Hi, Mama. It’s my birthday almost.”
“I know, baby. On Sunday.”
“I’ll be four,” she said with a yawn, then her eyes shut again. “Papa’s making me a chocolate cake.”
Fallon raised an eyebrow at Max. “I’m gone for three days and all she can think about is cake?”
“Wait until she’s awake. You’re all she’s talked about.” He stood with a groan, shifting the girl’s head to his shoulder. “Let’s get home.”
“Here.” Fallon held her arms out and took her daughter, breathing in the sweet, familiar scent of her hair and skin.
Max locked the studio and they started up the dirt drive. Fallon held Noelle to her chest with one arm and took Max’s hand with her free one. They stopped at her car and Max grabbed her suitcase from the trunk. He jogged to hold open the door to the cottage they’d had built that first summer after she’d moved to Cape Breton.
Fallon eased Noelle onto the couch and turned to Max, finding a tired but mischievous smirk curling his lips. He set her bag down and pulled her into a tight hug and kissed her forehead. She studied him again as he stepped back. Three gray hairs at his right temple, five on the left, just where they’d been when she’d left. She smoothed her fingers over them.
“Fatherhood is so dignified on you.”
He smiled deeply, lowering his eyes. He grabbed her bag and carried it to the back room. Fallon followed.
“It’s been lonely at night without you,” he said.
“I’ll bet.” She eyed the bed, predictably unmade in her absence.
“July evenings with the windows open and no one to enjoy the breeze with.” He flopped the suitcase onto the mattress and pulled her close. His deep kiss tasted of coffee and that familiar, perfect Max flavor.
He broke away, rubbing his palms over her arms. “Let me put dinner in the oven.”
Fallon watched him prep the meal through the breakfast bar. He poured her a glass of cabernet then leaned against the fridge, arms crossed, expression content.
She took a sip, savoring the wine and the smile aimed in her direction. “What?”
Max came forward and propped his elbows on the tile near hers. He took her lips with his, a long, sweet kiss that hummed with the soft growl