Page 27 of Misadventures with a Time Traveler

“Done?” He answers my attempt at sarcasm with a rough chuckle. “Mon destin, we are just getting started.”

“Annnd I just swallowed my tongue again.”

“Annnd I might have just joined you.” But Drue isn’t one to settle for a flirty wave and a dorky smile. “Who. On. Earth. Are. You?”

I angle back from Max a little. “All right, kids. It’s true confessions time. For everyone.”

Max tugs me back in, molding my torso to his. “You and I have already dispensed of such confessions—and such truths—ma petite.”

Though my gaze is consumed by the ardent focus of the man’s eyes—and jaw and cheeks and lips and eyebrows—I’m just as conscious of the equally intense glance between my two best friends.

“Confessions? Truths?” Rae quips. “Do I need to keep growing tongues to swallow?”

“No.” I push back from Max again, firmer about keeping the space I gain. “You just need a better memory.”

Rae shakes her head. “Losing me here again, honey.”

Drue raises her hand. “Times two.”

“Oh, for crying out loud.”

And so much for the extra personal space. Max splays a hand to the back of my head and tucks my face into his shoulder. “I am here, ma belle. There is no necessity to air your sobs aloud. Your dignity is safe with me. You are safe with me. Always.”

Raegan bites her bottom lip. “Okay, yeah. I did need a new tongue.”

Drue tilts her head over, making sure I can see her holy shit stare. “At the risk of redundancy, where have you come from, Master Maximillian?”

“At the risk of detonating both your brains, remember what I said the first time?” I charge. “About how he was waiting in my room last night? About how I didn’t dream him? About how you two arranged for him to be waiting—”

“Full stop on the red carpet.” Drue straightens and swoops her hands up like wings. “Cameras off, mics down, ears open—because what we’re trying to say is that this is not us.”

With every stressed word, she stares at Max with such convincing longing that I actually insert a territorial huff. I repeat the sound as soon as Raegan steps in, adding her own please-let-me-lick-him expression. “Honey, if we could claim credit for your…ermmm…good fortune…we’d absolutely be hopping on that apple cart.”

But clearly, the last thing on the woman’s mind is an actual apple cart. Drue is equally shameless about sneaking surreptitious glances at the prime produce comprising Maximillian’s physique. At the same time, I come to a new realization. I can’t even be irritated with them for it. Not really. I make my living describing beautiful things. Sometimes, art just needs to be appreciated. What better excuse to lay claim to the cantaloupes of his biceps?

I just wish the move worked for soothing the remaining tension in my brain. “Okay, so if you two really aren’t responsible here, then who—”

The rest of my words are depleted by a sharp gasp. Because of the revelation they bring.

Rae echoes my eruption.

Drue’s gasp isn’t far behind. “Oh, holy guacamole.”

“Guacamole?” Max, who’s been silent but intense the last minute, underlines his echo with curiosity. “I am unfamiliar with this saint. Is he newly canonized?”

Rae and Drue pop him with confused stares—making me recognize how normal the costume-drama dialogue has become to me. “Never mind,” I say—to him and them. “What matters right now is confirming this theory. Because if Dimitri freaking Thorne is responsible here—”

“You’ll do what?” Though Rae’s sarcasm is blatant, her nod toward Max is delicate. She doesn’t need an overture to convey the meaning. Am I really threatening retaliation for the best damn birthday gift I’ve ever received?

“More exigently, who is Dmitri Freaking Thorne?” Max asks, pronouncing “Freaking” like it’s Dimitri’s middle name.

“My business manager,” I mutter. “A term that should imply a few personal boundaries, right?”

“Unless someone is determined to turn ‘all work and no play’ into a new extreme sport?”

Clearly, Raegan is still having fun with her sarcasm too—which is reprisal worthy. At least to the degree of firming my lips and my stare at them both.

“You groovy gals think I can have a few minutes of one-on-one time with Monsieur Max here?” I ask through tight teeth. “You know…to wrap things up properly?”