Falling for Max: Book Nine of The Kowalskis Page 3

  Speaking of the boss, Paige walked through the swinging door. “Tori, thanks so much for coming in. I hope it picks up a little or I’m going to feel like an idiot.”

  “It’s fine either way. I swear.”

  Tori loved her boss. Paige had been passing through Whitford, her car broke down and—long story short—she’d bought the closed-up diner, reopened it and made it her own. When Mitch Kowalski had returned to town to help his brother with the lodge, Paige had made him her own, too.

  At five, just enough people started rolling in for dinner so neither of them had to stand around doing nothing, although Tori wouldn’t call it busy. It would be a long night, but at least Gavin’s pork tenderloin was going over well.

  Then, at exactly six o’clock, Max Crawford walked through the door. From behind the big coffee machine, she watched him look around the restaurant as he had yesterday.

  For some reason, seeing him caused a low hum of anticipation through her body, which she scoffed at. Must have been the porn studio discussion and her dream. It had been a while since she’d treated herself to a fling with a guy, so maybe it was time to dress herself up and drive into the city for a night out.

  When he took a seat at the counter, Tori shoved sex out of her mind and went to greet her customer.

  * * *

  Max had often heard Laundromats were a good place to meet women. He wasn’t sure why, since he wasn’t one to speak to strangers while folding his underwear, so he didn’t imagine women would be any more comfortable doing so. But he’d tried it anyway, using a comforter that didn’t fit in his washing machine as an excuse to spend time in the town’s only Laundromat.

  After spending ninety minutes listening to the life story of a man who was newly divorced, Max had decided the rumor of Laundromats being a good place to meet women was probably started by a Laundromat owner.

  So he was back at the diner, perusing the menu and working up the courage to talk to the woman sitting farther down the counter. She looked vaguely familiar to him, and he’d finally placed her as the woman who owned the secondhand store near the bank. He’d seen her on the sidewalk sometimes, setting up sale racks, but he’d never spoken to her. And even if he’d ever known her name, he wouldn’t have remembered it.

  She wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. Granted, that didn’t mean much, but it’s not as if he was going to open with your place or mine? Casual conversation would give him plenty of opportunity to clarify her relationship status before it came time to make a decision on asking her out or not.

  He’d left two empty stools between them. It seemed enough to respect her personal space, but not so far away they couldn’t have a conversation if she was so inclined. Assuming he worked up the nerve to speak to her.

  “Do you know what you want, Max?”

  He looked up at Tori, who had her order pad and pen at the ready. Just seeing her friendly smile relaxed him. “What do you recommend?”

  “Gavin made pork tenderloin for the special tonight, with a brown sugar and balsamic vinegar glaze. Served with garlic mashed potatoes and your choice of creamed corn or a spiced, chunky applesauce.”

  He noticed she hadn’t actually answered the question he asked. “He made it, but do you recommend it?”

  “Absolutely. I taste-tested it myself when I got here so I could give my honest opinion. It’s delicious.”

  “Then I’ll try it. With the applesauce, please. And decaf to drink, if it’s fresh.”

  “Paige just started brewing a fresh pot, so I’ll grab you a cup as soon as it’s done.”

  When Tori walked away, Max snuck a look down the counter. The secondhand store woman had dark hair cut into one of those smooth cuts that ended just below her chin. She was around his age and she was reading. It was a magazine, but that still counted. He also took note that her bill was on the edge of the counter, along with some cash, which meant she’d probably be leaving very soon.

  He cleared his throat and turned his head, making sure his voice would project to her. “The weather’s nice today.”

  She glanced sideways at him and then, apparently realizing he was talking to her, gave him a brief smile. “Yes, it is.”

  “It’ll start getting cold soon.”

  “Every year.”

  She turned her attention back to the magazine she’d been reading, but he wasn’t ready to give up. “Do you follow any sports?”

  “No, I don’t. Sorry,” she said, glancing at him again, this time without the smile. Then she turned the page of the magazine and lifted it so there could be no missing the fact she was reading.

  Even Max could take that hint. Stifling a sigh, he tried to not think about how quickly he’d been shot down. He wasn’t sure what the average time was, but he felt like a guy should get more than three lines.

  Tori set a mug of decaf in front of him and he could tell by the kindness on her face, she’d witnessed his lame attempt to talk to the woman. He felt his cheeks heat, so he focused his attention on unwrapping his silverware and setting it on his napkin. “Here you go, Max. It shouldn’t take too long for your supper to come up.”

  “Thank you.”

  He took his time fixing his coffee because it gave him something to occupy his attention until the secondhand shop lady left. As he sipped it, he heard two female voices coming from a booth behind him, talking in the kind of hushed voices that meant they didn’t want to be overheard.

  “Muriel says his car is always in the driveway. He doesn’t go to work anywhere.”

  “Maybe he does one of those work-from-home things I saw on the internet.”

  “It’s just weird if you ask me.”

  Max purposely tuned them out, taking the menu out of the holder to read the dessert offerings printed on the back. He probably wouldn’t have anything, but it gave him something to focus on.

  It seemed like forever before Tori brought him his meal. It looked delicious, and he told her so while she refilled his coffee cup.

  “Gavin’s a great cook,” she said. “I’m not sure where he gets it from, but I hope he gets to work in a fancy restaurant someday.”

  “Does that mean you can’t cook?”

  She laughed. “I can keep myself fed well enough, but I don’t have the skill or patience to put together meals like Gavin does. Seems like a lot of time investment for something you’re just going to eat.”

  “I like to cook. Especially after sitting all day, working. It’s good to move around the kitchen.”

  “I know all about wanting to move around after sitting all day.”

  He remembered meaning to ask her about her employment next time he was in. “Is this a second job for you?”

  “Yeah. My primary job is graphic design. Mostly I do book covers. Actually, though I’ll design promotional materials for my clients.”

  That surprised and intrigued him. “Really? So you’re an artist, too.”

  “Too?” She grinned and he realized he’d given her a very big clue.

  “I meant in addition to being a waitress here.”

  “Sure you did.”

  She went away then to take care of her other customers, and Max dug into his meal. She hadn’t been exaggerating about the cook’s ability, and Max’s reason for being in the diner slipped to the back of his mind as he enjoyed the food.

  Since he had nobody to talk to, he pulled out his phone and scrolled through the news apps while he ate. It was part of his usual routine, so he felt less awkward sitting at the counter, eating alone.

  When he pushed his empty plate away, Tori showed up with the pot of decaf and he accepted another cup.

  “You want dessert tonight?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I saw you reading the back of the menu earlier,” she said. “You know you want some pie. Or the chocolate cake. It’s downright sinful.”

  He didn’t bother telling her he’d been reading the menu earlier only to distract himself from being the subject of gossip just by being in the
restaurant. “That applesauce was almost like a dessert itself. Like apple pie without the crust.”

  “I told you so.”

  He fixed his coffee, aware that the restaurant had emptied out considerably since he’d first gone in. The diner had been a disappointment as far as his plans for the future, but the food was good and he’d possibly made a new friend. It wasn’t a total loss.

  “Okay, Max,” Tori said. “The curiosity’s killing me. You never come in here but, all of a sudden, you’ve been here two days in a row. What’s up with that?”

  He probably shouldn’t say anything, since it would probably become grist for the gossip mill, but he was probably going to scrap the plan, anyway. “I was trying to find a date.”

  * * *

  That was probably the last thing Tori would have expected Max to say. Even after witnessing his awkward attempt to strike up a conversation at the counter, she’d assumed he had some other reason for being in town two days in a row and was just trying to be sociable.

  He was actually trying to find a date at the Trailside Diner? “Is that why you were talking to Jeanette?”

  “Who?”

  “The woman reading the magazine.”

  “Oh. We never got as far as introductions.”

  Because he’d run through his sports and weather routine and struck out. He really needed to broaden his conversational horizons. “You need help.”

  “You mean like a matchmaker?”

  She snorted. A matchmaker was just one of the many things Whitford didn’t have, though there were plenty of women who’d probably claim to have a gift for it. “No. Like somebody to help you be more...dateable.”

  He thought about it and, judging by his expression, those thoughts weren’t good. “I don’t think pretending to be somebody I’m not is a good way to start a relationship.”

  “That’s not what I said.” She tilted her head. “You think you’re not dateable at all?”

  “You said I need to be more dateable. Which means I’m less than dateable.”

  Tori sighed, hoping she hadn’t hurt his feelings. He was quite possibly the most literal person she’d ever spoken to. “Do you own a mirror?”

  “There’s one over the bathroom sink. It came with the house.”

  It wasn’t until the corners of his mouth twitched that Tori realized that, while he might be very literal, Max was also aware of that trait and wasn’t above having some fun with it.

  “Then you must know you’re pretty hot.”

  That made him smile, and she liked the way his cheeks turned a light shade of pink. “I’ve been told I’m attractive...until I open my mouth.”

  Anger pushed through her amusement and for a few seconds she wished she could slap whoever had said that to him upside the head. “You just need to find a woman who’ll appreciate you.”

  “I’d hoped getting out of the house was a step in that direction, but it doesn’t matter if I can’t make conversation.”

  “I’ll help you.” His skeptical look made her laugh. “We can practice different scenarios until you’re comfortable approaching a woman and asking her out.”

  “So you’re saying you’ll help me find a wife?”

  Tori frowned, leaning her hip against the counter. “I thought you wanted to go on a date.”

  “A date which will, hopefully, lead to a relationship, followed by marriage and kids. Isn’t that the point of dating?”

  “Some people date to find people compatible for...hooking up.”

  “That’s hooking up. Dating is dating.”

  It was an unusual conversation to be having. “That seems very narrow.”

  He shrugged one shoulder. “I see a distinction, I guess. Don’t you?”

  “I’ve never really analyzed it, especially since the last thing in the world I want is to get married.”

  “Ever?”

  “Ever. But I’ll still help you.”

  “Why?”

  She supposed that was a valid question. “Because you seem like a nice guy. I know Katie likes you. I don’t like seeing you bummed out just because one woman shut you down. And I like a challenge.”

  He took a sip of his coffee, probably giving himself some time to think. “How do you think you’re going to make me more dateable?”

  “We’ll spend some time together and I’ll get to know you a little better so I can help you play up your better qualities. And, like I said, we can have practice conversations. It’ll be fun, like one of those dating makeover shows.”

  “So that makes you Professor Higgins and me Eliza Doolittle?”

  “Huh?”

  “From My Fair Lady.”

  “Isn’t that some old musical? Like from the black-and-white days?”

  “It’s not black-and-white. And, no, I’m not old enough to have seen it the first time around, either.”

  “How old are you?”

  “How come women can ask men how old they are, but it’s poor manners for a man to ask a woman the same question?”

  “I’m twenty-seven.”

  “Now I feel old.” He sighed. “I’m thirty-five.”

  “Prime of your life, Max. The perfect time to find yourself a woman. What do you say?”

  “I don’t think I’m going to get far sitting at this counter, so why not?”

  “I’m busy tomorrow and, from what I’ve heard, Sundays you’ve always got a game on. How’s Monday evening sound? We can get together at your house, where it’s more private.”

  “That sounds good. I’d be happy to make dinner.” He picked up his cell phone. “We should exchange numbers. Do you prefer talking or texting?”

  “I guess texting, but talking’s easier for longer conversations.” He tapped at his phone, then looked up at her expectantly, so she gave him her cell number. She was pulling her phone out of her back pocket when she heard a telltale shutter sound. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m horrible with names, so I like to attach a photo to each contact.”

  “Wouldn’t it be better to ask? Then you’d get a nice picture instead of the side of my head while I’m trying to get my phone out of my pocket.”

  “I’ll take another. You can say cheese.”

  “Smart-ass.” When he pointed the phone at her, she was tempted to flip him the bird, but she settled for a saucy smile. Then, just because she’d had to go through it, she took a picture of him with her phone and saved it with his number. “So Monday, about six?”

  “It’s a date.” He grinned. “Not the kind of date I was looking for, but it’s a good start.”

  She definitely wasn’t the kind of date he was looking for, since she liked her relationships to end after a few hours and he was looking for until death did they part.

  But he was a nice guy and she had a soft spot for underdogs, so she was going to do whatever she could to make sure Max found his Mrs. Crawford.

  Chapter Three

  Max was in his basement by eight o’clock the next morning, ready to get some work done. It had taken him longer than usual to fall asleep but, once he had, he’d slept soundly and he was well rested enough so his hands would be steady.

  Sometimes, if he’d had a rough night or drank too much caffeine, his hands would shake and that wasn’t good when you were painting HO scale models. It was as though a full-size steam locomotive was zapped by a shrink ray until it fit in the palm of his hand while maintaining meticulous detail, right down to hoses and rivets.

  As he looked at the shelf labeled Chesapeake and Ohio Railway, looking for a particular shade of yellow paint, he found himself whistling. It wasn’t something he did often, but as he ran the tune through his mind, he realized it was a song from My Fair Lady. Obviously, even if he wasn’t consciously thinking about it, his conversation with Tori was on his mind.

  It was encouraging, having a plan. If not for Tori, he would probably have given up after his failed discussion with the woman at the diner and gone back to his usual routine. Now he was not only goi
ng to push forward, but he had the support of a friend.

  Because it was a Saturday, Max only worked half a day. He was fairly rigid with his schedule because he’d, in the past, gotten so involved with his work, he’d all but lived in the basement. It hadn’t been healthy, so he made himself a schedule that included spending some time aboveground.

  He was watching a really bad horror movie while paying bills when his phone rang. Hitting Mute on the remote instead of Pause, because he didn’t think he’d miss much, he answered the call. “Hello?”

  “Hi, honey,” his mom said. “Are you working?”

  “Nope. Just doing some bills and stuff.” He’d long ago stopped explaining to her he didn’t answer the phone while he was working because, no matter how often he did, she still asked him. “How’s everybody?”

  “Great. The grandkids had a sleepover last night, so we’re enjoying the quiet this afternoon.” Max’s two older brothers had five kids between them, all as rowdy as their dads. “You wouldn’t believe how big they’re getting. You’re coming home for Thanksgiving, right?”

  He thought about it for a few seconds. It was the beginning of October so, even if he did find himself in a relationship, it would be too soon for them to spend family holidays together. “I’m planning to be there. How’s Grams?”

  “She’s doing really well, though I think we’ve finally managed to convince her to give up driving. Her reflexes aren’t what they used to be.”

  That wasn’t news. The last time Max had gone back to Connecticut, back in July, Grams had driven up onto the curb and taken out a row of trash cans to avoid a small pothole.

  He listened to his mom talk about the family for a while, while watching the horror movie play out silently on the television. His mom usually held up more than her share of the conversation because Max didn’t really care for phones and his mother didn’t care for long silences. They texted quite often, but she always called him at least once a month because she wanted to hear his voice.

  “Are you seeing anybody?”

  He frowned at the guy with the axe on-screen while debating on his answer. He wasn’t seeing anybody, but that could change in the near future. “I’m not dating anybody, but I have a new friend.”