Rebound Revival (Book 3 in the Rebound Series

Chapter One (Part 2)

As soon as we're outside, Max lets his hand drop from my back, and I fight off the rush of disappointment that washes over me. He unbuttons the cuffs on his black shirt, rolling the sleeves back to expose strong forearms. I can't take my eyes off of his sure movements, the way his fingers fold back the material, and the play of the muscles in his arm as he does the same thing to the second sleeve.

He gives me a knowing smile, and heat rises to my cheeks. "So you just got into town today. Here for business or pleasure?"

"I needed a change. I just moved here from Chicago and start a new job next week. I came a few days early to have time to find a place to live before I start work. I'm hoping to be out of the hotel sooner than later."

He raises his eyebrows in surprise. "Walla Walla's a long way from Chicago. What brought you here?"

"An opportunity presented itself. I just graduated in May, and the summer internship I'd hoped would turn into a job didn't. My oldest brother lives north of Spokane, and a friend of his was looking for an assistant business manager. He gave him my name, I interviewed a couple weeks ago, and now here I am." I give a little shrug, and try to figure out what to do with my hands while we walk. Should I put them in my pockets? I settle on hanging onto the strap of my purse where it hangs off my shoulder with my right hand, but my left hand just seems to hang awkwardly at the end of my arm.

Max doesn't seem to notice my awkward hands. "Well, welcome to Walla Walla. It's a great little place. I hope you like it here."

I nod. "Thanks. So ..." I cast about for something to talk about. "Um, are you from around here?"

"Not really. I've been here for the last few years. I grew up mostly in California, but my parents are back in Chile now with the rest of our family." He shoots a glance in my direction now and then, but mostly keeps his eyes in front of us, his attention on where we're going.

My eyes widen at that. "Wow. That's really cool. Do you get down there often?"

He tilts his head from side to side. "Not as often as my mother would like. I went last May, and they're planning on coming here for Christmas this year."

"Oh, good. I'm sure you miss them. I can't imagine being that far from my parents. Being out here will be hard enough."

He glances at me again. "Are your parents in Chicago?"

"No." I shake my head. "They live in Appleton, Wisconsin. It's about three hours north of Chicago, so it was easy to get up to see them for holidays and weekends whenever I wanted. Out here ..." I trail off, not sure how to end that sentence, aware that I sound like a little girl who still wants her mommy on a regular basis.

Max stops me with a hand on my shoulder, and I turn to face him. "I'd love to hear more about your parents, but we're almost back to your hotel." He nods down the side street at the intersection where we've stopped. "There's a great ice cream shop down there. Let's get some. I'll tell you what it's like to grow up bilingual, and you can tell me what it's like to never have lived more than three hours from your parents." His smile makes it clear he's not teasing.

The two blocks that we've walked have relaxed me. Even though the sun is pretty much gone, the heat still radiates from the concrete sidewalks and brick buildings. Ice cream sounds tempting. I still don't know what to do with my hands when Max is around, but the tingly feeling I get whenever he touches me or smiles at me makes me want to hang out with him more. His openness and lack of arrogance soothes my reservations. "Okay. Ice cream sounds good."

The smile that he sends in response is breathtaking. His fingers tangle with mine, sending a zing up my arm at the unexpected contact, and he pulls me across the street. Once we reach the other side, he drops my hand and leads me to a small building with a walk-up window to order. Silver metal picnic tables line the outside wall along the sidewalk. Max gestures for me to order first. I look over the menu and settle on a single scoop waffle cone of Moose Tracks—vanilla ice cream with chocolate and caramel swirls and little pieces of chocolate throughout. It sounds delicious. Max orders strawberry ice cream in a waffle cone and pays.

We take our cones to the picnic table on the end, sitting next to each other with our backs to the table, and continue our conversation. He tells me about growing up as an only child, and how sometimes he'd get two summers a year traveling between North and South America. I tell him about life growing up with two overprotective older brothers. He cringes a little at some of the stories about their antics with my high school boyfriends. Brian was out of the house by then, so most of the ridiculous intimidation tactics and threats came from Connor.

"He's the one in Chicago, right?" he asks after one funny story where Connor cornered my prom date after finding out he'd booked a hotel room and bragged to his friends about how he planned on nailing me that night. Connor impressed upon him (with a few well-placed hits in soft spots that wouldn't show later) that it would be in his best interests to act like a perfect gentleman. We didn't end up going to prom together after all. Max laughs at the story—and he has a great laugh—but it comes out nervous sounding. It almost looks like he's worried.

"Yeah. Brian's the one who lives out this way."

He nods, his eyes glued to my mouth. He lifts his hand, and rubs his thumb over the corner of my mouth and my lower lip. "Sorry." He raises his eyes to mine. "You had ice cream there." He sucks his thumb between his lips, and my breath catches in my throat. I can't even respond. He's short-circuited my brain, and all I can do is stare at him.

He clears his throat. "That's pretty good. I usually get the fruit flavors. Would you like to try the strawberry?" He holds out his ice cream cone to me.

I hesitate a moment. I'm more comfortable with him after the time we've spent laughing and talking. Steadying the cone with my hand over his, I take a long lick of the ice cream, letting out a quiet moan at the delicious flavor. Max sucks in a breath, his eyes glued to my mouth.

"Oh, God. That's delicious. I can see why you like it."

He shifts next to me and his Adam's apple bobs while he swallows. "Yeah." His voice comes out husky, and he clears his throat. "They use fresh strawberries, local ones when they can get them. They make the ice cream in-house. That's why it's so good."

It's almost full dark by the time we finish our ice cream. We linger a few more minutes at the picnic table, finishing our conversation. Max stands and holds out a hand to me. "I've kept you long enough. You've already said you're tired. Let's get you back to your hotel before the light is completely gone."

I nod, the smile sliding from my face. I've enjoyed spending time with Max more than I expected when he first sat down at my table. I'm sad that our time together is ending. But I did tell him I was tired, so it would seem stupid to try to protest now and say I feel fine. A pang of regret pierces me. I should've taken him up on his offer of dinner. But the ice cream was nice. At least I didn't stupidly turn that down too.

With my hand in his, he pulls me to my feet and walks us back to the main street. The walk to my hotel is short, passing in a flash, despite my dragging feet. Should I give him my number? Would he call if I did? And how long would it be before I find out he's more like Pierce than I thought?

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