His head was bent to look at our hands but he was talking.
I was watching his hands working at mine.
“Went to Karma to get you those earrings you liked, they told me you’d already been by. Jenna was there, local jewelry artist that makes this stuff.” I held my breath as I watched him slide something on my ring finger then he twirled it around and slid it off. “She said she had rings to match, doesn’t make many of them, usually only does it special so she doesn’t sell them in the shop. She ran home to get one and brought it by Mom’s.” He slid the ring on my middle finger and twirled it around then his fingers curved around my palm, his thumb touching the ring as he muttered, “Fits there.”
I looked down at a ring that was the same heavy, wide, stunning web design of my earrings with solid edges. It was gorgeous and it sat perfectly, from base nearly to knuckle, on my finger.
Then I continued to stare at it and all it indicated including the fact that Holden Maxwell paid attention (which I was learning) and thus he gave thoughtful, generous gifts.
I felt tears sting the backs of my eyes and I tipped my head back to look at him.
“Max,” I whispered.
His hand came to my cheek then it slid into my hair before he asked, “You like it?”
I nodded though I wouldn’t say I liked it. I’d say I more than liked it.
He looked into my eyes, his face grew soft but his mouth grinned before he prompted, “Then you gonna kiss me or what?”
I really should have replied “or what”.
But I didn’t. I couldn’t.
The ring was beautiful, it was special and his gesture was remarkable.
So instead of saying “or what”, I did something not smart, not sane, not rational and got up on my toes. Then I slid my fingers in his hair from the neck up. Then I grabbed onto his hard bicep with my other hand.
Max helped, leaning into me, bending his neck, gliding his fingers further into my hair to cup my head and putting his other hand to my waist.
Then I kissed him, touching my tongue to his lips which he opened for me then sliding it inside, tasting beer, tasting Max and thinking he was the most beautiful taste to ever touch my tongue.
He growled into my mouth, slanting his head, his arms coming around me and he took control of the kiss.
His was better, so much better, I felt the need to slide my other hand into his hair and hold his head to me so he’d get the hint I didn’t want him to stop.
Maybe never.
Maybe I never wanted him to stop.
We made out in the kitchen for awhile, I had no idea how long and didn’t care. I was simply loving the act of making out with Max in his kitchen partly because I loved kissing, mostly because Max was a really good kisser.
Then he finally lifted his head an inch and, unfortunately, stopped.
“I’m guessin’ you like it,” he muttered, a grin playing at his mouth.
“Yes,” I breathed, unable to grin and practically unable to remain standing. Luckily, he was still holding me.
“God, you’re cute.” He was still muttering.
I wasn’t able to form a reply.
Then we both heard the loud knock of knuckles banging insistently on glass. This sound made me jump but Max didn’t jump, instead his mouth got tight.
Max twisted his neck and his torso, taking me with him and we both saw Jimmy Cotton standing outside the door.
Then Jimmy Cotton opened the door, stuck his upper body in the house and demanded, “Quit neckin’ with Nina, Max, and get out here and help me.” Then he disappeared, leaving the door open.
Max twisted back, looked down at me and he didn’t look happy.
His words proved my guess true. “Swear to God, this doesn’t quit happenin’, I’m gonna kill someone.”
He sounded like he meant it.
“You can’t kill Jimmy Cotton. He’s an American Treasure,” I informed him.
“Right now,” Max returned, letting me go, “he’s a pain in my ass.”
I watched Max stalk to the door, flip on the outside light and exit, closing the door behind him and I didn’t know whether to laugh, scream or count my lucky stars.
I didn’t do any of those. I got out a cookie sheet and the tube of crescent roll dough, popped it open and started to unwind the dough.
I was forming the crescents when the door opened and Max walked in. His eyes hit me the instant he did. He had a funny look on his face and he was carrying what looked like a somewhat large frame wrapped in plain, brown paper wrapper.
I was forming crescents but I did it while I’d stopped breathing, my eyes on the wrapped package.
Without a word, Max set it on the floor, leaning it against the wall between the doors under the loft, turned and walked right back out.
My eyes stayed riveted to the frame as my hands automatically rolled crescents.
Then Max and Cotton walked in together, Max backing in, Cotton moving forward, both of them carrying what looked like a huge frame wrapped in the same paper.
My heart stopped beating.
“Get over here, girl,” Cotton ordered when they’d set it beside the smaller one. It was so big it engulfed the space.
Silently I grabbed a dishtowel, wiped my hands and then walked into the open space entry, my eyes still on the frames. I came to a stop right beside Max.
Cotton had moved forward, taking out a penknife, he pulled it open and carefully slid it into the paper at the edge on the larger frame. Then he moved the knife through.
He did this all the while muttering, “Meant to do this when your Dad was alive, kicked myself when he passed. Holden didn’t have a place on the land. He would have wanted this at his house, seein’ as he had to live in town.”
Then Cotton yanked the paper down and exposed a huge black and white panorama of the view from the bluff and I caught my breath at the sight. It was all there, the river, the banks on either side, the mountains rising up them, all of it framing the river trailing away, leading to an opening that exposed a vista of valley, river and far away white peaks.
Without thinking, I reached out my hand and found Max’s, my fingers sliding up and through the webbing of his, before I curled them, linking our hands.
Max’s finger’s curled back and his grip was tight.
When no one spoke for awhile and I realized Cotton was staring at us, I struggled but found my voice. “It’s… it’s,” I looked at Cotton, “there are no words.”
Cotton turned to look at the picture assessingly then he mumbled, “Yeah, kinda like that one myself.”
I couldn’t stop the laugh that fluttered from my throat. “You kinda like it?”
Cotton grinned at me. “Yeah, it’s pretty good.” Then he looked at Max. “It’ll look great here in the A-Frame.”
I felt Max’s body grow tight and his hand flexed in mine.
“What?” he asked.
“Givin’ to you, boy,” Cotton answered.
“I can’t –” Max started but Cotton waved his hand.
“You can, you will,” Cotton interrupted. “I’m old. Wanna know, when I die, my photos are in the places where they need to be. This one needs to be here.”
Oh my God.
“Cotton –” Max started again but Cotton had turned toward the other picture and he kept talking.
“This one’s for Nina.”
I started, this time my hand flexing in Max’s and whispered, “I’m sorry?”
Cotton didn’t answer. Instead he slid the knife in and along then ripped the paper down, bending to pull it away.
“V&A,” he said, turning back to me but I was staring at the picture.
I remembered it. It was a close up photo of the rock on the side of a mountain, again in black and white which was all Cotton did. The lines in the rock prolific and almost mesmerizing, sliding through in random undulations, one lone, yet utterly perfect wildflower growing out of the rock.