Max's lungs deflated, a weight landing on his shoulders. The invisible cloak of rejection from a girl he had a crush on. A far too familiar sensation.

Hope had sprung in his chest at the sight of Sophie in the kitchen earlier. The privilege of seeing her every day for the next few weeks set his pulse pounding faster than the three-mile run he'd just finished. The words he'd practiced on the tip of his tongue.

Last night he'd laid in bed working up the courage to approach Sophie, ran imaginary conversations in his head to ask her out on a date. A quick internet search confirmed that just like Balder, Bridgetown was a one-stoplight place, with a main street whose entertainment options boasted one bar and The Waterfront Café, owned by Finn's brother. Unlike Balder, which was surrounded by cornfields, this town was on the edge of an inlet to the ocean. Pictures of the waterfront showed a quaint, pretty boardwalk he imagined he could stroll hand in hand with Sophie down on a summer's day. But winter was around the corner and that plan was not happening.

Either was any plan, apparently.

There's no need.

His offer to talk about their night together flew by quicker than the rows of leave-less grape vines out the Jeep window. If there was one thing Max was good at, it was taking orders. Sophie made it clear that there would be no repeat of the greatest night of his life.

Message received.

Up ahead, a broad white sign with the words Wainwright Winery scrawled in gold indicated the entrance he was looking for and Max maneuvered the Jeep down the vineyard's long driveway. Simon and his wife Mary stood in front of a collection of two freshly painted white buildings, two resembling upscale barns with dark grey shingles and another that once might have been a farmhouse with a grand widows-walk circling the brick structure that also appeared newly renovated.

Simon stepped forward as Max pulled the jeep alongside the couple.

Sophie's hand paused on the handle. "Thanks for the ride."

"Should I come back to pick you up?"

She didn't even look at him, her short hair hiding her face. "I'm sure Simon can drive me."

A knock on the driver's side window made Max jump.

A face framed in blonde waves beamed at him. "Don't you two make a cute couple?" Max suppressed an urge to snarl at Mary.

"My rideshare cancelled." Sophie called out as she exited the jeep.

Pink rimmed lips curved wide. "Very nice of you, Max."

He lifted two fingers in the air and placed his hand on the gearbox, shifting into reverse. There was another tap on the window, and he slammed the shaft back into park.

Mary made a come here signal. "Simon brought breakfast. And there's coffee. Come inside and grab some before you go." At the mention of food, his stomach roared, reminding him the granola bar was not enough for what his body called breakfast. She tilted her head. "What? Got something better to do?"

Heat blazed at the back of Max's neck. She'd poked at the tender wound that always reopened when he was home. In the Navy, there were orders to follow, a pace to keep up, but as soon as he got home, that rigid structure disappeared, and it became painfully evident he had nothing else in his life. No hobby to indulge in. No career to work toward. No girlfriend to love.

The prospect of a long day with nothing to do yawned in front of him and he contemplated doing something he never thought possible. Voluntarily spend time with the two people who had robbed his best friend of years with the woman he loved. The happy couple he found hard to forgive.

He glanced at Sophie, who shrugged her shoulders.

Mary twirled a strand of hair. "There's freshly baked muffins." Max cut the engine, and she smirked. "Knew food would work."

Out of the vehicle, Max reluctantly shook Simon's offered hand. The resemblance between Finn and his older brother was striking. Not as tall, and broader, Simon shared the same honest face and muddy brown hair. Max felt decidedly shabby next to Simon in his expensive jacket and boots. Simon's grip was firm, and he appeared cordial, but his smile didn't reach his blue eyes. "Want a tour of the place?"

"You two go on ahead." Mary looped her arm around Max's, and he tried not to bristle at her overly friendly touch. If she noticed his discomfort, she ignored it. "I'm a bit tired."

The genial mask Simon sported vanished, replaced with concern. He started toward his wife. "Let's get you in the house."

"I'll be fine. Max will escort me." She tugged at his arm, and he had no choice but to step closer.

Simon's lips pressed into a thin line. His wife leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "Have fun showing off your new toy. We'll be in the café."

Like Max might not be good enough to walk his wife the few steps to the farmhouse, her husband's gaze stung Max like an errant pitch, hard and judging, "We won't be long."

"Take your time." Mary tugged at Max, urging him to move.

Max glanced at Sophie, who offered him an encouraging grin. The stone in his gut shifted at the sight. Mary was her friend, and he'd respect that. He could last a few minutes alone with Mary, even though he couldn't imagine spending time with anyone he had less in common with.

Inside the farmhouse, gleaming hardwood floors and a small reception desk greeted him. "In here." Mary guided him to the left, through a set of French doors, into a room lit by the natural light shining through giant bay windows and littered with linen-covered tables set to accommodate two or four people. She pushed past the small bar at the back of the room, through another door and into what looked like it might once have been the kitchen for the farmhouse, complete with rows of cupboards.

In the center stood a cream-tile covered island sporting a cardboard box, the lid open, allowing the aroma of freshly baked goodness to fill the air.

Mary dropped his arm. "How do you take your coffee?"

"Black." Even though he'd enjoyed java of all flavours and varieties from around the world, and preferred a splash of cream, in the military, he'd learned to appreciate the basics.

"Help yourself to a muffin." She jammed a mug under a giant carafe. "Just don't touch the cranberry white chocolate. That's Simon's."

Starving, Max plucked out the closest and ripped off the top and bit into an explosion of lemon. The mixture of tart and sweet delicious enough to almost rival the crème Brule Sophie had served for dessert along with the pumpkin pie on Thanksgiving. Mary placed a glass mug full of dark liquid and an empty plate in front of him, circled a finger over the muffins, selected one covered in brown sugar, and placed it on her plate. "Have you fixed Finn yet?"

Max stared at her.

"Right." She dragged a stool over to the countertop. "Gonna take more than a day, huh?"

Not comfortable talking to the cause of so much pain to Finn, especially since Max knew what was probably getting under Finn's skin was the guilt at Bug's death, he shifted in his seat. Even though it was Max's fault, she'd been in the chopper that morning. Another choice for Max to regret.

"But you will fix him, right?" Mary's stare made Max feel like he was sitting on hot pokers.

He shrugged. He couldn't tell if she was scolding him like his coach after a loss, or this was her way of expressing concern. "Emily has too much faith in me."

"You mean I do." Mary tilted her head. "Who do you think put the idea in Emily's head that you should be the one to talk to Finn?" Max was sure the disbelief and confusion he felt blared across his face, because Mary rolled her eyes. "Good to finally see your true feelings about me."

A lemon infused morsel of muffin squished between his fingers. "Can you blame me?"

"These—" Mary pointed to her muffin—"They're made by a local woman who owns a shop in town. She supplies The Waterfront Café with desserts, and my husband will probably have her items featured here as well. Besides his farm to table and local goods approach, he likes her baking." Mary picked at the crumble on the top and brown sugar cascaded onto her plate. "He also used to sleep with her."

Max almost spit out his food. This was news he didn't need to know.

"It was before we got together. We all have a past, and I don't hold it against Simon." More of the muffin disintegrated under the pressure of Mary's touch. "Can't say I like that he still does business with her, never mind talks to her, but when we love someone, compromises have to be made." The features on her face hardened. "My point is, I got over it. Or I'm trying."

Was he supposed to applaud her? Too little too late, in his opinion.

"What I'm asking is, can you maybe cut Simon some slack?"

"Sorry?"

"You don't exactly exclude him, but you and Finn, you have this brother's thing going on, a close-knit circle that puts my husband on the outside, looking in. Simon won't admit it, but the bond you and Finn share hurts."

"We have each other's backs. I trust Finn with my life." Something Mary would never understand. The loyalty earned over years of managing dangerous situations, withstanding days of boredom and recovering from injuries, side by side and together. Max scoffed. "I'd never betray him."

The corners of her mouth turned down. "If you're looking for someone to blame for what happened between Emily and Finn, I'm right here." Mary tapped her chest. "Lay all the blame on me. I convinced Simon to lie. He regretted it instantly and tried to make amends. Finn was just too stubborn—"

"To gutted." A burn hissed in the back of Max's throat, spurring him forward. "You robbed him eight years of his life."

Her back straightened. "Yes. I did." Max wanted to spit at her, standing there like she hadn't caused enough pain to scar a man for life. "I was wrong. Despite my best intentions." Her admission poured water on the flames fanning across Max's skin. "If I could go back and change things, I would. But I can't. So, I have to move forward. Do my best now. And that's my new life's purpose." Mary placed her hand over her stomach. "To do my best, to bring happiness to those I love."

Lucky them. Max took a deep breath to expel the steam from his residual anger. From this moment and all the times he'd cursed the flat, impersonal image of Mary he'd created in his mind. Before him stood a complicated, three-dimensional woman who he didn't have to like, but could maybe, one day, respect her motives.

"Including Sophie." Mary's gaze locked onto his. "I want her to find the joy in life I've been fortunate to get a second chance at."

Max surveyed their surroundings. "Thus the head chef roll?"

"And you."

"What do I have to do with Sophie's happiness?"

Goosebumps burst out on his forearms at the grin that spread across Mary's face. "Quite a lot, I think."

"Your wrong." The conversation, or more like dismissal on the ride over, hit him in the stomach again.

"Rarely." Mary's smirk returned and the goodwill she'd earned in the last ten minutes dissipated. She pushed her abandoned muffin across the counter. "Definitely not in this case. She likes you."

"Sophie—" The skin on his wrist itched, and he stared at the decimated baked good on Mary's discarded plate. "— made it clear she doesn't."

"Let me guess. She made some excuse about never repeating the events of your night together." Max blinked at Mary, who crossed her arms. "Yes, I know. We're best friends. We share everything. Which is why I know she's tried to keep you at arm's length, even though that's not what she really wants. I know Sophie." Mary's hands dropped to her sides. "Saw her fall in love with her fiancé. She's never looked at another man that way. Until you."

Max's mouth became the Sahara Desert. Could he trust Mary, or was this another lie? He studied her face, searching for signs of duplicity. Years of providing security as a Master's of Arms drilled into him the telltale indicators of deception. The inability to meet one's eyes, fidgeting, hand movement after making a statement as if to brush it away. Before him, Mary stood still, calmly meeting his gaze.

Still, he shook his head. "But she said..."

Mary's chest rose and fell. "And she'll keep denying it. Sophie's fiercely loyal. The truth is, she needs you."

Try as he might, there was no denying the fizz of delight at Mary's words. To be needed by anyone, to be of use, to be the one Sophie chose after years of being alone. The prospect was heady. "I don't think—"

"Argh." Mary glared at the ceiling. "Stop thinking. I'm trying to help you here. Can't you have a little faith? If not in me, then in her?" Mary's eyes collapsed into a squint. "Do you not like her?"

"No... I mean yes. I... like her." There. He'd admitted it out loud. To the last person in the world he thought he'd ever be having this conversation with. "A lot."

Mary brushed non-existent crumbs off her skirt. "Can I count on you to have patience? Give Sophie time to come to her senses?"

He hated the jolt that shot up his spine at the prospect of Sophie changing her mind, of getting the chance to hold her hand on that boardwalk. This was too good to be true. Still, he nodded.

"Good." Mary's shoulders dropped. "We agree then."

"What do you agree on?" Sophie's voice cut through the air.

Hey! DL here. I gotta admit, there is a part of me that misses writing the "snarky" Mary. She's fun. Very opposite from her sister and Sophie. 

Do you have a favourite character of mine? I'd love you to comment.