Max's plan to apologize to Sophie at breakfast went out the window when he and Finn entered the kitchen after their morning run. A very silent run where only the sounds of their feet hitting the ground marked the miles. The air inside the kitchen didn't seem warmer than the frigid temperature outside. Despite Max's best efforts, his eyes sought Sophie. Dressed in head-to-toe black today, her gaze briefly met his, then fell to the floor and his stomach dropped a thousand feet. Now he knew he could knock spy off his list of potential post-military jobs. Why hadn't he locked the door to her bedroom before starting mission Discover The Source of Sophie's Alluring Scent?

"Well?" Emily positioned herself on the chair by the window and addressed her husband. "What did you decide?"

Finn skipped his usual post run kiss-on-the-cheek greeting and stomped across the kitchen to refill his water bottle. Unsure of what was happening, Max followed, wiping the sweat off his forehead. He felt like he'd walked into a movie theatre just after the villain had been revealed. With a glance again at Sophie, he searched for a clue as to what was occurring. To no avail, as she was engrossed in spooning jam on her toast like it was liquid gold and each pore had to be covered in the sticky substance.

"This is non-negotiable." Emily's teacup clanked against the breakfast table. "You have two choices. Visit your brother's vineyard or paint the baby's room." She crossed her arms. "Which is it?"

The sound of running water filled the hollow space where Finn's answer should have been. Max stared at the stoney profile of his friend. Over the years, Finn often fell into bouts of silence. Some even lasted days. Max liked to think the periods were Finn's way of processing, either a difficult mission he had to plan or, more often, now he knew Finn and Emily's history, the uncomfortable situation of being back in the United States. Usually, all Max had to do was wait these episodes out and Finn would shirk the glum mood and return to his jovial self.

"Well?" Apparently, Emily wasn't in the mood to be patient.

Finn chugged back water as if buying himself time. Max stood at the cross-roads of wanting to help his friend out and the promise he'd inadvertently made to Mary. Here was a prime opportunity to alleviate that last burden.

Tension pulled across his shoulder muscles, and Max kept his voice low, hoping only Finn could hear. "If the contractors don't show up again, Simon could use our help."

If stares could turn water to ice, the blood in Max's body would have formed a small glacier with the look from Finn. His lips pressed into a fine line and the water bottle creaked with the pressure of white-knuckled fingers. Max planted his feet in place and prepared to try again.

Sophie beat him to it. "Emily and I ordered the paint while you were running. It'll be ready at noon."

The water bottle slammed against the granite countertop. "We leave for Simons in ten."

Max stamped down the coil in his gut at the grin on Simon's face when Finn stepped out of the backseat of the Jeep. Simon clapped his brother on the back. "You finally decided to see the place."

Finn stepped out of Simon's half embrace and didn't say a word, and Simon gave Max a slight nod.

"Is Mary here?" Sophie clamoured out of the backseat.

"Sleep was more important." Simon swept his arm across the horizon. "C'mon, I'll give you the tour."

Sophie headed toward the farmhouse. "You boys go ahead. I'll wait here for the demo crew."

Hands stuffed in his pockets, Max trailed two steps behind the brothers, like a lost puppy hoping to find new owners. Simon pointed out every nail in the place, explaining its historical significance, pontificated on the quality of the grapes, defending his choice to purchase the winery and demonstrated how each and every piece of equipment in the two barns worked, proposing improvements, asking and seeking Finn's approval at every stage.

A grunt from Finn and Simon rubbed his hands together with glee while Max's stomach turned. Didn't his brother understand Finn wasn't impressed by flashy gadgets and refined palates? Finn was a meat and potatoes guy, not caviar and whatever luxury potatoes were called.

They'd hoped into a fancy golf cart and were whipping along a dirt track, the farmhouse and barns lost in the distance as they careened down a hill.

"Of course, it looks completely different in the summer." Simon waved a hand across the front of the cart. "Imagine all these in full bloom, lush green, the sun setting over there, throwing a rosy glow over everything."

Max glanced around the dormant rows of grapevines and forced his shoulder blades to relax. They were brothers and, like it or not, Finn was much more likely to spend his future here with Simon than anywhere else with Max. He had no plan for the future for himself, never mind something that included working with Finn again. In six months, his contract would be up, and he'd make the choice to continue in the Navy. Except there wasn't really a choice, was there?

They curved around a bend, and the rows of grapes ended at a stream. The golfcart rattled as it crossed a bridge to a patch of ground covered in brush and dotted with tall, ancient oaks. Simon stopped the cart. "What do you think?"

Finn surveyed the area. "It'll take lots to clear this for more vines."

"Not vines." Simon released his grip on the steering wheel. "A house. For Delora." When Finn didn't respond, Simon filled the silence. "I haven't asked our sister yet, but I thought she and Jason might want to move down here. He can grow up with his cousins." Simon cleared his throat. "Be a family again."

Shit. Simon had plans for the future. The tendons in Max's throat constricted. The most he had planned for the future was a trip to the hardware store to pick up paint someday and a trip home to Balder for Christmas he wasn't looking forward to making.

Finn exited the golf cart and rubbed his chest. Not wanting to intrude, Max stayed seated in the back as the two men walked further into the wooded area. Without windows, the chilly November wind seeped into his jacket and Max wished he'd stayed behind with Sophie in the farmhouse.

***

The demolition crew failed to show. Simon's heated discussion with the project manager ended in promises of getting the men back there next week. In the end, Simon found some crowbars and a sledgehammer, they all donned protective eye gear and took to tearing the old kitchen apart. Max stuck close to Sophie to shield her from flying debris.

When lunchtime rolled around, Simon surveyed his dirt covered clothes. "Takeout it is. I'll call the Waterfront Café and arrange take out."

"Max and I'll pick it up," said Sophie.

Surprised she volunteered to be alone with him, Max climbed into the driver's seat and headed to Bridgetown.

A song about owning up to past mistakes floated out of the radio, and Sophie's vanilla scent wafted his way. Max squeezed the steering wheel. "About the face cream—"

"Will you teach me to drive?" Sophie's voice came out like a balloon leaking air.

"Don't you—"

"I mean..."—her fingers fluttered in the air—"I haven't been behind the wheel in ten years. I'd like someone to be in the car with me as I... I..."

"Adjust?" Max glanced at Sophie, hoping he picked the right word.

Her hands fell to her lap, and her shoulders relaxed. "Exactly."

At a stop sign, Max flicked on the right indicator and shoulder checked for oncoming traffic. The drive to and from the winery each day had seemed like a dream job when Mary insisted. However, more and more, being this close to Sophie was taking a toll. The urge to tuck the errant lock of hair that always fell across her face back in place, or weave their fingers together or the million other ways his mind and body begged to touch her grew stronger by the minute. Combined with the humiliating incident of getting caught last night rifling through her things, Max was contemplating ways to distance himself from her. "I'm sure Emily or Finn—"

"I want you."

Sophie's words hit his chest like a punch. Then travelled south and wreaked havoc, blood rushing to places inconvenient while driving. He blinked and focused on the road ahead. There wasn't much he desired in the world right now, beyond a place to lay his head at night and Sophie wanting to be with him. Max licked his dry lips and croaked out the question part of him he desperately needed answered and another part was afraid of. "Why?"

"Because you're good at it." Not the answer Max wanted to hear. A light touch landed on his bicep and his gaze flickered to see her fingers resting there. "Because I trust you."

Max scoffed. "You don't know me." He left the words unsaid hanging in the air. The last woman that had put her faith in him had died on his watch.

Her fingers pressed into the down of his jacket. "I know you are kind." She shifted in her seat, turning to face him. Max felt the intensity of her stare and shook his head at her assentation. "Helpful. Loyal. Brave."

Max huffed. "You're wrong."

"I disagree. It takes courage to be what your best friend needs, not what he wants. You did a good thing for Finn today. And Emily."

Max sank into silence, not knowing how to deconstruct Sophie's falsely constructed image of him. The car jostled over the wooden planks of the bridge into Bridgetown, and he pulled into a parking spot in front of the restaurant. "You should get the food. I'll wait."

Sophie didn't move. She met his stare until heat crept across Max's cheeks and he had to look away. She undid her seat belt and leaned against the passenger doorframe. "Question is, are you brave enough to be in a car with me driving?"

Max's gaze snapped to her. Thoughts of distancing himself evaporated, and the yes fell from his lips like a golf ball sinking into a hole in one.

"Good." Sophie opened the door and exited. She popped her head back into the jeep. "We can start tomorrow."

Max hated the way her use of the word we sent his heart racing.