THE GIFTED GROOM: TEXAS TITAN

ROMANCES
A MOORE FAMILY ROMANCE
SARAH GAY

LITERARY EVOLUTION
Copyright © 2019 by Sarah Gay

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and
retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
 C O NT E NT S

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
About the Author
 1

“M ax Moore,” said Rosemary, her fingers resting on the black keys of her keyboard. The guy’s
photo took up her entire computer monitor. The NFL football player was the size of the Hulk. Were
girls really attracted to that?
If she looked past his bulk, he wasn’t all bad. She leaned in on her elbow and rested her chin on
the palm of her hand as she examined his face. In most of the photographs she’d scrolled through over
the past half hour, he had a plastic smile on his face, but there was one photo she kept coming back to
—an action shot where he was plowing through two of the other team’s defenders with a competitive
smile that said, “Try to get past me to sack the quarterback and see what happens.”
In his photos off the field, his red hair was cut just long enough for soft curls to form, and his
green eyes weren’t hideous. She’d imagined him as a troll of sorts when she’d first been given the
assignment to write a piece on him. She couldn’t deny that his face was handsome, but there had to be
something menacing in that beautiful head of his that she could write about. Everyone had a dark side,
especially pro athletes. She had to find and exploit that corrupted part of him for her article to make it
past her editor.
Rosemary had always dated the artsy type—the guy who played the guitar at lunch or starred in
the high school play. She’d never spent more than two minutes in conversation with a guy on the
football team during high school or college. How did her editor expect her to write a compelling
tabloid about this guy when Rosemary had never even spoken to a conceited jock like him before?
“Why didn’t Ginger ask me to write about Maximillian Moore?” Cassie asked with a sultry
whistle as she glided to a stop behind Rosemary’s office chair. “I have all his stats memorized.”
Rosemary twisted her swivel office chair around to face Cassie. “Maybe because you’re
infatuated with the man and could never write an honest piece about him.” Cassie was thirty-four, ten
years older than Rosemary, but the age gap didn’t stop them from being good friends. “Trade me for
the article on the Olympic Committee corruption, and it’s yours.”
“You can’t trade articles!” Ginger screamed from her glass-enclosed office.
“How did she hear us?” whispered Cassie.
“I hear everything. George, get in here. Something amazing just landed in our laps.”
Rosemary, known to her readers as George Eliot, stood from her desk in the center of the open
office and shook off her nerves. Goose bumps tingled up her back with anticipation. This could be the
life-altering assignment she’d been waiting for. This could open new doors for her with other
publications. Being a reporter for one of the top sports and celebrity gossip magazines in the nation
didn’t give Rosemary the opportunity to moisten her chops with riveting political strife. She’d chosen
a career in journalism based on her desire to be an advocate for the underdog. For now, she was the
dog at the bottom of the pile, but at least the dog pile paid well—and right now, money was what she
needed.
“Georgie, Georgie, wait till you hear this,” Ginger said in her New York accent, flicking her red
pen in the air with a devious twinkle in her eye. Ginger’s white hair, vibrant with streaks of midnight
blue, lightly brushed her shoulders as she paced behind her desk.
Rosemary hated being called Georgie, but she didn’t dare tell her editor that. She’d seen what
happened to young columnists who upset Ginger, and it wasn’t pretty. Rosemary needed this job to
keep her family from losing their home in the posh University Park neighborhood she’d grown up in.
Keeping up the appearance of affluence wasn’t easy. Nearly all of Rosemary’s current income
went to sustaining the Whites’ lifestyle, but it still wasn’t enough. If they didn’t come up with fifty
grand within the next three months, they’d lose their home—the only home Rosemary had ever known.
Ginger pointed her pen at Rosemary. “I found a way to get an exclusive on the Moore dynasty—or
shall we say, the mysterious death of the Moores?”
Rosemary sat in the furry white chair in front of Ginger’s glass-topped chrome desk and waited.
She knew well enough to simply sit and listen until Ginger finished speaking. With every ticking
second, the air in the room grew heavier. Rosemary’s heart sped with the anticipation of getting that
big assignment, the one that would yank her out of obscurity.
Ginger stopped pacing, slapped her palms down on her desk, and leaned over as if she were
about to do a few push-ups off her desk. She narrowed her eyes at Rosemary. “We just received
approval for the funds, and your name has been added as a signer for the charity arm of our company.
You’re going to buy a date with Max Moore at the annual Titans benefit auction tonight.”
Rosemary gasped. This wasn’t the break she was hoping for; this was a nightmare. She
swallowed down the rising lump in her throat and scrunched her nose in disgust. “I am?”
“No objections. You’re the prettiest of my columnists, and you have a sharp mind. You’ll write the
article. We have a chance here to become the number-one-read sports tabloid in the nation. If you give
me what I want, George, I’ll promote you to associate editor.”
Rosemary nearly leapt out of her seat and did a happy dance. As associate editor, her income
would double. If Rosemary believed in a higher power the way Cassie and the other ninety-nine
percent of Texans did, she would have shouted Amen! Instead, she clapped her hands and jumped up.
“I’d better get ready. What do I wear?”
“Think pretty, unintelligent reality television socialite. The opposite of George Eliot. You’re
going as Rose White tonight, the intoxicatingly beautiful, flighty rich girl.”
It stung to hear her given name used so perversely, but she didn’t correct Ginger. Her full given
name was Rosemary Anne Evans White: Rose after her maternal grandmother, and Mary Anne Evans
after the British Victorian writer and social reformer.
Her parents had told her that a name could shape her destiny, as it did with Martin Luther King Jr.,
the greatest social reformer of the last century. After a tour of Germany in 1934, where Michael King
Sr. learned about the great religious reformer, Martin Luther, Michael King Sr. changed his name and
his son’s from Michael King to Martin Luther King, after the German reformer.
Her mother had hoped that if she named her daughter after a social reformer who helped the
progress of women in Great Britain with her literary works, Rosemary would become a voice for
reform as well.
Rosemary’s altruistic and academic upbringing clashed with the thought of hanging off a football
player’s arm like a trophy. Her stomach churned. “Is it okay if I vomit?”
“You’ll be playing the insecure, materialistic, oblivious debutante—of course you’ll purge, but
save that for the date itself. I don’t want you leaving the room tonight until the bidding has concluded
with you holding that golden ticket in your hand.”
As much as she hated the idea of acting like a ditzy YouTube celebrity, she couldn’t allow her
feelings to prevent her from an opportunity that would catapult her career. With this promotion, she’d
be one step closer to changing the world and paying off her parents’ debt. “Wait.” Rosemary raised
her arm and wrinkled her forehead, thinking back on what Ginger had said. “You said on a date?”
“Yes. You’ll be bidding on Max Moore tonight for a date. You’ll win the bid, then you’ll
interview him on the date.” Ginger walked around her desk and positioned herself directly in front of
Rosemary. “If you don’t get the information you need to write the article on the first date, I’ll expect
you to continue to see him until you do.”
Rosemary hadn’t signed up to be an escort. “Why not just pay him for an interview?”
“His family is extremely private.” Ginger sighed. “Do you really think he’ll divulge the nitty-
gritty information we need in a contracted interview? Reporters can barely get three words out of the
guy.” She arched her right brow. “But he might open up to his pretty girlfriend.”
“Whoa.” Rosemary waved her hands in front of her chest. “Too intimate. I’ll never be able to pull
that one off. I don’t think I’d be able to convince anyone that I like Max Moore.”
Ginger wove her fingers together and leaned down to Rosemary’s ear. As Ginger’s hair tickled
the side of Rosemary’s face, Rosemary could almost taste fresh lemonade as she breathed in Ginger’s
fresh citrus scent.
Ginger’s voice was soft and slow. “We need this article, or we’ll all be replaced.” She sat up and
glanced over at Cassie. “All of us. You can do this, George. To hide your distaste for the man, play up
the good Christian girl bit. According to everything I’ve read about Max, he’s an honorable Christian
boy.”
“But I wasn’t raised to be religious.”
“Neither was I,” Ginger said. “But do you think I shout that to the hills in this town?” She rested
her hand on Rosemary’s shoulder. “I have full confidence in you, Georgie. Now go do some serious
undercover investigating.”
 2

M ax looked into the gold-framed mirror in the men’s bathroom, adjusting his black tie.
It was the fanciest bathroom he’d ever been in, with marble walls and stone sinks. He
stared at his reflection with suspicion. The money had come so fast that it still didn’t
seem real. Admittedly, this bathroom sure beat the locker rooms he’d grown up in, and it smelled a
heck of a lot better, like his sisters after they emerged from the lotion store at the mall. He stepped
back, pulling at the bottom of his tux jacket to make it more comfortable.
He would be mingling with the rich and eccentric in a few minutes. He ran cold water over his
hands and laughed to combat his rising anxiety. He was now richer than most of the people at the
auction tonight—not bad for a snot-nosed child who hadn’t had enough money to buy a cold treat from
the ice cream truck when he was a kid.
One thing calmed his nerves: knowing that his brothers would be at his side tonight. They were
told they’d be auctioned off separately, but to hype up the crowd and get top dollar, they’d all be up
on the stage together until their bidding concluded.
Max ran his wet fingers through his hair, taming his obnoxious curls. As his hair dampened, it
darkened to rusty red. “How much will you go for tonight, Maximillian Moore?” he asked his
reflection.
The bathroom’s frosted glass door swung open. Paul Nestle strolled in with a smile tugging at the
corners of his thin lips. “I’m guessing they’ll pay a pretty penny for one of the highest-paid players in
the NFL with one of the brightest futures I’ve ever seen.”
“Hey, Paul,” said Max, looking down at his agent. At six foot five, Max looked down at everyone
other than his triplet brothers and his football buddies.
Thinking about brothers caused a pit to form in his stomach. He hadn’t seen them yet at the
Rosecrest mansion, and the bidding was supposed to start in less than half an hour.
“Have you seen Miles or Mason?” asked Max.
Paul released a sigh. “I called you earlier and also left a text message for you to call me.”
“You know I don’t look at my phone on my days off.”
Paul squinted as if the comment stung. “I got word this morning that the team cancelled your
brothers’ participation in the auction late yesterday afternoon.”
“The bidding starts in less than half an hour! I agreed to this with the understanding that we’d be
auctioned off together as the Texas Titan Triplets,” said Max. The muscles in his jaw clenched,
preventing him from releasing the expletives on the tip of his tongue. He opened his mouth wide and
moved it from side to side to stretch out the charley horse in his lower jaw. “How could you allow
this to happen, Paul? You’re our agent. You know we brothers stick together.” Max had refused to sign
with the Titans unless they signed his brothers as well. They came as a package deal.
“I apologize, Max. Some things are out of my control.”
“I’m gonna need a minute,” said Max, pressing his hands into the beveled edge of the stone sink.
Good thing the sink was made of stone, or it might have cracked. He had a habit of grasping things too
tight and turning them to dust. His hand and arm muscles had been sculpted and trained to grip his
opponents with enough force to hold firm and push the three-hundred-pound defensive linemen back
to where they’d come from.
Paul quietly left the bathroom with a nod.
Max was angrier than a cornered feral hog, but he wasn’t sure who to be upset with. He pulled his
phone out and dialed Miles, his identical twin.
His brother answered on the first ring. “Sorry, man. I didn’t want to upset you before the auction. I
was going to tell you after.”
“And you didn’t think I’d notice that we weren’t all standing up there together being auctioned off
to the highest bidder?”
Miles paused before answering. “Hadn’t thought of that.”
“Hold on while I bring Mason into the call,” said Max, tapping his screen to bring their fraternal
triplet into the conference call.
“Sorry, Max,” Mason answered in his deep baritone voice. Although slightly smaller than Max
and Miles in stature, Mason’s voice was much deeper than his triplet brothers’. “I didn’t know how to
tell you I’d been sacked.”
“Sacked!” Max shouted. The Titans had resisted bringing Mason on at all. While he was a tough
football player, he wasn’t one of the top players in the league, and they all knew his last day would
most likely come first. “I only heard you weren’t being auctioned off. Miles, were you cut as well?”
Max turned for the door.
“No, man,” Miles said in a voice of apology. “I got traded to the Georgia Patriots as left tackle.”
Max played left tackle for the Titans. All three were offensive linemen, but Max’s position as left
tackle held greater weight because his job was to protect the quarterback’s blind side. Max was one
of the most coveted left tackles in the NFL. He’d signed a five-year, seventy-five-million-dollar
contract. At fifteen million dollars a year, he’d earned twice what his brothers had the past year.
In less than a minute, Max’s anger cooled to fear, the same haunting fear he’d felt when he’d been
told his parents had died. The idea of being separated from Miles, his identical twin, drove a stake
through his heart. They hadn’t been apart for more than a day in their twenty-five years of life.
Max had no idea how he would navigate life without his other half. Miles was identical to Max in
every way—looks, personality, and intelligence. They weren’t only best friends; they were basically
the same person. He’d be losing a part of his own identity when Miles left.
He strode through the lobby with his phone to his ear, passing dozens of smiling women whose
high heels clicked against the red-tiled floor. He nodded and returned their smiles as he skirted along
the edge of the Tuscan-inspired room with Roman arches in every doorway and hues of cream and
mustard warming the walls.
Beams of light shot across the room as if a strobe light had hit a mirror disco ball, causing Max to
wince and his pupils to constrict. He blinked at the blinding light reflecting off the bling of the
women’s jewelry while they stood to have their pictures taken. Most of the press was required to
remain outside, but a handful of news reporters had been allowed to occupy one small corner inside
the mansion.
An attractive bronzed woman with puffed-out hair stepped in front of Max. Judging by her facial
expression, she wanted to leave the party more than he did. Ryder, a teammate Max would be sharing
the bidding block with in less than twenty minutes, placed his arm protectively around the stunning
dark woman.
Max fell in step behind them, hoping they’d shield him from the hungry stares of the starstruck
women in the room. He also wanted to hide how he so rudely talked on the phone when he should
have been schmoozing the wealthy women in the room.
“Mason and me both got the call this morning,” said Miles. “We were gonna tell you tonight over
hot wings.” Miles said it as if hot wings would heal the flesh wound in Max’s chest.
“What about the girls?” asked Max. He held his breath as he wove his way through the crowd of
high-society women who’d drenched themselves in expensive perfume. Max hadn’t smelled anything
like it since his sisters had begged him to accompany them into the Parisian perfume stores last
spring. He and his brothers shared custody of their sisters. Max had bought a home for them to all live
in so they could share the responsibilities. “How are they going to handle you leaving? This is going
to upset them.”
“At fifteen, they’re not exactly babies,” said Miles. “They’re planning on coming home early from
math tutoring to have hot wings with us so we can discuss it.”
“Why would they need math tutoring?” asked Max.
Mason laughed. “They don’t. They’re tutoring a guy who needs assistance with his college
calculus class. Your comment exemplifies how disconnected you are.”
“You left them alone with a college guy?” Max’s protective spikes shot out. “And how am I
disconnected?” A warning siren blared in his head. “Wait a minute. Who’s all moving to Atlanta?”
Miles paused for a few seconds. “They want a fresh start, Max.”
Max hated asking, but he needed to know. “Who, Miles?” he demanded.
“All of us. Me, Miles, Mazy, and Millie,” Mason answered in a soft voice.
Why would they all leave me? Max stumbled, catching himself against the textured wall with his
left hand.
A thin blonde woman in a gray sequined dress approached him. The woman lowered her tablet to
her side and touched his arm. “Mr. Moore? Are you okay?”
If having his entrails ripped out of his center like a gladiator being gutted by a hungry lion on the
wooden floor of the Colosseum was okay, then he was golden. “I’m good,” he said, shifting his brain
into game mode. Football was ninety percent mental, and he’d learned how to shield out the world to
focus on the next play and his dangerous opponent—something he’d become a pro at after his parents
died when he was ten. He’d gained solace from channeling his complete mental power and physical
energy into football.
“Your teammates have all been seated.” The pretty blonde in the sequined dress motioned down
the hall to the open banquet doors. “Can I show you to your table, Mr. Moore?”
“Please, call me Max.”
“Max,” she said with a slight curtsy.
Max stifled a laugh. No one had ever curtsied for him before.
The woman raised her tablet in front of her face and tapped the screen with a thin black stylus. “I
have you checked in. If you could please follow me, I’ll show you to the players’ seats at the front of
the banquet hall.”
He followed behind the woman, taking one step for her every three. By the time they’d reached
the long table at the front of the room, the salads had already been served. He subconsciously
wrinkled his nose at the apples and grapes that dotted the salad plates. He didn’t like sweet fruity
salads. He’d wait to eat until they served the prime rib entrée.
His teammates—Ryder, Dax, Chas, and Brad—all welcomed him to the table with fist bumps.
Max sat in the last chair at the far end of the table. He grumbled under his breath about the other two
chairs that should’ve been there for his brothers—their chairs would soon be vacant at home as well.
He pushed his salad plate to the edge of the table and took a swig of his ice water. He bit down on the
crushed ice, welcoming the numbing sensation as he ground the crunchy shards between his back
molars.
His teammates at the center of the table spoke in lively voices, motioning to Ryder’s date. She
was seated at one of the many round tables of bidding women, waiting to have a chance to bid on the
players. Suddenly, she stood and strode with purpose toward the exit. Without hesitation, Ryder
jumped up and crossed the room, following his date out the side doors. Gasps erupted around the
room.
The Titans were now down to four of the original seven players to be auctioned off, but Max
overheard one of his buddies mention that Ryder would personally double the highest bid of the
evening. Smart man. Why hadn’t Max thought of that to get himself out this? Max knew the auction
was for a good cause, although he couldn’t think of its purpose just then.
Max seldom turned down an invitation to participate in a charity function, which meant he was at
a benefit at least once a month. Last year, he’d donated almost half his income to charities, but this
benefit required him to go on a date with a stranger—someone who was willing to purchase him for
the evening. He didn’t like the idea of having to spend an entire evening with a rich snob.
Max couldn’t remember the last time he’d been in such a sour mood. When the server placed the
plate of salmon, prime rib, mashed potatoes, and some fancy shredded vegetables in front of him, he
said a gruff thank-you and began eating without glancing up from the table. The prime rib coated his
mouth like butter. If he could just focus on his food, he’d be all right.
“Dude, you okay?” asked his buddy Dax.
“I’m good, man. Thanks,” answered Max. He surfaced for a minute and took in all the excitement
around him, from the women in their finest satin gowns chatting with enthusiasm to the bustle of the
waitstaff dressed in starchy white shirts and black aprons, zigzagging around the room with pitchers
of water.
“Wish your brothers were here,” said Chas. “They would’ve showed us all up.”
“Yeah,” said Max, returning to his food. He was grateful for what his buddies were trying to do,
and it usually helped. But not today. He couldn’t imagine anything bringing him out of his funk today.
Fifteen minutes later, the lights dimmed, and peppy music filtered through the stage’s speakers.
The voice of a familiar actress rang through the room. Max snapped his fingers when her name came
to him: Scarlett Lily. He glanced up at the stage, where the popular redheaded actress strode across
the floor in smooth, sultry steps, showing off her toned thighs and million-dollar face. She was
gorgeous, but it most likely cost her that much to get her body and face to look like that. Max wasn’t
into the Botox, silicone-augmented, butterfly lash craze.
He needed to curb his negativity. While he allowed himself to be upset for a few hours when
things got him down, he never allowed his thoughts to be that cruel or judgmental. He’d heard that
Scarlett Lily was a kind person. He couldn’t judge her for having some work done. The fact that she’d
had plastic surgery didn’t make her any less of a person.
Max lowered his eyes to his plate. If he didn’t look at anyone, then maybe he wouldn’t project his
negative thoughts to others or have them see how upset he was. One of his teammates was called up to
be auctioned off, and then another. He couldn’t seem to get his head back in the game, or at least not in
the bidding game happening around him.
When Scarlett Lily called Max’s name, he pushed his anger aside and stood, smiling at the women
who filled the round tables of the banquet hall. He would make this play as if he were out on that field
right now. It was time to compartmentalize his grief and not allow his legs to get taken out from under
him. Nothing was taking him down. It was time to charm the ladies.
 3

“L et’s Max
give a hand for Max Moore,” Scarlett Lily said with a lilt as Max walked up onstage.
gave the fakest smile Rosemary had ever seen and waved to the women in the room
like he couldn’t wait to meet every single one of them. Scarlett Lily touched her forehead and giggled
as Max stepped closer to her.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” said Rosemary, rolling her eyes. This guy needed to get over
himself. It burned her up inside that she had to swallow her pride and purchase a date with the puffy
peacock.
“Pardon me?” asked the woman sitting at Rosemary’s left.
Rosemary’s eyes turned to the polite, spirited middle-aged woman who she’d chatted with before
the bidding had begun. “Oh, I just hope they’ll get on with it so I can bid on that hunk.” Rosemary
forced a smile.
By the woman’s jovial reaction, Rosemary had play off how she wasn’t happy she’d been
assigned to purchase a date with Max Moore, the cockiest football player on the auction block. She’d
watched him while he sat at dinner with his teammates, and in that twenty minutes or so, he’d refused
to cast a single glance at anyone in the room, even his buddies who sat with him at his table. It
frustrated her even more that he hadn’t raised his head all evening, preventing her from seeing his
face.
Rosemary blew out a slow breath, dropped her phone in her lap, and gripped the handle of her
bidding paddle.
After Max and the pretty actress bantered flirtatiously for another minute about how redheads
were the best kissers, the bidding began. When the bid climbed to two hundred thousand, Rosemary
knew she needed to start raising her paddle, but some strange internal force wouldn’t allow her to
bid. She closed her eyes and imagined writing Max Moore’s disrespectful deeds and abhorrent
manners in a sensational exposé. Her anxiety calmed with the thought of giving him what he deserved.
She opened her eyes and raised her paddle high in the air.
When the bidding finally concluded, Rosemary had secured the bid at two hundred fifty thousand
dollars. Had the owners of the magazine really meant for her to go that high? She sure hoped so, or
she wouldn’t be employed for much longer.
Scarlett Lily waved Rosemary up onto the stage. Rosemary squared her shoulders and stood. This
wasn’t a time for bad posture. All eyes in the room followed her as she made the long trek, winding
her way around at least ten tables until she reached the stairs to the stage. A stagehand held out his
arm to her. Rosemary graciously accepted his assistance. She didn’t want to face-plant on her way to
meet her quarter-million-dollar date, which was a good possibility in her high heels and her long
flowy gown that caressed her bare ankles.
Rosemary started up the steps as Scarlett raised the microphone to her lips.
Scarlett waved a hand in the air. “Isn’t it a shame, folks, that we don’t have Max’s triplet brothers
here with us tonight?”
Max’s face hardened and his body tensed. Rosemary studied Max’s eyes. They were even more
beautiful than his online photos. Heat rose in Rosemary’s cheeks as she continued to examine his face.
His perfectly groomed beard angled around his high cheekbones, then curved around his lips. It took
Rosemary’s full concentration to glance away before bringing her eyes back to him.
Scarlett placed her hand on Max’s upper arm. “What’s the plan for the Texas Titan Triplets, Max?
We’d hate to see y’all separated.”
“Wherever we end up, we’ll be knocking down our opponents on the football field. For me
personally—and I can speak for my brothers as well—we’ve never been happier than we’ve been
here in our hometown of Dallas, Texas, with all these amazing fans.” He blew a kiss out to the
audience.
The women in the room hollered and cheered as if the guy had just scored a touchdown.
Max’s face split into a fake smile again, demonstrating his straight white teeth. It wasn’t fair for
such natural physical perfection to be wasted on such an arrogant, unlikable person—a very
attractive arrogant, unlikable person.
As Rosemary walked the last few steps to Max and Scarlett, she breathed in an earthy cedar scent.
It took her several seconds and another step closer to Max to realize that he smelled amazing, like a
vigorous lumberjack in the center of the woods with fresh sawdust swirling around him. She
envisioned Max in a lumberjack suit, resting up against a tall tree in a lush forest. Her knees nearly
buckled when their eyes met, and he gave her a quick wink and a smile—the kind of smile that lit up a
person’s entire face, a real smile that said he was glad she stood next to him. She moved her tongue
around in her mouth and swallowed to combat its instant dryness.
Max extended out his hand out to Rosemary. “I thought with a name like Rose, my date would be
much more … enlightened with age.”
Was he saying she had an old person’s name? Rosemary narrowed her eyes and gave him a firm
handshake. She wanted nothing more than to let this guy have it, but she was supposed to play the
bubbly socialite tonight. “I could enlighten you, Mr. Moore,” she said flirtatiously.
He laughed, causing her body to heat in anger. Cocking an eyebrow, he said, “Competitive. I like
that. But redheads are still better kissers.”
Laughter rippled through the room.
She’d show him how to please the crowd. She grabbed hold of his tie and pulled him down to her.
“Better kissers, huh? Let’s see how you like this,” she said, seconds before she stretched up onto her
tiptoes and pressed her lips tight against his.
Her breath caught in her chest when his hands found the small of her back and his soft lips
enveloped hers. She hadn’t expected him to kiss her back, or how his kiss would make her feel—as if
the most gorgeous man alive had whisked her off to an exotic island for the sole purpose of having her
all to himself.
Max’s gentle kisses were nice, but Rosemary craved more physical touch. She slid her fingertips
up the sides of his warm neck and gave him a real kiss. She smiled inside at how he tasted like
coconut-and-vanilla lip balm, the perfect sundry item to accompany them to the island.
Max dropped his hand from her back, releasing her from the trance he’d put her in. Rosemary
opened her eyes and glanced over at the stage floor, where a knocking sound vibrated the stage where
Scarlett tapped her foot impatiently.
Scarlett lifted her microphone to her mouth and broke the silence. “Now that was a kiss. What do
you think, Max? Are redheads still better kissers? Or does the prize now go to brunettes with raven-
black hair?”
“I’m gonna have to say the ravens win over the redheads on this one.” He paused, then smiled
deviously. “Although we may need to send it to a vote.”
Max stared down at Rosemary with a desire in his eyes that made her heart forget to beat. She
suddenly couldn’t remember why she didn’t like him. All she wanted to do was kiss him again and
again. He gently cupped her chin in his large, warm hands and held her gaze. His green eyes, touched
with gray, stirred something inside Rosemary’s chest that she hadn’t felt since she’d crushed on her
high school sweetheart.
“You’re an extraordinary woman,” said Max. “Stay.”
She questioned him with her eyes. What did he mean by stay? Before she could ask him, his lips
possessed hers again, but this time, his kisses weren’t sweet and gentle; they were filled with hunger
she’d never felt on a man’s lips before. She pulled back and stepped to the side. She wanted to kiss
him, but they’d just met.
Scarlett’s cold fingers tickled Rosemary’s shoulder, commanding her attention. Rosemary’s mind
snapped back to her surroundings and the jealous audience. She suddenly recalled why she was there
and how her career hinged on how well she played the part of a flirtatious rich socialite.
Scarlett wiggled her eyebrows. “Now, Rose, who would you say won: the ravens—or the
redheads?” Scarlett held her microphone out to Rosemary.
Rosemary winked and spoke into Scarlett’s microphone. “We may need a rematch to know for
sure.”
A few laughs, but mostly ahs, filled the banquet hall.
Scarlett pulled the microphone back in front of her exquisite porcelain face and nodded to
Rosemary and Max, then fully faced the audience. “Looks like Cupid’s arrow hit tonight! I don’t know
about you, but I can’t wait to hear about Max Moore and Rose White’s Valentine’s date.”
Rosemary glanced at Max to catch his reaction. He winked at her the moment she met his stare.
The thought of going on a real date on Valentine’s Day with Max Moore, the gorgeous, rich athlete,
filled Rosemary with a type of excitement and anxiety she’d never felt before. She was swimming in
unchartered waters with this guy, but she wouldn’t trade how she felt for anything.
A stagehand led Rosemary and Max offstage. They exited out a back hallway and into an
adjoining room that boasted the same ambiance as the rest of the mansion. A red Persian rug spanned
the length of the room, covering the richly stained wood floor.
“Please, have a seat,” said the event coordinator in the gray sequined dress, motioning to a few
lounging chairs.
The coordinator handed Rosemary a tablet with an electronic promissory document open and
ready for her to sign. Rosemary read through the document that named her as the donor of quarter of a
million dollars to the specified charity. She swallowed down the fear creeping up her throat and
signed with her fingertip.
“You’re welcome to join your friends back at your table now, Mr. Moore,” the event lady said to
Max.
“I’m good,” he responded in a relaxed tone, taking a seat next to Rosemary. “I think we’ll chill
here for a minute.”
The woman nodded and slipped out of the room.
 “You good with that, Miss White?”
Rosemary found it adorable how Max asked her permission to sit with her. “You can call me Rose
or Rosemary.”
“Rose,” he repeated while staring at the ceiling in thought. “Do people quote Shakespeare to
you?”
“You mean a Rose by any other name would smell as sweet?” she said with a British accent.
He clapped his hands and released a guffaw while shooting her a finger gun. “Exactly.”
“At least once a day. But if you ever feel the tug to recite Shakespeare to me, I’m all ears.”
“I like your ears,” he said, leaning forward in his chair. He brushed her hair back from off her
shoulders and tucked the loose strands behind her ears. His eyes followed his fingertips as they
trailed down the side of her face.
Her lips tingled with anticipation and her heart raced, but she had to stick with the program. Think
ditzy flirt. She giggled, tilted her chin down, and batted her lashes. Flirting with Max came much
easier to her than she’d thought, but being ditzy didn’t. She’d drop the flighty persona and stick with
flirtatious; she didn’t need to fake that one. As he gazed into her eyes, her confidence climbed to
greater heights than she’d ever thought possible.
Max scooted forward in his chair, inching closer to her. Rosemary tilted her face up, lengthening
her neck to accept his kiss. She closed her eyes as his soft beard brushed her cheek. The tickling
sensation threw her into a fit of giggles.
Her eyes flew open with the shocking realization that this was for real. Her silly giggles were for
real. She didn’t have to fake it any longer. She’d become a Max Moore lovesick groupie in a matter
of minutes. Dang, she was in trouble. She’d never backed away from trouble before, though, and she
sure wasn’t about to start—not when there was a hunk like Max on the end of the uncertainty line.
Max brushed his lips over hers, then spoke in a throaty voice. “And I really, really like your lips.”
He kissed her gently, slowly parting her lips with his until she couldn’t stand it any longer and kissed
him back.
A phone chimed in Max’s pocket, but he ignored it. After three more calls and some texts rang
through, Max groaned, sat up with a humph, and wrestled his phone out of his pocket.
His eyes grew wide as he scanned his phone. He stood, turned his body away from Rosemary, and
pressed the phone to his ear. “911?” he asked.
After a few nods that would go unseen to the person on the other end, he slumped back into his
chair and put a hand to his chest as if he’d just skirted a heart attack. “I need to leave, but I have a
huge favor to ask.”
“What’s that?” she asked, suggesting that she’d think about it. Inside, she knew that no matter
what, the answer would be a Yes!
“Will you come help me with my kids?”
Rosemary’s racing heart skipped a beat. Kids? Breathe, Rosemary, breathe.
 4

M ax had one goal: to impress Rosemary on their forty-five-minute drive home—no,

make that thirty-five minutes. He planned to drive home like a maniac to check on his
family after that distressing phone call.
When his candy-red Porsche Boxster convertible inched up next to the curb, he glanced over at
the reason he was smiling tonight and not still piping mad. Her dark eyebrows knitted together in
apparent distress. Even with a scowl on her face, she was beautiful. Man, he was lucky that she won
the bid and not some self-absorbed rich snob. He’d heard horror stories from guys on the team who
had to withstand an evening of torture with their dates from auctions past.
She didn’t seem impressed with his car. It was probably a drop in the bucket for her, considering
she’d just donated over twice the value of his car to go on one date with him. She was about to get a
lot more than one date if he had anything to do with it.
“You don’t like my ride?” he asked.
“No,” she stammered. “I mean, yes, I love it.” The valet opened her door. “It’s gorgeous,” she
said, slipping into her seat. “It seems to fit you.”
Max handed the valet cash, ran around to the driver’s side, and jumped in. “When you say fit me,
do you mean that the seats go far enough back so my knees don’t hit the dash, or that I’m lean, fiery,
and know how to handle speed and curves?”
She crossed her arms and pressed her back into her seat. “You seriously didn’t say that,” she said,
pursing her lips.
A large red X flashed in his mind. He was doing the opposite of impressing this girl. He scratched
at his beard. “Say what?”
“That you can handle a woman’s curves?”
Embarrassment scorched his cheeks. “Is it warm in here?” he asked, turning on the air
conditioning and adjusting his vents to blast the cold air directly in the face. “I meant on the football
field, darting around to meet my opponents, not the dating field.”
“Oh.” Her knitted-brow expression remained, as if she was unsure if she could trust him.
Max didn’t date much. Beautiful women constantly threw themselves at him, which eliminated the
challenge he craved. He didn’t have much time to date during the season, anyway. During the off-
season, if he wasn’t spending time at the gym staying in shape for the next season, he was hanging out
with his brothers and shuttling his little sisters around.
Rosemary clicked her tongue. “So, you dart around to meet your opponents? You don’t dart away
from them?”
He laughed at her humor, until he caught her perplexed expression. Now confused himself, he
asked, “Have you ever watched me play? Or even watched a football game?”
She patted her temples as if she were sweating as much as he was.
“Here.” He reached over and opened her air-conditioning vents wider.
“You’re right,” she said, fanning her face. “It is hot in here.”
He glanced at his dash to read the outside temperature display. At forty-five degrees outside, it
was too cold to put the car’s convertible top down.
She tucked her hands under her thighs. “Honestly, I spend a good portion of every football game
with my eyes closed, wincing. It hurts just watching people get tackled.”
He laughed. Rosemary was not only beautiful; she was funny. “Believe me, it hurts much worse
when you’re actually being tackled.”
“So, tell me about your kids. How old are they?”
“Fifteen. They’re twins.”
Rosemary threw her hands into the dash as if they were about to crash. “Fifteen!” she exclaimed.
“It’s not like that,” he said with a chuckle. “My parents died after the twins were born, when I
was ten. My parents had an unusual will and trust. They’d set it up so that my brothers and I had a
guardian who taught us how to care for the girls. Can you imagine three ten-year-old boys taking child
development and parenting classes?” He slapped his thigh and laughed. “When we weren’t doing our
own activities, we were bonding with and raising my sisters. When we turned eighteen, they were
legally ours. If you’re looking for a man with money and parenting skills, then you’ve found him.”
Max waited for Rosemary to coo. This was where most women would fall into his arms. Her
mouth dropped open instead, and when she finished being shocked, her face scrunched up in
disbelief. Her gorgeous blue eyes narrowed. “You’re not just playing with me?”
“No,” he said emphatically. Man, she was difficult to break. If that didn’t impress her, then what
would? “I’m being completely straight with you. Something I hope you and I will always be with each
other.”
“Straight?” Rosemary’s voice cracked as she nodded her head. “Absolutely. Tell me more about
you. What did you study in college?”
“English at Texas A&M,” he said with a slight country drawl.
“No way. Me too!”
Max wondered if the universe was playing a prank on him. Or was it possible that this was some
sort of setup? He and his brothers tried to keep their lives as private as possible. The fact that he
went to A&M and graduated three years ago was common knowledge, but he’d kept his passion for
English under wraps. He needed to know if this girl was for real.
“What did you think about Professor Matson?” he asked.
“Oh my gosh, you had Matson?” Her eyes grew wide with excitement. “I’ll tell you my
experience with Professor Matson. You want to step with me back to my college days?”
He nodded.
“Imagine a day of feverishly completing a paper that kicked my butt. I finally finish it and am
ready to submit it to Professor Matson. But at the last moment, my computer locks up on me, and I
have to email it over to the professor by midnight. I freak out because it’s our midterm five-thousand-
word paper that’s worth half our grade. So, I call the professor and explain my dilemma. I tell him I
have a printed copy that I did a final copy edit on, with all the red marks, but I can’t access the digital
copy that I’d spent all day fixing.”
Max sat up straighter in his seat. This girl could be for real. “I remember him telling us he’d stay
up all night correcting papers to get the grades inputted the next day. That’s some dedication.”
 “It gets better,” she said with a wink. “So, he tells me that if I personally slip my marked-up paper
under his office door by midnight, then he wouldn’t dock points.”
Professor Matson had a reputation for flirting with his female students. “I’m not sure I want to
hear any more,” said Max.
“Yes, you do,” she continued, speaking with her hands. “Let’s go back to that night. I slip my
paper under his door at 11:25 p.m., and as I’m turning to walk away, his door flies open and there
stands Professor Matson in his plaid suit. His bushy white eyebrows and round black eyes stare at me
like an owl. Then, he steps back into his cave of an office with newspapers piled up to the ceiling and
waves a hand at a man standing next to him.”
“What?” Max’s body tensed.
“So, Professor Matson says, ‘This is my son, Roger. I’d hate for you to walk back to your car
alone. Roger will be happy to accompany you.’” Rosemary laughed. “Roger looks exactly like his
dad, even with the balding crown and bushy eyebrows. He holds out his hand to me and says he’d be
honored to walk me out.” She paused, giggled, and glanced out her car window.
He tapped the steering wheel in anticipation. She had him at the edge of his seat. “He wanted to
set you up with his son? What did you do?”
Rosemary turned back to Max with a smile and a twinkle in her eye that said she’d outsmarted
them both. “I told them that my boyfriend never let me walk in the dark around campus and he was
waiting right outside the building, but I thanked them for their kindness and would accept Roger’s
offer next time.”
Max didn’t need any other convincing. Rosemary had described everything to a tee—right down
to the old newspapers in Professor Matson’s office. “Do you think we may have been in Professor
Matson’s class together?”
She rubbed her chin and stared at him as if contemplating something deep. “I’m still trying to
come to grips with the fact that football players can read after all those hits to the head.”
“About that …” His arm flew in the air. “You would have seen my brothers and me play ball
there.” He caught her eye, then winked. “But you wouldn’t have actually seen us, because your eyes
would have been closed.”
She pointed a finger at him. “Exactly. You’re catching on.”
“Are you saying that I’m smart?”
“I would say that, except you keep taking your hands off the wheel and waving them around in the
air.”
He knew exactly what to do to impress her. He raised an eyebrow as if to challenge her, brought
his left knee up under the steering wheel, raised both hands in the air, and steered with his left knee.
“Like I just don’t care?” he teased.
“Maximillian something Moore! You put your hands back on that steering wheel. Right now!” she
yelled.
“Thomas,” he said, grabbing the steering wheel as tears of laughter slid down his face.
“Not funny,” she said in a pouty voice. “Wait a minute.” With a sideways glance, she asked, “Did
you say Thomas Moore, like the Irish poet? You were named after an author?”
“Yeah.” He pointed to his red hair. “Irish. My mom was in love with Thomas Moore’s ballads. I
wondered sometimes if that’s why she married my dad … for his name.” He winked at her. “Money,
fame, great with kids, sweet last name. What more could you ask for?”
“Clever man,” she said, smiling in a way that told him he’d said or done something right. She
chuckled.
 “Why are you laughing?” he asked.
“When Thomas Moore met President Thomas Jefferson on a trip to America, President Jefferson
mistook him for a child due to his diminutive size. You, Maximillian Thomas Moore, would not be
mistaken for child.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever been mistaken for a child, even when I was a child.”
They both laughed, then fell into comfortable silence. When he looked at Rosemary, it was as if he
didn’t have a care in the world. He had almost forgotten that his family would be moving away.
Every few minutes, he stole a glance at her, and each time he chose something different to study,
like the way her dark chocolate hair flew around her milky face in the circulating air from her vent, or
how her black lashes framed her blue-topaz, almond-shaped eyes. What he couldn’t get out of his
mind was how the skin at the corners of her lips creased when she smiled at him. Dang, he wanted her
to smile at him again, and he really wanted to kiss those lips.
He needed to get through this crisis with his sisters quick, so he could concentrate on kissing
Rosemary again. He cleared his throat. “You haven’t asked why I need your help.”
“With your fifteen-year-old sisters? Let me guess. It has to do with a boy.”
He scoffed. “Boys. Which, if I had my way, no boys would ever be allowed in my home.”
Rosemary cracked a coy smile Max wasn’t sure how to read. “How can I help?”
“At school today, my sisters were asked to Spring Formals, a high school dance.” He slowly
blew out a breath. “Their first dates.”
“That’s wonderful!” exclaimed Rosemary. She placed her palm to her chest and sighed. “I
remember my first high school dance. It was magical. If these are quality guys, your sisters will
always look back on the dance with fondness.”
Max’s stomach sank like a stone in his gut at the thought of his baby sisters spending time with
hormonal boys. He clutched his steering wheel as he pulled off the main road onto his private lane.
With a deep breath, he relaxed his grip and slowly stretched out his fingers. “Their nanny—who
would have helped them answer their dates’ requests in fun, clever ways, shop for dresses online, and
all the other stuff teenage girls live for and stress about—quit today due to a family emergency. That’s
what the emergency call at the mansion was about. With all the changes that are coming, and this date
thing …”
He stopped speaking to scratch his beard. He didn’t want to vomit all his negative, anxious
feelings into Rosemary’s lap. “It’s gonna be great, but my sisters lost their female lifeline today and
need some feminine support. Thank you for coming.”
“Of course,” she said with a slow blink. “I can’t wait to meet them.”
“I can’t wait for you to meet them either. They’re going to love you.”
His tires hit the red cobblestone driveway and crunched their way to the crescent-shaped pull-
through driveway in front of his house. He said a silent prayer that this wouldn’t be the only evening
Rosemary would spend with him in his home.
 5

R osemary couldn’t wait to get inside Max’s house and look around. What intrigued her the
most were the copper gargoyles that resembled horned dragons perched at the corners of
the medieval-inspired stone house, including matching towers at either end. The winged
creatures reminded her of her visit to Notre Dame in Paris.
She opened her car door and extended her legs out into the dark chilly night. She shivered as the
frigid air blasted up her legs, causing goose bumps to explode on every inch of her skin.
“Wait!” yelled Max, running around his car to the passenger side. “Let me do that.”
She furrowed her brows. “Do what?”
“Open your door for you,” he said, as if she should’ve been expecting him to offer his hand to
help her out.
She felt a jolt when she placed her hand in his, and the electrical wiring in her body sparked. Her
fingers tingled and she felt a little light-headed, something unanticipated and confusing.
His eyes held hers as she stepped out of the car. “What is that?” he asked, rubbing the calluses on
the underside of her wrists.
“Oh,” she said. “I have those on both my wrists. Those are my version of writers’ ink-stained
fingers.”
When Rosemary stepped out of the car, her navy-blue silk dress clung to her skin where she had
become wet with perspiration, which was basically everywhere. When she’d thought Max had caught
on to her act, she’d found herself sweating like a pig in a sauna. People didn’t come to charity events
like tonight’s ready to drop that kind of money on someone they knew nothing about, yet she knew
nothing about him or his sport. And a good journalist always did their research before stepping out
the door. The smartest thing for her to do would be to get in and out of Max’s house quickly, then do
her research on him before their date.
She felt like the worst journalist on the planet. She didn’t know anything about the guy, other than
what he’d told her so far on their drive. She’d only sat down for a few minutes to do her research on
Max before Ginger assigned her to the auction. She hadn’t had a chance to sink her teeth into his
history. If everything had gone as planned, she would’ve been well prepared for his questions. Right
now, she felt as if she were heading into a blazing fire with a squirt bottle.
“You cold?” asked Max, removing his tuxedo jacket and wrapping it around her shoulders.
She couldn’t help but notice how his gray dress shirt hugged his body like a workout shirt,
molding to every defined muscle in his chest, arms, and abdomen. His muscles were so unbelievably
massive. They fit his height perfectly. It surprised her how good he looked, and how much she
enjoyed looking at him. She’d always thought muscly guys were unattractive. Turned out she’d been
unequivocally wrong.
“You wear your muscles well,” she said, then panicked. She could curse that loose tongue of hers.
She raised her hand to her mouth to shut herself up, then remembered why she was there with him and
lowered her arm back down to her side.
“Thank you,” he said with a come-hither smile, but instead of kissing her, he gave her a hug only a
gentle giant could give. “And thank you for coming. As it turns out, I can wait a few minutes to
introduce you to my family.”
Rosemary melted into the warmth of Max’s strong arms. He exemplified brawn. His hug made her
feel as if she’d been fitted with a full-body suit of armor. Nothing could touch her; she’d become
invincible in his arms. She nuzzled her face into his chest and breathed in his masculine cedar scent.
He held her close for a minute longer, then relaxed his arms and took her hand. She released a
sigh, accepting that he couldn’t hug her all night, and walked at his side up the wide cement steps to
his front door.
The door opened to laughter and music. Rosemary hadn’t anticipated such merry sounds; she’d
thought she’d find Max’s sisters in a panic. She’d also expected the interior of the house to match the
exterior 13 th-century Gothic style, but it didn’t. It resembled something out of an English cottage
magazine, with natural wood floors, exposed ceiling beams, and soft cream and blue tones on the
walls and furniture. She had a hankering to know how and why three tough football players designed
a house to resemble a castle on the outside and something out of a 19 th-century George Eliot book on
the inside.
She linked her arm through his. “I love your house. What was the inspiration?”
They stepped into the kitchen, where all the noise and music emanated from. Two teenage girls sat
at a white marble kitchen counter, laughing with each other as they nibbled on chicken wings dripping
with vibrant orange sauce. Two huge men sat at a long table behind them. No one seemed to notice
Max and Rosemary come in.
Before Rosemary got a good look at Max’s brothers, Max pointed to the two teenage girls. “Meet
Mazy and Millie, our inspiration,” said Max.
All eyes shot to Max and Rosemary. The teenage girls’ hands flew to their chests.
“Aw!” said one of the girls.
“That’s so sweet,” said the other.
Rosemary bit at her lower lip in concentration, studying the differences between the twins. They
had tanned, olive skin and dark brown hair. Their facial features were petite, except for their huge,
deep blue eyes.
Max motioned to Rosemary. “Everyone, this is Rosemary. We met at the banquet tonight.”
“Hi, Rosemary,” one of the girls said, while the other simply smiled and waved.
Max hugged the twin who was smiling brightly. “When Millie smiles, a dimple forms in her right
cheek. That’s how you can tell them apart.”
“Hey!” Max’s identical brother said in greeting as both brothers stood and walked over to the
kitchen sink. “We’ll wash our hands to give you a proper shake.” He held his hands in the air. “Wing
sauce.”
The other brother better resembled the twin girls with his olive skin tone, brown hair, and blue
eyes. He studied Rosemary with interest but didn’t speak.
“Don’t stop eating on my account,” Rosemary said with a wave of her hand.
“Excuse us while we wash our hands,” said Max’s identical brother.
The brothers quickly washed their hands, and then Max and Rosemary met them at the long kitchen
island, which spanned at least twelve feet.
Max nodded to his brothers. “My identical twin brother is Miles, and my fraternal triplet brother
is Mason.”
“So which brother is identical?” Rosemary joked to break the ice.
Max’s brothers gave a courtesy chuckle and took turns shaking her hand.
With all the questions Rosemary planned on asking them tonight, she might as well get started.
“This may be a silly question—but I tend to ask a lot of those, so please bear with me—but why do
you say you’re a twin with one brother and a triplet with the other? Aren’t you all triplets?”
“Yes and no,” answered Max as he pulled a few jars of purple liquid out of his refrigerator.
“People ask me all the time if we’re identical, which Miles and I are, but we’re also fraternal triplets
with Mason. If I answered yes, Miles is my identical triplet, then people would assume that Mason
and I were identical as well. It’s happened, and people get really confused when they see all of us
together.” Max scratched at his bearded chin. “I guess no matter how you look at it, it takes some
explaining. Grape juice?” he asked, holding up the two glasses he’d poured. “This comes from our
little vineyard out back.”
“And we’ve had to explain it many times due to our career,” said Miles. “What’s your profession,
Rosemary?”
“Rosemary’s a writer,” Max interjected, before handing Rosemary a glass of purple juice and
taking a long drink from his cup.
Rosemary’s mouth went dry. She raised her glass to her lips and took a slow sip, stalling her
response. The sweet, fruity liquid contained a healthy dose of sugar; hopefully it would help restart
her heart, which was currently paralyzed with fear. She’d never been great at ad-libbing. She’d
planned on telling them that she was currently studying for the LSAT and would apply to law schools
next year. All her friends who studied English went on to law school—all except for one.
“I write romance novels,” she blurted, borrowing her friend Annie’s profession. Annie had
become a New York Times best-selling author with her romance novels. Rosemary had never read any
of Annie’s books, but she’d heard from others that they contained plenty of steam.
“So, you can tell us what boys like?” asked Mazy.
Max’s eyes registered a mixture of shock and terror half a second before he spit out his mouthful
of juice. The cold liquid splattered against Rosemary’s chest, stealing her breath.
Max set his glass on the counter next to them and held his hands in the air, then grabbed a white
hand towel and handed it to her. “I am so sorry, Rosemary. Mazy, Millie, I’m going to show Ms.
White to the guest room. Will you two please round up some options for her to wear, maybe some of
your sweats?”
His sisters froze with their mouths gaping.
“Right now, please,” he said more sternly.
The girls hopped off their stools and hurried down the hall, whispering to each other.
“Rosemary …” Max said in a pained voice, leading her down the hallway.
“It’s nothing. Really,” Rosemary said to put him at ease. “I always thought this dress would look
better a deeper shade of violet.”
Max laughed as he led her up a flight of stairs. “I don’t know how you do it, Rosemary, but you
impress me more with each passing minute.”
Rosemary stepped into the cream-colored guest bedroom the size of a hotel suite. It afforded all
the posh comforts expected by the truly affluent, like a fluffy robe draped across the foot of the bed
and a bottle of expensive water on the table. “Do you always have a bottle of Évian sitting on the
nightstand?”
Max shrugged. “You don’t like Évian? I think we might have something else.”
“I was joking,” she said, placing her hand on his bicep. “This is like a five-star hotel.”
“If you stay the night, you’ll see how true that statement is when you try our cook’s breakfast.”
“You have someone come in and cook for you?” she asked, as if he’d just told her he was taking a
vacation to Mars.
“Don’t you?”
She’d forgotten she was pretending to be a filthy rich snob. There were several people in her
neighborhood who had the equivalent of a butler, a chef, a maid, and every other service imaginable.
“I mean … we have someone who comes in sometimes, but I like to cook.”
“I would love to taste your food, but the only way we can make sure that we’re all eating as
healthy as we need to to keep our bodies in optimal shape is to have a dietician provide a menu to our
cook. Would you like to stay in this room? I can take you home in the morning.” He scratched his chin.
“I never asked where you live.”
She could get some good research done if she stayed the night. “University Park. I’m happy to
stay. It sounds like your sisters want some advice.”
The color drained from his face.
She laughed. “On dresses. I’ll tell them that boys like a girl who knows her mind and has a strong
will about her, and that boys really dig girls with famous football player brothers who can snap a
man’s back like a twig.”
Max ran his hand across his forehead. “Thanks. You had me bathing in sweat on that one. Now I
need to go shower off as well.”
Rosemary coughed when a vision of Max bathed in sweat played in her mind.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
Millie and Mazy walked into the room and set a change of clothes for her down on the bed. “We
brought you some PJs that are super comfy,” said Millie with her signature smile that brought out the
deep dimple in her cheek. “Bring your dress down after your shower, and we’ll toss it in the steam
wash on gentle.”
“Thank you. And I’d love to see the dresses that you’re thinking about wearing to the dance.”
The girls hugged each other, then skipped out of the room.
“See?” said Max with a sigh. “They’re too young to date. And I won’t even be around to …” His
voice trailed off.
What did he mean, he wouldn’t be around? Rosemary sympathized with the fear and hurt in his
eyes. She reached her hand up to his face and held his cheek, loving how the soft hair of his beard
tickled her palm. “They’re lucky to have you.”
“Thanks,” he said, covering her hand with his and staring into her eyes.
“So,” said Millie, leaning in through the bedroom doorway. “You guys gonna be downstairs
soon?”
“Yes,” said Rosemary, grabbing the pajamas from off the bed. “I’ll be down quicker than a
jackrabbit.”
“I’d like to see that,” said Max with a laugh. “How’s about a friendly competition?”
Rosemary raised an eyebrow. “You’re on,” she said, sprinting to the bathroom. When she glanced
back, Max was gone.
If it hadn’t taken her a few minutes to figure out how to turn on the high-tech shower contraption
that had jets shooting out at her from every direction, she might’ve been quicker. All said and done,
she’d showered, dressed, and sprinted down the stairs in less than ten minutes. When she reached the
kitchen, she found Max relaxing at the table in a fitted white T-shirt and dark blue drawstring pajama
pants with a plate of hot wings in front of him.
Her eyes narrowed. “Not possible.”
“Anything’s possible with guns like these,” he said, flexing his biceps.
“Impressive,” she said, pressing her fingers into his flexed muscle. She ran her fingertips over his
silky skin, pausing over the ripples. She pulled her hand back when she caught his cocky smile. “But
what do muscles have to do with being fast?”
He held up a finger, telling her that he was about to show her. In silence, he stood, raised his foot,
set it on the seat of his wooden dining room chair, pulled up his loose pajama pant, and flexed his
thigh.
Rosemary swallowed back her drool. “You win,” she said, sitting across from him and picking a
hot wing up from off his plate.
“Those are really spicy,” he said, a little too late.
Rosemary’s eyes watered as she swallowed down the fireball. The sauce continued to burn as it
traveled down her esophagus. She fanned her burning lips with her hands. “Milk,” she sputtered out,
pointing to the refrigerator.
Max laughed as he sprinted for the fridge. She jumped to her feet and met him at the counter.
“I tried to warn you,” he said with a smug smile as he handed her a glass of milk.
“So, you’re an I told you so kinda guy?” she asked accusingly between gulps.
“Isn’t everyone? Not sure I’ve met anyone who passes an opportunity to congratulate themselves
on being right. Has the heat dissipated yet?”
“Barely,” she said, pointing to her lips. “What was that sauce made from, the Carolina Reaper?”
“Don’t worry. I’ve got a foolproof method for instant relief.”
“Ice?” she asked.
“Lips.” He wrapped his arms around her back and kissed her deeply.
She didn’t care that his lips carried remnants of the same deathly sauce. She’d trade a little heat
any day for how amazing it felt to have his lips dance across hers. Within minutes, she found herself
dizzy from his kisses.
A voice emanated from invisible speakers in the wall. “Everyone, time for family prayer.”
She looked up at the ceiling and laughed. “Is that God trying to tell us something?”
“Yeah,” said Max. “That you belong here with me.”
A mix of fear and excitement stirred inside her as Max took her hand and led her to a relaxed
gathering area off the kitchen. Max’s brothers and sisters kneeled on an off-white sheepskin rug.
Rosemary’s apprehension won over her excitement when she realized that she would be included
in the prayer. She didn’t have any experience with supplicating a higher power. She kneeled,
completing their family circle, and bowed her head more in fear than in reverence, hoping no one
would ask her to offer a prayer to a higher power she wasn’t sure existed.
Mason cleared his throat, then began praying. He thanked God for their blessings. He then
petitioned for health and mental strength for each one of them, including Rosemary. A new warming
sensation stirred inside her breast. Whatever the unfamiliar sensation was, it felt good, just like being
here in this house with Max and his family felt good. Their home held something unique that
Rosemary hadn’t felt anywhere else. She didn’t know how to describe it, other than that it was a
place where wanderers like herself could find a hot meal and a soft bed out of the cold. It was a safe
place not only for the body, but also for the soul.
Rosemary had never known her life was lacking anything, until now. When she opened her eyes,
she finally understood what her life had been missing, and it had everything to do with a brawny
football player and his family who accepted each other with a love that was simple yet pure.
 6

R osemary turned onto her side and spooned the king-sized squishy down pillow. She could
get used to this posh life. Problem was, this wasn’t her life, and she’d faked her way
there.
A strange aroma rested on her lips. She tasted the savory scent of fried chicken in the air. She’d
never woken to that smell before.
She groaned out her acceptance as she jumped out of bed and walked to the windows. It had been
so dark last night that she hadn’t even glanced outside. When she pulled back the shades, the sunlight
blasted her eyes, causing her to squint. It had been one of the most restful nights she’d had in years.
Last night, after she, Millie, and Mazy had spent an hour searching for dresses online, they found the
perfect ones.
Rosemary had stayed up another forty-five minutes researching the Moore family on her phone.
Besides the football articles, which were downright boring, she found a few articles about the
mysterious deaths of Max’s parents. According to one article, Max’s mom died shortly after giving
birth to the twins at home. When emergency crews arrived, they found Max’s dad dead as well.
Strangely, another article stated that Mr. Moore died from terminal cancer in its most advanced stage.
When Rosemary’s eyes finally adjusted to the sunlight, she soaked in the backyard, marveling at
how this place was a realization of all her childhood dreams. The play area had a tennis court, a sand
volleyball pit, and a swimming pool with a swirling water slide that looked like it had been carved
out of a mountain and belonged in a theme park. On the other end of the yard was a greenhouse filled
with live vegetation, and a little farther out, a stable lay surrounded by open fields where horses,
cows, and goats grazed. Three horses ran in a circle on a dusty trail around the stable, kicking up a
plume of rust-colored dust. What would it be like to wake up to this view every morning? The only
thing the estate lacked were chickens to lay fresh eggs.
She took in a deep breath, kissed her fingertips, and blew her kiss out the window, bidding
goodbye to the fairy tale. The most she could hope for was a romantic and rewarding Valentine’s Day
date with Max, where she’d gather enough intel to write a compelling article under her pen name.
With the additional income, her parents would keep their home, at least for now. And with her
promotion, her career would finally take her places.
Rosemary opened the bedroom door to find her dress hanging on a rolling garment rack in the
hallway. She pulled the dress off the hanger and quickly changed.
She knew that the closer emotionally she got to Max, the more difficult it would be to accept that
this wasn’t real. But nothing would stop her from enjoying every last minute with the Moore family.
She pulled her hair up into a high ponytail as she floated down the stairs to the kitchen.
 The realities of life didn’t impede her rising excitement. She couldn’t wait to see Max and taste
whatever his cook had made them for breakfast. She hurried to the kitchen.
“Rosemary!” Millie exclaimed with a bright smile and an adorable dimple. “We’ve been waiting
for you.”
“You have?” Rosemary returned her smile. “Sorry to have kept you waiting, but my pillow was so
unbelievably smoochy that I couldn’t let it go.”
“Smoochy?” asked Mazy.
“Squishy,” Rosemary stammered. “I meant squishy.”
“I know the feeling,” said Mazy. “Will you explain that to my brothers? They don’t seem to
understand that teens need at least nine hours of sleep.”
“Ahh …” Rosemary tapped her finger on the counter, which was loaded with serving platters of
waffles, fruit, and fried chicken. “I’d be happy to, but I’m not sure they have any reason to listen to
me. They’ve raised you two. The only thing that I’ve raised is a spider plant. And how does the
nutritionist allow y’all to eat fried chicken for breakfast?”
They both laughed. “See, Millie?” said Mazy. “This is why she needs to be our nanny.”
“Your nanny?” asked Rosemary, not attempting to hide her surprise. “You want me to be your
nanny? But I just told you that I don’t know anything about raising kids, and you guys are practically
adults.”
“Hardly,” Mazy said with a hand on her hip. “We can’t drive; we study all day, so we don’t know
anything about boys; and our brothers, AKA the three most protective dads on this planet, won’t even
give us opportunities to socialize.”
“They’re letting you have dates to the dance, right? That’s socializing,” Rosemary said, keeping it
positive.
“That’s another thing,” said Millie. “We don’t really have dates yet to the dance, because we
never told them yes. We need you to help us.”
“Please,” they begged in unison.
Mazy added, “During the week, you could write all day when we’re at school.”
Rosemary hated to let them down. “Even if I could be your nanny, it would be your brothers hiring
me, not you.”
“Hiring you to do what?” asked Mason as he stepped into the room, dripping with sweat.
“Did you have a good workout, Mace?” asked Millie.
“Yep,” he said. “I’ve been at it for an hour and a half. I’m halfway there.”
Mazy touched Mason’s arm. “Can you hire Rosemary to be our nanny until school’s out in three
months? It’s the least you can do, considering you’re moving us away then.”
Rosemary’s heart dipped. “You’re all moving?”
“Not exactly,” Mason corrected. “Miles was traded to the Georgia Patriots, and I was cut from
the Titans.”
“It’s hard to be here and root for the Titans now with how they up and fired Mason like that,” said
Millie.
Mason shrugged, but Rosemary could see the hurt in his eyes. “Careers are short in the NFL. I
wouldn’t trade the experience to play with my brothers through college and professionally for
anything, but now that I’m unemployed, I’ve decided to look for work in Atlanta with Miles. My
sisters act like we’re ripping them from their lives here.” He looked down at them with warning.
“Truth be told, they’re the ones who said they wanted to go, and they begged me to come with them.
Am I wrong, girls?”
 “Well, you’ve been wrong about a lot of things,” teased Miles as he entered the kitchen and
grabbed a plate off a stack next to the platter of fried chicken. “Am I the only one eating?”
“We’re finished,” said the twins, placing their plates in the sink and leaving the kitchen.
“Have you seen Max this morning?” asked Rosemary. “I thought I’d wait to eat with him.”
Miles glanced at his watch. “He’ll be a bit longer in the gym. Sorry if Mason and I stink, but we
just came from the gym as well. Why don’t you grab a plate and join us for breakfast?”
“Okay,” said Rosemary, picking up a white porcelain plate and loading up a chicken leg. “I’m not
sure I’ve ever had fried chicken for breakfast.”
Miles whistled. “Fried chicken and waffles. It don’t get any better than that.” He leaned down to
Rosemary’s ear as she loaded up her plate with fruit. He spoke softly. “The job pays fifteen grand a
month, and the girls would only need you for three months. Think about it.”
Rosemary’s left eye twitched. Had he just said fifteen thousand a month? That would be almost
all she needed to get her parents current on their home. And her income would more than make up for
the rest of it, even without her promotion. It proved the point that if you throw a little money at a
problem that seems unsurmountable, possibilities spring from the earth like geysers.
Rosemary sat at the table next to Miles and slowly stabbed her chicken. It was a good thing she
could tell Miles and Max apart, and that they smelled different. Miles smelled like honey and
peppermint candy sticks. His scent was too sweet for her taste. She’d been worried that she might
kiss the wrong one on accident.
Miles leaned his elbow into the table and watched her, but she dismissed his gaze, floating in an
imaginary world where she didn’t have to worry about bills or deadlines. She hadn’t noticed his
constant gaze until she’d almost finished her plate.
“Am I eating like a slob?” she asked. “Oh no. Did I burp?” She had a habit of burping when she
ate anything fried.
“No more than any one of us, and yes, you burped, which was very adorable.” He scratched his
chin like Max. “The more I think about it, the more you need to stay.”
Rosemary wrinkled up her face. “You sure Max would go for that?”
“This isn’t just about Max,” said Miles.
“What does that mean?” Rosemary asked.
He touched her hand across the table. “It means we need you. All of us. And I think you might
need us.”
Max walked into the kitchen whistling, but when he noticed Miles’s hand folded over
Rosemary’s, he squared his shoulders and glared at his twin.
“Dude, it’s not like that,” said Miles. “Chill.”
Max cracked his knuckles and moved his tongue around in his mouth like a boxer. “You told me
you’d never go after anyone I had my eye on again.”
Miles motioned to Rosemary. “She’s going to be the girls’ nanny, so no one needs to have their
eye on her right now.”
Max threw his head back and laughed. “You got me. Man, I thought you were trying to steal her
out from under me.”
Miles stood from the table. “Now, Rosemary, if you’ll come with me, I’ll show you the car you’ll
be driving. You’re welcome to drive it to your house today, pick up your things, and come back later
today or tomorrow. If my sisters had their way, you’d be back in an hour.”
Max grabbed Miles by his arm. “Wait. You’re serious?” He released his brother and turned to
Rosemary. “Rosemary, why would you want to be our nanny? If you work in our house, it wouldn’t be
appropriate for us to date, and you’re the one that bought me at the auction, remember? Is this what
you want?”
Rosemary didn’t know what to say. She wanted to date him, but that wasn’t in her cards. They
lived in two different worlds. What she did need was the money to save her family’s home, and she
could be a support for his sisters. She stood with an apologetic sigh. “I feel like it’s the right thing to
do for your sisters.”
Miles tapped his brother’s shoulder. “It’s a good thing y’all got your first fight out of the way.
Why don’t I get Rosemary all set up with her car, Max? Then you two can discuss how you want to
handle this together when she returns.”
As Miles walked Rosemary to the garage, she replayed in her mind the conversation they’d had
about her becoming the nanny. Miles had told Max that she would be the nanny before she’d accepted
the position, but she’d agreed in the end. The wheels had been set in motion and she was on her way
down the bumpy hill, whether she was prepared for the bouncy ride or not.
 7

M ax dropped his weights to the gray mat that spanned the exercise room floor. After
another hour of heavy weight lifting, he still hadn’t gotten any closer to controlling his
anger. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this upset with Miles, maybe
never. Miles not only planned to leave him in a few months; he was also taking everyone Max loved
with him.
To pour salt on Max’s wounds, Miles had destroyed any hope Max had of dating Rosemary. Still,
Max regretted the infantile things he’d said to Rosemary and Miles. Perhaps they originated from his
scared and insecure inner child who feared his family leaving him and losing the woman he was
falling for.
Miles entered the weight room, dressed in a suit. “If you were me, you’d have done the same
thing.”
“I am you. And no, I wouldn’t have. We might be identical, but we don’t always make the same
choices.”
“You’re right. Like when you lit fire to the neighbors’ yard, saying you were clearing out their
weeds.”
Max threw his arms in the air. “You were right there next to me.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t light the match.”
Max clenched his fists. “No. You told me to, stupid.”
“You lit the match. Why are you calling me stupid?”
Max threw his hands in the air and laughed.
Miles sat on the workout bench. “See? I knew you’d laugh. Trust me on this one, please.”
Max sat against the wall. “I really liked her.”
“And where’s she going, Max?”
Max huffed; Miles had asked him a valid question. “Nowhere.”
“Exactly. She’s crazy about you. This will give you two an opportunity to take the blinders of
infatuation away from your eyes and really get to know each other. And equally important, Mazy and
Millie will finally have someone they can bond with like a mother.”
Max stretched out his tight muscles. He was going to feel this workout tomorrow. “For three
months, Miles? Really? What’s that gonna do?”
“Better than nothing. Dude, you know what our careers are like. You could be traded before next
season or cut like Mason. We all knew this wouldn’t last forever, especially playing for the same
team. We need to be grateful for the time our family has had together and thank God every day for
what he’ll place in our future.”
 Max wanted to be upset with Miles, but somehow Miles always knew how to turn that back on
Max. “Your angle is to guilt-trip me? That’s how you’re going to play this one?”
“Is it working?”
“Of course.”
Miles stood from the workout bench and held out his arms. “Then heck yeah. Come here.”
Max choked up when he walked into Miles’s open arms. “I don’t know what I’m going to do when
y’all leave me,” he said, his emotions getting the better of him as Miles embraced him.
“You’re gonna thank God for the ride, just like I will. I love you, bro.”
“Love you too, man.” Max seldom expressed his affection for his brother. It was always
understood, but with the thought of them being separated, the fear and excitement of change activated
his emotional side. “Where are you headed?”
“Interview. The Patriots are announcing my trade in a press conference.”
“Don’t you ever feel like we’re pawns?”
Miles shrugged. “Every day. But who’s not?”
Max’s mind shot to Rosemary. She was the epitome of an independent woman. She was self-
made, wrote what she wanted, when she wanted. All he wanted was to be close to her. He hated the
thought of sharing a house and not being able to kiss her.
Maybe Miles was right. Rosemary would be good for the girls, and she seemed to mesh great
with everyone in his family. He knew the physical attraction was undeniable. Now, he’d find out if
they’d work as friends.

“AT A GOLF TOURNAMENT with your dad. There’s chicken salad in the fridge if you want to make
yourself a sandwich. Be back around five. Remember who you are, Rosemary Ann Evans White.
You’re going to change the world someday.” Rosemary read the note from her mother a second time,
then placed it on the kitchen counter.
Rosemary relaxed back into the leather barstool and sighed. Her parents meant well, so why did it
still hurt? She was a grown woman, and it wasn’t like she had plans with them today. If only she
could block out all those Saturdays when her parents had left her a note like that—when she had a
soccer game or a piano recital. Keeping up appearances and socializing were a craft her parents had
perfected.
She’d thought moving back into her parents’ home and helping them pay their bills would be
beneficial for everyone. She’d thought they’d all bond in a new way now that she was an adult. She
looked around the elegant, spotless kitchen. In many ways it was nicer than Max’s kitchen, but it felt
different. Her parents’ kitchen had a cold, sterile feel to it, void of light. She’d never noticed the lack
of warmth before, but now she had something to compare it to.
Rosemary thumbed through the stack of papers on the counter. She stopped at an invitation for a
Valentine’s party hosted by her parents. The Whites were known to throw at least two grand
neighborhood parties a year. Rosemary had loved the parties as a child. Everyone was so happy and
kind, or so she’d thought. As the years passed, Rosemary had come to realize that many of the
neighbors just came for free food and alcohol and to gossip about one another.
She tapped the edge of the invitation on the counter, realizing that she was paying for her parents’
wasteful and extravagant lifestyle. They were slaves to their debt and reputation. She couldn’t change
them, but she could change her own habits—and it was time to make that change. After this last
gesture, she was done supporting her parents. She was relieved that she finally recognized that their
lifestyle was unsustainable. She hopped off the barstool and set out to the garage for boxes and bins.
It was time to pack up her room for good.
Three hours later, Rosemary dusted off her hands and pressed the button to close the garage.
She’d placed the last of her boxes in the garage next to her covered car. Her little Volkswagen Jetta
would be safe and happy there in the empty bay of her parents’ three-bay garage until she finished her
nanny job in three months; after that, she’d get her own apartment. To her surprise, relief washed over
her. For the first time in her life, she felt absolute freedom. She might not have anything more than a
healthy mind and body, but that was all she needed.
She stepped toward the nanny car just as her parents rolled into the driveway. Her father parked
his Lincoln in the driveway and approached her. She always got a kick out of how dress code dictated
how someone could dress on a golf course. Her father wore a tweed driver’s cap, a collared shirt,
and pleated dress shorts.
“Hey, darling,” he said. “Where are you going? And whose car is this?” He pointed to the white
Ford Explorer.
Rosemary gave him a quick hug. “I’m working as a nanny for a really nice family in McKenny.
Best news, with my two paychecks, I’ll be able to come up with the fifty thousand for the house in
three months.”
“Rosemary, that’s wonderful!” said her mother with a clap of her hands as she stepped around
their car.
Rosemary filled her lungs and held her breath for the bomb she was about to drop. “I’ve packed
up all my things. When I’m finished with this job, I plan to live on my own. I don’t want to be
enslaved by debt, so I’ll need to be super frugal and live by my means. Which means I won’t be able
to help with bills after I get your house payments current.”
Her mother’s expression was more crestfallen than Rosemary had ever seen. It had been hard
enough for Rosemary to muster the courage to tell her parents she wouldn’t be enslaved by their debt
any longer. She could only imagine what it had been like to hear that coming from their own daughter,
but it was something that had to be said.
Rosemary said a quick goodbye and drove away. When she reached the interstate, she pulled her
ponytail out of her hair and rolled her window down to let her hair snap in the wind for a minute. It
had been easier than she’d thought to emotionally detach herself from her parents’ home, perhaps
because it no longer owned her.
The elation of her newfound freedom only lasted so long. The guilt of having lied to Max and his
family soon buried her happy thoughts. She knew she needed to call her best friend, but she didn’t
want the whole I told you so from Annie.
She and Annie had first met at a summer writing and riding camp in rural Wisconsin when they
were twelve. It was the best thing an introverted girl could ever hope for—time to write, read, and
ride horses. Annie had always shown Rosemary up when it came to riding, having grown up on a
dairy farm. They’d made a promise to each other that they’d always write, no matter what.
They’d both entered college hoping to change the world with their writing. When Annie called her
and told her that she’d decided to write romance, Rosemary laughed, thinking Annie had been joking.
Annie begged Rosemary to write romance with her. Think of the possibilities, Annie had said to her,
but Rosemary never listened, and Annie had the last laugh. Rosemary watched as Annie went on to be
a New York Times best-selling author in romance. She currently lived amongst the rolling hills and
picturesque vineyards of northern California wine country.
Rosemary’s phone connected to the Ford Explorer with the familiar ring.
“Rosemary!” Annie shouted. “How are you? I’ve missed your stunning face.”
“Not as much as I’ve missed yours,” said Rosemary.
“I haven’t heard from you in months. Where’s the letter you owe me?”
Rosemary and Annie still exchanged snail mail. If they felt especially artistic and had the time,
they’d spice it up with calligraphy.
Rosemary wiggled in her seat to get comfortable. “It’s coming. How’s your puppy?”
“Mr. Famous? He’s grand. Did I tell you he thinks he’s a person?”
It was a shame Annie couldn’t see Rosemary roll her eyes. “That’s because you treat him like a
king—a human king.”
“It’s funny you ask about my dog, and not my boyfriend.”
Rosemary hadn’t kept it to herself that she didn’t like Annie’s boyfriend. He was a pretty boy who
knew it and flirted with any girl who would give him attention. “Why is that funny? Your dog is
cuter.”
Annie laughed. “Are you dating anyone cuter than my dog?”
“Yes and no.”
“This sounds good. Tell me more!”
“I’ve been commissioned to write a piece on Maximillian Moore, a Titans football player.”
“Ooh. This is good. Is he attractive?”
“Very.” Rosemary reached over and turned on the air conditioning. “He’s a triplet, and they all
played last season for the Titans.”
“This sounds like spicy material,” Annie interjected. “Go on.”
“I was allocated funds from my employer to purchase a date with him.”
“Oh, I could really use this in a book.”
“No, you couldn’t,” Rosemary chided her. “So, this is where things get messy. The football
players have hired me to be the nanny for their younger teen sisters for a few months. I couldn’t turn
down their offer—I really need the money—but that means that Max and I won’t be able to date.”
“Ripped rich football player and beautiful sweet nanny. How can I not use this?”
“Because this is my life, Annie. Now please, focus.”
“You’re asking a daydreaming romance author to focus?”
Rosemary sighed before continuing, but she had to get it out. “When they asked me about my
profession, I panicked and told them I was a romance author. I couldn’t say I was spying on them to
gather information to write a sensational piece about them.”
Silence. Rosemary bounced her left leg, waiting for a response from Annie. Patience wasn’t one
of her strengths. “What should I do to alleviate my guilt?” she asked.
“Isn’t it obvious?” asked Annie. “Write romance. Then you won’t be lying.”
Rosemary was afraid she’d say that. “I wouldn’t even know where to start.”
“I can help you there. I’ll send over one of my manuscripts. Read through it, then start writing
your own. And Rosemary, when you’re finished with your manuscript, I’ll get it off to my editor, make
her requested changes, add in a few lines, put both our names on it, and give you all the proceeds.
You’ll be a best-selling author overnight. Do you want that?”
“That’s really sweet, but I don’t know that romance would be a good fit for me. You’re one
hundred percent sure you want to do this?”
“Rosemary, how many years have I been begging you to write romance with me? You’re a better
storyteller than I am, and don’t think I won’t have anything to gain from this. Once you delve into this
world, you’re going to become more successful than me. It’s selfish on my part.”
“How is that selfish?” asked Rosemary.
“Because you’ll make sure I stay right there by your side. I’ll climb the literary ladder with you.
Because that’s who you are, Rosemary. You take care of your own.”
Rosemary didn’t feel like she’d taken care of her own today, not when she’d told her parents she
would no longer support them.
“I have only one condition,” said Annie.
“What’s that?”
“You need to invite me to come visit you in the NFL house before you leave. It’s time I did an
NFL romance series.”
Rosemary laughed. “Annie, you’re supposed to make my life less complicated, not more
complicated.”
“What fun would that be? And another thing: I’m bringing my puppy with me.”
 8

M ax placed his crossed arms on the kitchen table and leaned forward. “Now, think long
and hard before you answer me,” he said to his twin sisters, who sat across from him
with their laptops, school papers, and textbooks strewn across the table in front of
them. They gave him a customary nod but didn’t raise their eyes from their studies. “Tell me again
why I shouldn’t date Rosemary.”
“One,” said Millie, “she’s our nanny.”
“Two,” said Mazy, “she’s our nanny.”
“Three,” said Millie, “she’s our nanny.”
“Four,” said Mazy, “she’s our nanny.”
Max stood from the table in a huff while his sisters continued to tease him with she’s our nanny.
“You think you’re funny, do you?”
The girls giggled uncontrollably.
“Hey, what did I miss? I love a good joke,” said Rosemary as she entered the kitchen.
Max stepped to her side, but held his hands behind his back, resisting the impulse to place his
hand on her back.
“Max cracks us up,” said Millie. “He thinks we’re hilarious, but he’s really the funny one.”
Millie’s comment had Mazy doubled over in stitches.
Rosemary walked to the table and touched a few of the girls’ school papers. “Y’all are studying
on a Saturday afternoon? I can’t tell you how impressed I am.”
The girls smiled simultaneously, displaying their adorable dimples that melted Max’s heart every
single time they surfaced.
“Wait,” Rosemary held up her pointer finger. “Hold on here. I thought only Millie had the
dimple.”
Max said, “She does. Her dimple is on her right cheek; Mazy’s dimple is on her left. That’s how
you can tell them apart.”
Rosemary plopped down in a kitchen chair next to the girls and tapped her fingers on the table.
“Do you mind if I sit and watch you like a crazy person for a few minutes to see if I can figure out
how to tell you apart? I don’t want to mix you two up anymore.”
“Sure,” they said in unison.
“What are you studying?” Rosemary asked them. “Maybe I can help.”
“We’re studying the laws of thermodynamics,” said Millie. “Specifically, how any change in the
internal energy of a system is given by the sum of the heat that flows across its boundaries and the
work done on the system by its surroundings.”
 “On second thought, maybe you can tutor me when I prepare for the GRE for graduate school.”
“You’re going to graduate school?” asked Max.
“Maybe someday.”
The girls smiled, then returned to their studies.
Max reached over and touched Rosemary’s hand. “Do you mind if I watch you watch them?”
All three of them looked up at him with the same smile.
“Hold that position!” Max said, reaching for his phone. He quickly snapped the photo, hoping to
catch a scene that blew his mind. He turned his phone around and showed them how he’d captured the
most incredible moment. Rosemary looked almost identical to his sisters in the photo, just older.
“Whoa!” said Mazy. “Rosemary, you look like us.”
“That’s incredible!” Rosemary blinked a few times and sniffed. “Sisters … how would that be?”
she whispered to herself.
“I can’t believe I never saw the resemblance before,” said Max. “I need to go find a photo of
Mom.”
Max stood and walked in a daze to his office. He stopped in the doorway to his man den and took
in a deep breath. His father’s face surfaced in his mind every time he walked into that room. The
office had been constructed as an exact replica of his father’s study, right down to the cedar
bookshelves, cedar desk, and cedar gun closet.
His brothers rarely used the office. They knew Max used it as his personal quiet space when he
needed to decompress. With all the turmoil and excitement over the last few days, he was surprised
he hadn’t visited this room.
He pulled an old leather photo album from the bookshelf and blew the dust off the top. It was the
last album that his mother had put together before she’d died. He sat in his office chair and leafed
through the pages. When he came to the eight-by-ten of his mother the year before she’d passed, he ran
his fingers down the plastic covering as he’d done hundreds of times before, but this time he stared
into the eyes of his mother with greater understanding.
In the photo, his mother was strong and happy and carefree. His sisters had inherited her blue eyes
and raven-black hair, but she had a dimple in each of her cheeks. He’d told his sisters that their
mother had given them each one of her dimples when she died so they’d think of her when they
smiled. In reality, when his sisters smiled at him, he would see his mother’s face.
He didn’t let his heart and mind go there often, but he did today. He let himself ache for his mother
and ache that his sisters hadn’t had a chance to know her. They never had a mother, and never would.
Three taps against his office door drew his attention. He glanced over at Rosemary as she leaned
up against the inside of the doorway and smiled at him.
“You okay?” she asked.
“I think I’m having a breakdown,” he said in a monotone voice with zero facial expression.
“Don’t hide your feelings now; let them all out,” she said facetiously.
He tried to laugh, but it came out more as a moan. “I’m serious. Explain to me why I have an
amazing woman standing in front of me who fits in with my family, to the point where it could be
construed as a little scary,” he said, holding up the photo book. “And I can’t even date her.”
Rosemary took the photo album out of his hands, walked over to a large brown reclining chair in
the corner of the room, and plopped down. She stared at the photograph without speaking, then leafed
through the remaining pages. “It’s difficult to understand why some things happen. Isn’t it?” she asked.
“Are you going to say that it was all part of God’s plan?”
“Nope,” she said. “I was going to say that it sucks, and I have no idea why it happened to your
family.”
“It might’ve been easier if we knew what happened.”
“You don’t know?”
“I think my brothers and I knew something was coming. Our parents shipped us off to a week-long
summer camp in California. They said the weather would be better in California than in Texas in
June. It wasn’t. Have you ever heard of June gloom?”
“No.”
“In southern California, the month of June is known to be cloudy and cool. Our parents said
goodbye to us with heavy tears, like they’d never see us again. It scared us to the point where we
begged them to let us stay.” Max blinked back his tears. “The day before the last day of camp, the
camp director brought us into her office and told us that our parents had died, but we had two new
sisters that we needed to go meet and help take care of. That was it.”
“That’s all they told you?” Rosemary asked in disgust.
“We were only ten at the time,” Max explained as he sat up in his chair. “A few years later, we
started asking questions.”
“Any answers?”
“No concrete answers. We found out that both of my parents had been suffering from cancer. My
mother couldn’t be treated for hers due to the pregnancy. She’d been advised to abort the fetuses but
refused. She wasn’t expected to live after the delivery. My father had chosen not to be treated and it
had spread to most of his vital organs and caused him severe pain. His doctor had prescribed him
morphine pills to manage his pain and my mother had an at home birth with a midwife and was
prescribed morphine to take during and after labor.”
“You think morphine might have been the cause of their deaths?”
Max blew out a breath and rubbed his face with his hands. “A midwife named Mrs. Rudy came to
the house to assist with the delivery. My mom and dad spent a few hours with the twins; then Mrs.
Rudy took them to her house so my dad could care for my mom and she could sleep that night.” Max
paused. “The next morning, when Mrs. Rudy brought the babies back to nurse, she found my parents
snuggled up together, gone.”
Rosemary’s mouth dropped open.
“Shocking, I know. Imagine how we felt.”
“I can’t even imagine. Don’t answer this if you don’t want to, but did the police investigate? Or
did the coroner’s office give any other possible reason for death?”
“Natural causes for both: Cancer for my father and cancer with complications from childbirth for
my mother is what the medical examiner had noted—but I found out later that my father and the
toxicologist had become friends shortly before they died. I want to believe that they just fell asleep
and God took them out of mercy. The one thing I do know is that they felt no pain when they passed.”
Rosemary was at Max’s side within seconds, wrapping her arms around his shoulders from
behind and snuggling her face into his neck. “I’m so sorry.”
He allowed himself to feel the warmth of her breath down his chest while he inhaled her
wonderful light floral scent. “Shakespeare had it all wrong. A rose by any other name wouldn’t smell
as sweet. There is no one out there like you, Rosemary. Tell me why we shouldn’t date again.”
“Because I’m the nanny.”
“Right. And what about the date you paid two hundred fifty thousand dollars for? The one the
media is dying to cover?”
“That’s right!” She stepped around to the front of his desk. “Our Valentine’s Day date.” Her face
lit with excitement, giving him a newfound hope.
“What do you say, Rosemary White? Will you go on one real date with me?”
“Yes,” she said with her intoxicating smile. He leaned over the desk to kiss her, but she pulled
back. “Let’s save that for our one date.”
He blew out a frustrated breath. “Have it your way, but you’re going to be begging me to kiss you
when Valentine’s Day comes around.”
“Rosemary!” The girls came bouncing into the office. “You ready to help us answer our dates?”
“Absolutely,” said Rosemary.
“Can I come?” asked Max. “I drive a mean getaway car.”
The girls looked at each other. “If you stay in the car,” they said simultaneously.
Less than five minutes later, they piled into Max’s car and were on the road. When his sisters got
something in their heads, there was no stopping them.
“So, what’s the plan?” he asked, rubbing his palms together after he’d parked next to a bushy tree
on the street in front of the first boy’s house. The white brick house had a red brick winding path that
passed the bushy tree and wound another ten yards through tall, thin trees to the front door.
“You stay in the car,” said Millie.
“That’s not a plan,” he complained. “That’s me not doing anything. That’s the opposite of a plan.”
The girls shot him a look that said he needed to quit.
“I guess I’ll wait right here and keep the getaway car warm, but you’re wasting some good
muscle.”
“I’d say,” Rosemary said with a wink as she exited the car.
Max’s blood pressure shot through the roof of his car. Rosemary shouldn’t be allowed to say
things like that if she refused to date him.
Max rolled down the passenger window and leaned across the passenger seat to see what was
happening outside. He couldn’t see or hear a darned thing. After another minute of waiting, he
decided it couldn’t hurt to step around the car and hang out right next to the obnoxious bush.
When Max reached the bush, the front door flew open to reveal a boy about his sisters’ age. The
boy picked up a piece of paper, then tilted his head back and released some sort of animalistic howl,
something a father wouldn’t want to hear coming out of a boy’s mouth who was about to take his
daughter on a date.
Max’s paternal instincts—fear, anger, jealousy, call it what you will—kicked in. He jumped to the
sidewalk in front of the front door lightning fast, as if he needed to block an opponent, and growled
back at the boy.
When the boy screamed and slammed the door, Max congratulated himself on a job well done.
“What were you thinking?” yelled Millie as they ran to the car.
Max was the last in his seat. “What?”
“Are you kidding us?” said Mazy. “That’s all you have to say for yourself? ‘What’?”
“What did I do?” he asked, looking at Rosemary in the rearview mirror.
Rosemary covered her face with her hands and leaned forward.
“Are you laughing, Rosemary?” he asked. Max then looked at his sisters. “Rosemary is laughing.
Why aren’t you?”
“Because it’s not funny,” said Millie. “Now Josh will think my family is crazy.”
“What’s crazy is how Josh howled like an animal. You don’t want to go out with a freak like that.”
“Dad—I mean, Max—I told him I’d go to the dance with him if he could prove he could protect
my honor like a wolf protecting his pack.”
 Millie knew how to pull on his heartstrings. “Sorry, Mills, but did you just call me Dad?”
“No,” she grumbled, turning to face her window.
Angry or not, she’d called him Dad, and Rosemary was going on a date with him. Life didn’t get
much better than that.
 9

R osemary walked into the kitchen the next morning in her cowboy boots and jeans,
determined to get the Moore family onto their horses that day. They’d told her they didn’t
ride often, and she had a hankering to know why.
“Rosemary?” the twins scolded her in unison from the kitchen counter. “Aren’t you taking us to
church this morning?”
“Yes?” Rosemary said as if she were asking them. “This is just a preview of what I’ll be wearing
for our horseback ride after church.” Sunday had always been a carefree day for her. She’d assumed
the girls didn’t have any commitments. She hadn’t even thought to look at the twins’ calendar that
morning.
“You’re funny,” said Millie.
Rosemary raised an eyebrow. “Funnier than Max?”
“And more competitive,” said Mazy.
“You think I’m competitive?” asked Rosemary.
The girls scratched the sides of their heads, the same way Max scratched the side of his chin when
Rosemary asked him a question he didn’t respond to right away.
“Don’t answer that,” said Rosemary. “So, I guess I’ll go get ready for church. What time does it
start?”
“In fifteen minutes,” answered Mazy.
Rosemary wrinkled her forehead. “And how far away is it?”
“Ten minutes,” said Millie.
“Ten minutes!” Rosemary yelled, turning on her heels and sprinting for her bedroom.
Rosemary made it halfway down the hallway when Max stepped out into the hallway. She
couldn’t stop in time and bounced off his chest like a ping pong ball being hit to the table by an
Olympic athlete. Her arms and legs flailed before she hit the floor with a thump.
“Oh my gosh, Rosemary. Are you okay?” he asked, kneeling next to her and tilting her head up.
Rosemary blinked away the flashing lights swarming her vision from every direction. “I think so.”
She tried to stand but sat back down when the room started to spin.
Max cradled her head. “Hold still and let me look into your eyes.”
Rosemary thought this was an odd time for Max to flirt with her, but she’d go with it. She kissed
him softly. “Yuck. Why do you taste like peppermint candy canes?”
“Ah, Miles? What’s going on?” asked another Max at the end of the hallway.
“She kissed me,” the man holding her said defensively.
Her eyes blinked their way down the hall to where the second Max stood. “Wait, Max, why are
you over there?” Her head grew all cloudy and her words didn’t seem to come out right. “I’m seeing
two of you.”
The Max holding her laughed.
“This isn’t funny, Miles,” said the second Max.
“You’re right, but it kind of is,” the man holding her said. “She thinks she’s seeing double.”
“Miles?” she asked. Now it was starting to come back to her. Man, these guys knew how to block.
“Do you think I have a concussion?”
“Possibly. We’ll have to watch you,” said Max. At least, she thought it was Max, but she wasn’t
about to try and tell them apart right now. That would take more brainpower than she currently had
access to. She’d call them both Max.
“But I need to be at church in fifteen minutes,” she said.
“I admire your dedication, but you’re not going anywhere. Miles can take the girls to church
today. I can read to you from the Bible, if that will alleviate any guilt for missing church. The most
important thing for you to do right now is rest.”
“You’d read to me when I’m sick?”
“I’d do a lot more than read to you,” he said, taking her from Miles’s arms and carrying her up the
stairs as if she were a delicate flower.
“I’m not a flower,” she said.
“You’re not, huh?” he said with a chuckle. “I think you may have hit your head harder than we
thought. I may need to call Doctor Chopra.”
“I don’t want chakra. I’ve tried that whole Reiki thing with the magnetic rocks, and it doesn’t
work.”
“No. Chopra,” he corrected her. “He’s a doctor from India. He’s amazing. He’ll make a house call
day or night.”
“You have an on-call doctor?”
“Beats the emergency room.” Max laid Rosemary gently into her bed. “How’re you feeling now?”
“Great, just a little sleepy. I think I’ll take a nap.”
“That’s the one thing you shouldn’t do.”
“But you said I need to rest.”
“At least your memory’s good,” he stated, sitting next to her on her bed. “But you need to rest
without sleeping. Do you want to watch a movie?” He pointed to the television screen on the wall.
“Or I could read to you. Or we could go skinny-dipping.”
She hit his arm. “Stop it.”
“Just checking to see if you were still with me, or if you were thinking you were a flower again.”
“No, I didn’t think I was a flower. You make me feel like I’m as weightless and beautiful as a
flower.”
Max cleared his throat. “You sure you don’t want to go skinny-dipping?”
He had no idea how adorable he was—or maybe he did. She smiled.
He pulled his phone out of his pocket and turned on the light. “Can you look at me, please? I need
to make sure that your pupils constrict when I shine a light in them. And by the way, you kissed the
wrong guy earlier.”
“You sure about that?” she teased.
“I hope that was a joke,” he said in all seriousness.
“It was, but it’s so easy to get a rise out of you, I can’t seem to help myself.”
“So, what you’re trying to say is that you can’t seem to stay away from me because of my animal
magnetism?”
Rosemary tilted her chin up and howled like a wolf. On her second howl, Max joined her with his
own howl. On their third howl together, the bedroom door flew open.
“Are you kids okay in here?” asked Miles as the twins, then Mason, stumbled in behind him.
“What are y’all doing?” asked Millie.
“Nothing,” said Max, looking from side to side like he had no idea what she was talking about.
“What are you doing?”
Mazy rolled her eyes. “And you think my friends are immature and silly?”
Rosemary leaned into Max and whispered, “Is my face red?” knowing full well her face was
scarlet due to how toasty her cheeks had become.
“Not at all,” he said emphatically.
She couldn’t contain her giggles. He’d done it again. He’d turned her into the airheaded groupie
who couldn’t help but smile and swoon when he looked at her.
After a few more minutes of banter and giggles, Rosemary glanced at the doorway. She’d gotten
so distracted with Max that she hadn’t noticed his family leave.
“So, what are you planning for our Valentine’s date?” she asked with a bat of her lashes.
“Kissing all day.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “And then kissing some more. You sure you want to
wait until Valentine’s Day? That’s four days away, and my lips are right here, right now.”
If only Max knew how much she wanted to kiss him. She’d learned several new ways to kiss from
Annie’s book, and she needed to try a few. She’d decided to take Annie’s advice and at least try to
spit a few romance ideas onto some paper to curb her guilt. Lately, when the girls worked on their
homework at the table, Rosemary would pull out her laptop and read or write a little.
It was difficult not to kiss Max with all the kissing that was happening in Annie’s book. But she
had kissed him today, only it turned out to be his brother. Luckily, she didn’t feel anything with the
peck she’d given Miles. At least she’d never have to worry about any possible attraction to his
identical twin. Max was the only one she had eyes for.
 10

R osemary woke with a happy moan as she breathed in the aroma of bacon and fresh-
squeezed orange juice. She rolled over in bed and stretched. If only this could last
forever. She knew it couldn’t, but she planned to enjoy every last minute she had left with
the Moore family. She’d spent the past week with them and loved everything about them, from their
quirky sense of humor, to their work and study habits, to their deep gratitude for life and love of God.
She grabbed her phone from the bedside table and brought up her calendar app out of habit. Ever
since she’d botched taking the girls to church, she’d promised herself she’d be on top of every
activity. She was shocked at how much driving was involved in raising teenagers. Most of the girls’
activities and study groups happened around the same time, but not always. Rosemary found herself in
the car more than on her feet some days.
Rosemary’s heart leapt when she saw that today was Valentine’s Day, her day off to spend with
Max.
Three taps at her door pulled her back to reality. “Come in,” she said with a yawn.
“Happy Valentine’s Day!” exclaimed Max, walking in with a silver tray that held a clear crystal
plate loaded with fried eggs and toast. It was paired with a tall glass of orange juice and a crystal
vase that contained a single red rose.
“Thank you. This looks scrumptious,” she said, sitting up and wiggling her back against the
padded headboard.
Max reached down and gave her a soft kiss, stealing her breath away.
When she regained her faculties, she sighed. “I’m excited for today.” She took a bite of her eggs.
“What do you have planned for us?”
“I thought I told you: lots of kissing.”
She laughed. “Well, that goes without saying. What should I wear to this kissing fest?”
He looked up at the ceiling and then back down at her. “Something sturdy that you don’t mind
getting dirty.”
“We’re going horseback riding?” she asked with excitement.
“No. I thought about that, but riding is something we can do anytime.”
“Is the press going to be there?”
“There’ll be one news outlet at each location so we don’t get overrun, but at the same time we’re
able to control the information the press receives.”
“Smart,” she said. “Then the public will have to go to a few sources to get our full date. That way
you stay on the press’s good side by not playing favorites.”
“How do you know the political side of the media so well?”
 Rosemary swallowed hard, trying to dismiss the question with a shrug. That comment could have
given her away. She found herself slipping, letting him see the real Rosemary, and that was
dangerous. This was all a farce, and she couldn’t mourn the loss of what wasn’t hers. She needed to
guard her heart better.
Over the last few days, she’d been able to keep her feelings for Max in check by focusing on
Mazy and Millie and her own writing. But today, not falling more in love with this guy would be
tough to avoid, especially considering she wanted a carefree, blissful day with him. It was Valentine’s
Day, after all. She’d make an exception just for today, allowing herself to feel.
“Can you be ready in half an hour?” he asked, biting off a piece of her toast. “Our first stop is in
the city.”
“How about forty-five? I need to make sure I have the right flavor of lip gloss,” she said, reaching
up and laying a wet kiss on him.
She let him kiss her back for a minute, then hopped out of bed with a wink and sprinted for the
shower with a piece of toast in her hand.
An hour and a half later, Rosemary coughed out the soot-laden air particles from her lungs as they
stood outside a warehouse door in an industrial section of Dallas. “Paintball?” she asked.
“Good guess, but no,” he said with a smile that told her she’d just have to wait.
The door opened to reveal a portly middle-aged man in black overalls. He led them through a
hallway lined with shelves loaded down with an assortment of colorful glass art.
Rosemary grabbed Max’s arm. “Are you taking me through a glass art museum?”
“In a way.”
“What does that mean?” she asked as they turned a corner and entered a room with long wooden
benches that faced a fiery oven spanning the length of the wall. The heat from the oven warmed her
instantly. On the far wall were clear glass containers filled with an assortment of colorful glass
beads. “Glass!” she exclaimed like a child walking a in a candy store for the first time.
“Yes, glass,” he laughed out.
“I’ve always wanted to blow glass.”
“Technically, we’re going to pull glass. They told me that glassblowing is a four-week course.”
Rosemary took a seat on the front bench closest to the oven and smiled for the cameraman. “I
would’ve never guessed you’d bring me here. This is amazing!” she said, eager to get started.
She listened attentively during the presentation led by a man in black overalls, who taught them
how to safely pull and stretch the glass without going blind or suffering life-threatening burns. Turned
out glass forming was a dangerous hobby.
By the end of workshop, Rosemary was pumped to pull the glass blob into an ornamental bowl.
They had a choice of forming a stick flower or a bowl out of the hot malleable glass that turned to a
gummy blob at the end of an iron stick when it reached close to three thousand degrees. Max chose to
pull the blob into a flower, and Rosemary chose to create a multicolored bowl.
Rosemary was up. An employee led her to a swivel stool in front of an iron rotisserie mechanism
she’d imagine a pig being roasted on, but instead of a pig, it held a blob of molten glass that could
burn through her skin in an instant. She pressed her feet into the cement floor so she wouldn’t twist. A
swivel stool didn’t seem like the best option, considering the circumstances.
She took in a hearty breath and spun the skewer with one hand while using the metal tongs with
her other hand to pull and shape the glass as she’d been instructed. The rubbery glass was more
difficult to pull than she’d anticipated. Even with all her strength, she could barely pull it out by a few
centimeters.
 “Max, can I borrow your strength for a minute, please?” she begged. “And quick?” Time was of
the essence. She had less than a minute to form her glass before the temperature would drop too low.
“You got it, but there are no other stools.” Max’s eyes shot around the room, ultimately resting on
a bench. Without hesitation, he pulled the bench over with one long chalkboard-worthy screech and
sat directly behind her.
Her heart pounded and her breath quickened as his strong arms and thighs molded to her sides. He
quickly grabbed the tongs from her hand and began pulling the glass blob with short steady pulls as
she spun the skewer slowly. Within seconds, it resembled a colorful, oversized ashtray. Max handed
the tongs off to an employee and rested his arms at his sides.
“Yes!” Rosemary shouted and spun her stool around to face him. “We did it,” she said, holding his
face in his hands and kissing him with all of her excitement.
When Max returned her kiss, Rosemary’s arms slid along the sides of his neck until her forearms
rested across the back of his shoulders. She swam in his irresistible kisses for as long as possible,
releasing a disappointed sigh when he pulled back from her.
“Now, that’s what I call a hot date,” he said, giving her a slow wink.
“And that type of talk is exactly what I’d expect from a literary genius such as yourself.”
“Shall we go to our next appointment?” he asked, standing and offering his hand to help her off
her stool. “It’ll be a wild one.”
“Can’t wait.” She took his hand and hopped to her feet. “Show me the way to the wild side.”
Fifteen minutes later, they pulled into the parking lot of the Dallas Zoo.
“Wild encounters?” Rosemary asked. “I haven’t been to the zoo since I was a kid. I can’t wait,”
she said, bouncing up and down in her seat. “When’s the last time you were here?”
“It’s been a few years. Millie and Mazy loved the zoo up until they turned about ten.”
Rosemary sometimes forgot how Max and his brothers had raised their sisters. What an amazing
sacrifice. She examined his profile. How could one man be so perfect? And she wasn’t talking about
his looks.
“What do you want to go see first?” he asked.
“The cafeteria,” she said, holding her stomach.
“Really? You don’t want to just steal the giraffes’ apples?”
“Are we feeding the giraffes?” She rubbed her hands together. “I’ve always wanted to do that.”
“Shoot,” he said, pulling up to the curb at some sort of back entrance she’d never been to. “That
was going to be a surprise.” He turned off the engine but left the keys in his car.
“I don’t think this is the parking lot,” she said as he opened her door and extended out his hand to
her.
“No. It’s valet parking.”
She wrinkled her brow. “They have valet parking at the zoo?”
“They do today,” he said with a laugh.
A young woman dressed in a tan zoo uniform walked up to them. “Welcome to the zoo, Mr.
Moore, ma’am. Please, follow me,” she said, leading the way down the sidewalk. “I’m Candace, and
I’ll be your guide this afternoon.”
The closest Rosemary had ever come to a personal guide was the self-guided app on her phone,
which had led her through the Notre Dame in Paris and the Colosseum in Italy on the European hostel
trip she’d taken with Annie during a spring break in college. “So this is the life of the crazy rich?” she
asked quietly to herself, but her voice carried surprisingly well in the wind.
Max threaded his fingers through hers with one hand while he scratched his chin with the other.
“Was that sarcasm? Would you rather go someplace expensive?”
Her breath caught in her chest. “That’s not what I meant,” she stammered. “You know I love this.
Can’t you tell?”
His brows furrowed. “No.”
“That’s because I’m starving. I talk crazy when I’m hungry. Feed me and the craziness goes
away.”
“Candace,” Max said to their guide, “could we eat first, please? I’ve heard that the only way to
calm a crazed wild animal is to feed her. Does that sound about right to you?
Rosemary punched him in the arm. “I’ll show you a crazy wild animal.”
“Promise,” he said with a seductive grin.
After they’d settled into Candace’s golf cart, Rosemary snuggled her head into Max’s arm. Dang,
how would she keep herself from touching and kissing him tomorrow when she became the nanny
again? She couldn’t fathom the day when she’d have to say goodbye to him and his family. She
refused to let her mind go to that dreary place. She’d stay in the blissful present until her day of
reckoning arrived—when she’d have to tell Max and his family that she wasn’t who she’d claimed to
be.
Rosemary’s phone vibrated her pants pocket as they bumped their way through the safari. She
laughed inside at how slowly they moved, in and out of the throngs of people. It would have been
quicker to walk. She removed her phone and held it low at her side on the other side of her thigh and
away from Max’s eyes. Her eyes scanned the text.
It was from her editor, Ginger. I’ll expect something scintillating from you by Monday morning.
Keep us employed. No pressure.
“Someone trying to find you?” asked Max.
Rosemary held the phone out in front of her and showed him the text. “It’s my editor. I need to
have a rough draft to her by Monday.”
“Ginger? I like the name.”
“Ginger, or as I like to affectionately call her, the Grim Reaper, who will someday pull me
through the veil of death to my day of reckoning. Personally, I think Grim Reaper suits her better than
Ginger.”
Max released a low whistle while his eyes registered fear. “Remind me not to pressure you with
deadlines.”
Rosemary snuggled her head back into his arm with a sigh of contentment. “Don’t pressure me
with deadlines.”
Max chuckled. “Is that my reminder?”
“Yep.”
As Rosemary snuggled into Max’s side, breathing in his earthy cedar scent, she knew she couldn’t
give Ginger exactly what she wanted, or she would be betraying the man she was falling for. But if
she didn’t come up with a good story, she would be shirking her duty to her employer, who had
shelled out a quarter of a million dollars to get her there. She closed her eyes and took in a deep
breath. She would worry about the hell she would get later. Right now, she was in heaven.
 11

F ive days later, Rosemary sat in bed with her laptop warming her lap as she scrolled
through Ginger’s notes on the piece she’d submitted. Ginger’s “corrections” were
negative commentary, not edits. After Rosemary had finished reviewing the third page
of belligerent rants, she needed clarification.
She pressed the voice activation button on her phone. “Call the Grim Reaper.”
“You’re killing me, George,” answered Ginger on the third ring. “I can’t send this rubbish to
print.”
“Rubbish? What are you talking about?” It took her complete effort for Rosemary to keep her
voice calm. The piece she’d written on Max had been spot on. It contained every detail of their
Valentine’s date, down to the most minute details, including when the baby elephant wrapped his trunk
around Max’s midsection and gave his behind a little pat. It was the most adorable thing.
Rosemary stood and paced around her bedroom. It was a good thing she hadn’t told Ginger she
was currently on Max’s payroll. “Ginger, please just read it again and tell me how it can be improved
instead of dismissing the entire thing. People are going to want to know where someone like Max
would take his date and how he’d treat her.”
“What the readers want is dirt. If they can’t get dirt, they might settle for a gorgeous
multimillionaire who gives a woman every comfort and fantasy. Your article was neither. It was a
third-person, boring day in the life of Joe Schmoe strolling through the zoo. If you want to sell this as
personal, you need to make it personal. Give me dirt or give me personal heartache.”
“This is personal!” Rosemary almost shouted, but she knew she’d taken it too far with her editor.
What’s worse, she’d possibly revealed her affection for Max. “I’ll take another look at it and see how
I can tweak it. I’ll have a revised doc to you by tomorrow.”
“Are you still seeing him?”
Yes, about six hours a day. “Max?”
“Yes, of course Max.”
“Yeah, we still get together, but more as friends right now.”
“Then I’ll allow this piece to push through with a few edits to spice it up, but only with the
anticipation of a follow-up article. They always fall harder when they’ve been raised to great heights.
I’ll let you put him on a pedestal, Rosemary, but the next one had better rip that pedestal down. How
long will it take you to get that to me?”
“Um. I think he’s on a pretty tight schedule between his workouts and mentoring youth, but I
should be able to have that for you in a month or so. I’ll also need to continue to work remotely
because he thinks I’m living close by. I may stay in McKenny for the next few weeks until I can get
what you need.”
“Georgie,” Ginger said with an apologetic sigh. “I know you have greatness in you. You’ve
written amazing articles for me in the past. You’re talented and smart. I think you know exactly what
it will take to make an article on the Moore family sing to the masses. Please write it.”
“I will.” But what would she write? The man was perfect.
“And Georgie?”
“Yes?”
“If the next article doesn’t sing, those will be the last words you write for this publication.”
Rosemary clenched her fists and stomped around the bedroom. Talking to Ginger had given her a
pain in her stomach. Perhaps some food would help. She couldn’t remember when she’d eaten last.
The knots she’d had in her back all day slowly unwound as she stepped down the stairs and
glided along the slippery wood floor. She shuffled her fuzzy slippers down the hallway, still irritated
with Ginger but relieved she didn’t need to revise the article.
She glanced down at her leopard-print pajama pants as she stepped into the kitchen. She’d also
not taken a shower yet. When she needed to finish a manuscript or get a revised document out quick,
what other people sometimes considered necessities, like a shower and food, were nothing more than
a luxury that could wait. And a hot shower after breakfast to pound out the remaining tense muscles in
her back and neck sounded amazing.
Rosemary wasn’t surprised to find the kitchen quiet, considering it was midmorning. The guys
would be lifting weights in their gym, and the twins would be at school. Rosemary pulled the toaster
out of the cabinet and slipped a bagel in.
The garage door buzzed open and a flurry of rapid footsteps and giggles approached the kitchen.
Rosemary had just begun smoothing cream cheese over her bagel when Millie, Mazy, and three
friends bounced into the kitchen.
“Girls!” Rosemary said with surprise. “I’m so glad you’re home. Did you bring your friends home
for an early lunch? I can make you some sandwiches.”
Millie stepped forward. “Rosemary, it’s three thirty.”
“Three thirty!” Rosemary repeated in awe. “That explains why I’m so hungry. Are you hungry? I
like to have something healthy waiting for you when you get home from school.”
The girls laughed. “Haven’t you eaten today?” asked Mazy.
“No,” answered Rosemary. “I was planning on it after I dropped you off at school, but then I just
went back into my room, slipped back on my pajamas, and sort of lost track of time. That happens
sometimes when I’m writing or editing, but not when you girls are around. That time is yours.”
“You write?” asked a girl with long blonde hair.
“Yes,” Rosemary said with pride, straightening her back.
A redhead with a million freckles grabbed a banana from the fruit bowl and struggled to peel it.
“What do you write?”
“She writes romance,” Mazy answered.
The three visiting friends gave each other a knowing smile and nodded. “Your sister is so cool,”
said the redhead. “She wears pajama pants all day and writes romance? Do you think she’ll tell us
how to get a boy to—”
The girl froze when Max entered the room. Rosemary froze too, but for different reasons. Max
was dressed in tan boots, relaxed jeans, and a cowboy hat. She’d never seen him dress country
before. She had to blink and look away to keep herself from walking over and kissing him; country
suited him.
 Excitement coursed through her veins with the anticipation that he might take her horseback riding.
She’d tried on several occasions to get him to take her riding, but he’d always come up with an
excuse not to go.
“No,” said Max to the girls. “Don’t ask her any questions. She plays sane, but have you seen her
hair today? Never ask a crazy lady for advice.”
Rosemary patted the messy bun on top of her head. It was held in place with two of her favorite
clicky pens. “I resemble that remark,” she said defensively.
Max tilted his head to the side and twisted his lips. “Don’t you mean you resent that remark?”
“No,” she said, removing the pens and shaking out her hair. “I meant it like I said it. I really do
resemble that remark.”
“You’re one of a kind, Rosemary.” Max laughed. “You feeling okay today?” His nose scrunched
when he asked her. He slowly took a step closer, as if she were a wild animal that might tear into him
if he made the wrong move. “I almost came in your room earlier when I heard yelps of sorrow
followed by foot stomping, but then I remembered you had a call scheduled with your editor. I’ve
heard that when writers get their works back from their editors, it can be an emotionally trying day for
them.”
Trying day was an understatement. It was more like having her toenails pulled out while being
forced to listen to polka music. “It’s nothing,” she said, tossing her hands out by her wrists, then
clapped. “It’s all good. Which reminds me, do you mind if I invite a friend of mine to come stay for a
few days? She’s a romance author and she’s dying to come visit.”
“Absolutely. We’d love to have her, but you mean she’s a romance author as well,” he corrected
her.
“Right.” She needed to be more careful with how she worded things. “We’ve been writing friends
since we were kids, and I want her to look at something I’m working on.”
“Does she need an airline ticket?”
“Not necessary. You look like you’re ready to go kick up some dust. Are you going riding today?”
“I’m headed over to my buddy’s ranch. He runs a horse camp for kids with Down syndrome.”
Rosemary placed a hand over her heart. “That’s so sweet.”
“The kids are the sweet ones, but they won’t be there today. We’ll be preparing the camp to open
for the spring/summer season. Would you like to come help?”
“Yes! Wait. I need to look at the girls’ schedule.”
Millie waved her away. “We’re hanging here with friends. You go have fun.”
“I can’t wait! I haven’t been on a horse since I visited Annie at her family’s dairy farm in
Wisconsin.”
“Annie?” asked Max.
“My writer friend has horses on her family farm, but it’s been awhile since she’s been riding.
Would you mind if we take the horses out when she comes to visit?”
His face scrunched into a pained expression.
Rosemary bit her lip. She hadn’t meant to pressure him. “Don’t worry about—”
“Of course. I’ll have the vet give them a checkup this week and make sure they’re good to ride.”
Rosemary left the kitchen with the bagel in her hand, making a mental note to find out why Max
avoided his horses.
 12

M ax crouched down, ignoring the annoyed look Millie gave him, and reviewed the
suitcases that his sisters had placed in the front entry.
“When’s your flight?” he asked while he checked the zippers on Millie’s suitcase
to make sure they were fully closed. He smiled, remembering one flight when the contents of her
suitcase had come up the belt of the baggage carousel one pair of shorts at a time. Ever since then, he
checked their bags before every flight. “Do you remember when we landed in Cancun and all the stuff
from your suitcase was strewn across basically the entire baggage claim?”
“That was such a fun family trip.” Millie placed her hand on his shoulder. “Thanks for checking
my bag, but don’t worry. Things will be great here, and we’ll only be gone for the weekend. And
Rosemary’s friend is coming. You won’t even know we’re gone.”
Max must have looked as somber as he felt. “I want y’all to have fun. What do you have
planned?”
“I think Miles is going to a team party tonight for the Patriots, and Mason’s taking us to look for
houses after his job interview.” She said it as if Mason were taking them to the candy store to pick out
a candy stick, but instead of a candy stick, he was buying them a house.
Her sense of entitlement shouldn’t have surprised him. He was the one who had allowed his
sisters to basically design the home he’d built. He’d paid for the home, but it had been built with his
entire family in mind. It was supposed to keep them safe and together, at least until the girls went to
college. Parents were supposed to raise their kids until they were at least eighteen. With the twins
turning sixteen over the summer, he should have had over two more years with them.
“Max, everything okay?” asked Millie.
Max jumped up from his crouched position. “Yeah. Your zippers are all good.”
“Are you all good? You seem sad.”
He nodded and pulled her into a hug. “Maybe you’ll hate Atlanta and decide to stay with me.” He
patted her back. “I’m suddenly not so sad anymore.”
She looked up at him with sympathy. “You’ll get through this.”
“How old are you again? Like, fifty?”
“I’m fifty times faster than you,” she said with attitude.
He cocked an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Race you to the kitchen for ice cream.”
“You’re on.” She took off at a sprint. “With a ten-second handicap.”
“No way,” he said, allowing her a three-second head start.
They plowed into the kitchen, laughing. Millie set out for the ice cream and Max for the bowls.
Miles, Mason, and Mazy were at the kitchen table, swiping at their phones.
 “Ice cream sundae time. No phones,” said Millie.
“It’s eight o’clock in the morning,” said Mason. “My breakfast hasn’t even settled in my stomach
yet.”
Millie widened her eyes and stared her family down, as if everyone had better listen to her. “We
won’t be here with Max for our normal Saturday night sundaes tomorrow, so we’re doing it now,” she
said with authority.
The delinquents set their phones down, all except for Miles. He rubbed his chin. “I found this
article about you, Max.”
“Me?” asked Max, not entirely surprised. There were plenty of articles about him circulating out
there.
“And you,” said Miles, pointing to Rosemary as she stepped into the room.
“Did I do something?” she asked.
Miles held up his phone. “This article was written by a George Eliot.”
Max tapped his metal spoon on the granite countertop, trying to remember the author who used
that pen name. She wrote the Deronda something or other that he’d enjoyed reading. “Mary Ann
Evans!” he shouted, pointing his spoon at them. “Looks like all those years in the college classroom
weren’t a complete waste of time.” He raised his eyes only to see his brothers’ scowls. To make
amends, he pulled his arm around Millie’s shoulder and said, “Education is the most important thing,
Millie. Second only to football. Remember that.”
Millie rolled her eyes and held out the first bowl of ice cream to Rosemary, but Rosemary didn’t
take it. She simply stared at Miles’s phone.
“Rosemary, do you want some ice cream?” asked Millie.
“Yum,” said Rosemary, but she didn’t take the bowl. She walked over to the table, sat across from
Miles, and brought her knees up and into her chest.
Rosemary intrigued Max. She was so pragmatic one minute, then lost in an artistic world of
whimsical fantasy the next.
“I think Rosemary is hoping you’ll tell her about the article,” said Mason.
“Right,” said Miles. “It details your Valentine’s date. You know what’s interesting?” he said,
tapping his foot while he and Rosemary exchanged a look. “It’s not your typical George Eliot.”
“It’s not?” asked Rosemary.
“No. I like to read his articles. They have this dark humor that tends to be directed at popular
sports figures.” Miles scratched his chin. “This article almost deifies you, Max.”
“Well, that’s not surprising,” said Max with a wide grin.
Miles shifted in his chair. “It is when you consider who the columnist is and what he’s always
written in the past.”
“Maybe the magazine is turning a new leaf,” suggested Rosemary.
“Maybe,” said Miles. “George Eliot is hilarious, but he doesn’t have a clue when it comes to
sports. It’s almost like he’s never seen or played a game of football before. What man has never
played a game of football as a kid?” He slapped a palm down on the table and jumped up. “Y’all
ready to get to the airport?”
“Maybe this columnist isn’t a man,” said Max. “George Eliot wasn’t a man.”
“Not a man, huh?” said Miles, staring at Rosemary while he took a huge scoop of ice cream and
shoved it into his mouth. “That would make sense why she’s so in love with you, then.”
Rosemary coughed.
Max laughed. “Where have you been, Miles? All women are in love with me.” Max wished he
were joking. Half the time it felt amazing to have women faint over him. The other half was absolute
torture. And it wasn’t like he could put on some sunglasses and blend in. Giants like him didn’t blend,
ever. But Miles knew all about that; he and Mason were just as sought after as Max. “What’s going on
with you today, Miles? Are you stressed about the trip and meeting the Patriots?”
“That must be it,” said Miles, rubbing his forehead. “Time to hit the road.”

ROSEMARY LEFT Max to his ice cream and followed his family outside, staying close behind Miles.
When he separated from the others to walk around the car to jump in the driver’s seat, Rosemary
grabbed his arm. “I need to talk to you.”
“No. You need to talk to Max.” His eyes left hers and scanned his surroundings as if he didn’t
want anyone to hear. “But wait until we’re driving back from the airport.”
Miles baffled Rosemary at every turn. He knew she’d written the article. He’d as much as told her
he knew she was the infamous George Eliot, so why would he not want her to tell Max yet? It would
eat her up inside to wait. “What? That’s not until Sunday night. I can’t wait that long, or I should
leave.”
Miles leveled his eyes with hers. “Trust me. Wait. Stay.”
Her predicament was humbling, but not that humbling. “What am I, a dog?” She clicked her
tongue, but her humor waned when she thought about how she’d have to tell Max how she had
purchased the date. “Don’t answer that. I kinda feel like a dog right now.”
Miles laughed and gave her a hug. “I’m guessing I won’t see you Sunday. Good luck.”
Good luck with what, exactly? she wanted to ask him. Sunday night would be the last time she’d
ever speak to Max. As she waved goodbye to the Moores, she realized it was most likely the last time
she’d see them. The guilt tore her up inside. She didn’t know how she’d get through the weekend
knowing her secret was out and unable to own it.
The faint, high-pitched yelps of a playful puppy echoed in the distance. Annie had come. All
would be well.
“Now, there’s a celebrity if I ever saw one!” shouted Annie, strolling up the red cobblestone
driveway with a backpack slung around her back while grasping tight to a tiny doggie carrying case.
“Annie!” Rosemary wrapped her arms around her. “Where’s your ride?” she laughed out. “Max’s
driveway is, like, a mile long.”
Annie’s shoulder-length hair was woven in shades of golden brown and blonde. The gold strands
sparkled in the morning sunlight as she tilted her face up to meet the sky. She exaggerated a deep
inhale. “I told the guy to drop me off at the driveway entrance so I could experience this area as if it
were the first time I’d ever smelled a Texan flower, or heard the wind whistle through these
magnificent trees.”
Rosemary smiled. “And what did the driver say?”
Annie tsked her tongue. “He said I still needed to pay the full fare, then told me to get out.”
Rosemary held back a laugh. “And did that cantankerous confrontation influence what you smelled
or heard on your walk?”
Annie glanced to her side, then back up at Rosemary. “As a matter of fact, yes. The only thing I
smelled were fumes from a car that came speeding by and almost knocked me off the road.”
“That car was the Moore family leaving for the weekend.”
 “What?” Annie exclaimed, her voice laced with accusation. “I thought this was going to be an
epic weekend for me to compile some fresh material.”
“You must be Annie,” said Max, walking up to them. “How fresh do you like it? Because I can go
take a shower right now.”
“Confident,” said Annie. “I like that, and so will my readers.”
“You’re not going to try and be all clandestine?” asked Max.
“Maybe someday. But not today. You know I write romance. That only works on the unsuspecting.
People tend to guard themselves when they hear I’m an author. But by your reaction and open manner,
I’d say this will be an advantageous weekend for me.”
“Glad to be of service,” Max said, holding out his hand to shake Annie’s.
Annie ignored his hand and hugged him.
“Are you sniffing me?” he asked.
“What?” Annie asked, pulling out of his arms. “Why would I sniff you?” She turned to Rosemary
and winked.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” said Rosemary, remembering why she loved being with Annie so
much. Annie kept Rosemary in stitches. “Come on. You can drop your stuff in our room, then I’ll show
you around.”
Max said, “If y’all want to meet me at the stables in fifteen minutes, I’ll introduce you to my
horses.” He glanced up at the sky.
Rosemary followed his eyes. Thin white clouds swirled around the sun, lending the skies a
hallowed, celestial appearance. “Looks like a beautiful morning for a ride.”
Annie did a little enthusiastic hop. She never was able to hold in her excitement. “Yes! I haven’t
been riding in months.”
Rosemary blinked, warding off the shock of Max offering that his horses be ridden, and asked,
“Are you sure that’s okay?”
“They haven’t been ridden since my parents died, but I had their vet check them out and they’re
fine to be ridden. It’s time,” he said in an easygoing manner with a quick smile. “I’ll head over now
and get them saddled.”
Rosemary’s chest fell as all the air left her lungs. Her heart ached for Max and for what he would
soon learn. “Are you coming with us?” asked Rosemary.
“No. I need my workout, but I’ll take y’all to lunch after, if you’re still up for the company,” he
said with a wave while he walked around the corner to the backyard.
Rosemary reached down and took Annie’s little doggie carrier from her. “Hello, Mr. Famous,”
she cooed to the adorable black-and-gold mini terrier cuddled up in a ball on his argyle blanket.
“Rosemary, what’s up with you?” asked Annie.
“What do you mean? I always talk to dogs.”
Annie removed her shoes in the front entry and set her backpack down. “Not that. You’re into
Max. It’s written in bold letters all over your face. And he has the serious hots for you. Why aren’t
you all over that guy?” she said, pinching Rosemary’s arm.
“Ow!” Rosemary whined, rubbing her arm. “It’s complicated. Can I get you a glass of water? Or
do you want to change before our ride?”
Annie grabbed the sides of her bib overalls and gave them a shake. “You’re never more ready for
a ride than in your overalls.” She placed a hand on her hip. “Explain complicated.”
Rosemary set the doggie carrier with the sleeping puppy down at the entrance to the kitchen. “I
have told you. I’m not only the nanny in his eyes, but I’m also here undercover to dig up dirt on him
and his family so I can write a sensational piece on them.” Rosemary’s eyes dropped to the hardwood
floor and she shook her head. “I’m not a good person.”
“Say that again and see how hard I pinch you.” Annie sat at the kitchen counter. “Is this granite?”
“Marble.”
“It’s gorgeous,” said Annie, tracing her fingers along the gray swirls in the white marble. So, what
have you dug up so far?”
Rosemary set a glass of water down on the counter in front of Annie. “Not a lot. These aren’t
people who preach one thing and live another. They’re kind, generous, patient.”
“Everyone has their flaws, even the Moore family. It’s what makes us human.” Annie wiggled her
eyebrows. “And so fun to write about.”
“Seriously, I can’t think of one thing that would qualify as scandalous here. They even got me into
a church.”
“What?” Annie exclaimed with a wide smile and leaned into her elbows with eyes that begged for
more information. “That is something. Do I hear church bells in the future for you two?”
“Stop.” Rosemary waved a hand to dismiss Annie’s comment, but it flustered her enough that she
needed to take a long sip of ice water before she continued. “But seriously, this family has something
unique. I’ve known so many people who, you know, pretend to live an honest life, but not the Moores.
They aren’t pretending. There’s a feeling here in this house, and I think it’s them, because anywhere I
go with them, especially to their church, it’s like this peace and happiness follows them around.”
Rosemary scrunched up her face, hoping she didn’t sound a little kooky. “Is that strange?”
“Peculiar. To the world, what you’re saying would be bizarre, but to God and people of faith, it’s
peculiar, and that’s something very different. But there has to be something about this family that’s
secretive or scandalous that you’re not telling me.” She paused and stared Rosemary down, bringing
all her insecurities to the surface. “What are you hiding? I’ve known you since you were twelve, and I
can tell when you’re keeping something from me.”
Rosemary sighed with relief. She finally had someone to confide in. “I’ll tell you on our ride.”
 13

“C an I come in now?” Rosemary begged from the other room. “I’m starving and that smells
amazing.”
“Just another minute!” shouted Max as he placed the softened butter and fresh warm rolls on the
table.
To say he didn’t cook was like saying the earth was round. It was a simple fact. He’d never
cooked a real meal—not until tonight. He could read and he could follow directions, so he’d
combined those two abilities for the first time to prepare a full five-course dinner.
He walked over to the pot of clam chowder and dipped his spoon in. It tasted just like Kira’s
Steak and Seafood, the restaurant he’d gotten the recipe from yesterday. He’d stopped by Kira’s and
told the manager that he loved their clam chowder and asked if he could get the recipe. To thank her,
he gave the manager a signed autograph and agreed to pose with her for another photograph to be hung
on their wall.
Next, he plated the spinach and arugula salad. Against his better judgment, but wanting to impress
Rosemary, he’d added candied walnuts, strawberries, and sweet poppyseed dressing. For the main
course, he’d grilled steak, roasted carrots, and mashed potatoes. Once plated, he placed the main
dishes in the warming drawer. He hadn’t even known his kitchen had a warming drawer until their
cook pointed it out to him that morning while he gave Max a few culinary pointers.
“Almost there!” said Max. It was the same trick companies used on him when they placed him on
hold, then assured him with a prerecorded message every minute or so that his call was important to
them.
“It’s been three minutes,” said Rosemary with an agitated lilt to her voice.
“It’ll be worth the wait. I promise.” At least, he hoped it would be worth the wait, because that
would mean he’d finally done something to impress her. The plan was to wow her so that she’d want
to date him more than be his sisters’ nanny. Either way, he’d know where she stood tonight. He
planned to make her an offer, an arrangement where she wouldn’t need to worry about living under
the same roof while they dated.
He opened the refrigerator and shook the crème brûlée in their little red ramekins to see if they’d
set. They jiggled like gelatin. He guessed that was a good sign. He leaned against the counter and
sighed, reveling in the sense of accomplishment he’d gained from making his first real meal.
He lit the tapered candles that spanned the table countertops, turned off the kitchen lights, and
walked out into the hallway, where he found Rosemary sitting on the floor with her back against the
wall, scrolling through news articles on her phone.
She smiled up at him timidly. “Your sisters just texted me. They’re on their way home from the
airport now.”
“Comfortable?” he asked with amusement, holding his hand out to help her up. “I thought you
were in the living room on the couch.”
“Too far.”
“I’d say,” he agreed, pulling her up and into a hug.
She made a happy squealing noise. “I can’t get enough of your hugs.” Rosemary snuggled her face
into his chest.
He savored how her warm breath traveled through his cotton T-shirt and hit his cool skin. “That’s
nice, because I can’t seem to get enough of you. Annie’s a hoot, and I’m glad she was able to come.
But I have to say, it’s been nice to have you all to myself since she left this morning.”
She tilted her head back and stared up at him with those big blue eyes of hers that had his mind
racing with thoughts he couldn’t verbalize. He lowered his face to hers with the intent of kissing her,
but she patted his chest and took a step back.
She lowered her eyes to the floor, took a breath, then looked at him with uncharacteristic sadness.
“I need to tell you something important.”
The way she’d said it, he knew she planned on saying something he didn’t want to hear. If he
could just get her fed and sweet-talk her through dinner, maybe her words would be more palatable to
them both. “Family rule: we don’t have any serious conversations until after we’ve finished our meal.
It has prevented more than one fistfight, not to mention countless other squabbles.”
“Okay,” she agreed. “Let’s eat.”
He took her delicate hand and rubbed the calluses on her wrist as he led her into the kitchen,
watching her intently to catch her reaction.
When her eyes found the table, they widened, and her bottom lip began to quiver.
“You like it?” he said with renewed hope.
“It’s absolutely breathtaking. You did this all by yourself?”
“You sound surprised.”
She reached up and touched his cheek with her open hand. “I shouldn’t be, but yes. Once again,
you’ve surprised me.”
He rubbed his hands together. “Wait until you taste what I’ve made for you,” he said, pulling her
chair out for her. “You run around all day helping my sisters, but not tonight. I want you to sit through
this meal and let me serve you, okay?
“Okay,” she acquiesced.
He ran to the fridge and was back at the table in seconds with a tray of raw oysters. “So, I didn’t
make these—they’re from Kira’s—but I cooked everything else.”
“Mm. Are these from the East or West Coast?”
“Yes,” he said with a smile and a nod. He sat in the chair across from her and raised an oyster in
the air to make a toast. “To us.”
Rosemary picked up an oyster and followed his lead. “God bless us, everyone,” she said in a
British accent.
“I was being serious,” he said with a straight face.
“You told me that your family doesn’t allow serious conversations at the dinner table. Or did I
misunderstand you?” Her brow rose to challenge him.
He slurped down his oyster and held a hand up in surrender. “I give. You are definitely the wiser
and smarter one.”
“What are you doing?” she said, squeezing lemon over her oyster. She then added a tiny dollop of
horseradish and carefully carved the oyster out of its shell with a tiny spoon.
“What am I doing? I’d like to know what you’re doing,” he said, following her lead by loading up
his oyster the same way she had. He’d never been a huge oyster guy, but he thought oysters might
impress Rosemary. Based on the smile that tickled her lips and lit her face after her first bite, he was
confident she liked them. He placed the loaded oyster in his mouth, but instead of swallowing it down
like he normally did to get it over as quickly as possible, he allowed the flavors to settle on his
tongue. The briny flavor mixed nicely with the horseradish. When he chewed, the flavor sweetened
slightly, lightening the experience to enjoyable. He’d never thought he’d enjoy oysters.
“What I meant was, why are you acting strange?” she asked as she loaded up her second oyster.
He stood to get their soup. “How am I acting strange? I hope you like clam chowder. Kira’s Steak
and Seafood has the best chowder in Dallas, so I got their recipe.”
“They gave you their recipe?” she said in disbelief. “Restaurants never do that.”
“They do when you’re Maximillian Moore, famous football star,” he said with a wink, placing her
soup bowl in front of her.
She pointed her spoon at him. “Now that’s the Max I know. Congratulations. You’re no longer
acting strange.”
He placed the back of his hand on his forehead and did a dramatic swipe. “Glad we cleared that
one up.”
She laughed. “You’re such a ham.”
“A ham you’d want to date if we didn’t live under the same roof?”
She placed her spoon down next to her bowl and lifted her eyes to him. “Can we have our serious
conversation now? Because I need to tell you something before you say anything else.”
Her response blasted his confidence, but he had no choice but to soldier on. “I’ll make you a
deal.” He swallowed hard. “Let me tell you my thoughts during dinner. Then you can tell me your
thoughts over dessert in the living room while I’m starting a fire.”
“Okay. What are you thinking?” she asked before taking a spoonful of her soup.
“It’s more of a proposal.”
Rosemary froze, her mouth gaping open. Her second spoonful of soup hovered halfway between
her bowl and her mouth.
“I didn’t mean it like that, not exactly,” he laughed out. “First, let me tell you why I think we need
to come up with a new arrangement.” He drank down a few spoonfuls of soup and pushed his bowl to
the side.
“And why is that?” she asked, copying him by pushing her bowl to the side and leaning forward.
His mind told him not to go on, but his heart didn’t listen. “Because I’m in love with you.”
Her eyes didn’t leave his until they started to mist. “I … I …” she stuttered.
He wasn’t sure how to read her reaction. “You don’t have to say it back to me, but I would like to
know if you think you might fall for me someday and if you want to try and make this work.”
Max gathered their bowls and placed them in the sink, then took the entrées out of the warming
tray and set them on the table. “We don’t need to talk,” he said, cutting into his steak. “Hold on. I
forgot the salad.” He ran to the fridge and brought out the salads.
“Thank you,” she said. “Everything has been delicious.”
He nodded, ignoring his salad and tearing into his steak without raising his eyes from his plate
until he’d finished. He glanced back up at Rosemary to find her still picking at her salad. He never
thought he’d be in the position of begging a woman to tell him how she felt about him. She was
everything he wanted.
 He hadn’t realized how deep his affection for Rosemary was until after his family had been gone
for two days. He felt a void when they weren’t around, but it wasn’t anything like how his heart ached
for Rosemary when she wasn’t at his side. Even when she was only a few feet away in the other
room, laughing with Annie, he longed to be with her. He knew now he could emotionally tackle his
family leaving, but the thought of Rosemary walking out the front door and never coming back placed
an insupportable pressure on his heart.
Rosemary set down her fork and burped, releasing the tension in the room. Her hand flew to her
mouth. She muffled out, “Excuse me.”
“Are you ready for dessert?” asked Max, scratching his chin as he stood.
Rosemary bit at her lower lip. “Almost. I need to run to my room. I’ll meet you in the living room
in a few minutes.”
Max slowly pulled the crème brûlée out of the fridge and set it onto the counter. He sprinkled
sugar over the top of the pudding and lit the small kitchen torch. As he waved the hot flame over the
sugar, he watched it bubble and transform to deep caramel brown. He had the haunting premonition
that his heart was about to be charred in a similar manner.
 14

R osemary sprinted to her room and slipped on her coat. She opened her Uber app and
requested a lift, then leaned against the wall and stared out into the backyard. The faint
crescent moon shone a faint light on her favorite section of the yard: the stables, the open
field, and the greenhouse where she’d walked every day for the past few weeks to clear her head and
gain inspiration.
She pressed her forehead against the cool windowpane and blew out a long, frustrated breath,
fogging up the glass. A hot tear slid down her cheek. She allowed the moisture to soak into her skin
and sting her face.
Max had told her he loved her, and she’d said nothing. She wanted nothing more than to shred the
folded piece of paper in her purse, run back downstairs, and throw herself into Max’s arms, but that
would just prolong the agony.
With resolve, Rosemary grabbed her two suitcases and carried them downstairs. She set her bags
in the front entry and forced herself to march to the living room. When she reached the second most
used room in the house, with its tan-colored shag carpet, three long distressed leather couches,
billiards table, mini library, and stone fireplace, she stood silently as Max bent down onto one knee
and stoked the wood fire. She knew in that moment that she would never meet another man as
masculine as Max.
Max looked up from his fire and caught Rosemary’s stare. “Why are you wearing your coat?” The
pain in his voice stabbed at her heart.
“I’m leaving,” she said, reaching into her purse and pulling out the envelope.
“You’ve been crying,” he stated, taking the envelope from her.
“That’s your parents’ postmortem toxicology report.”
His face blanched. “How?” he asked, staring down at the white envelope.
“It wasn’t easy. If someone dies of natural causes, as was documented in the case of your parents,
the reports are not referred to the coroner’s office and do not become public. I visited the laboratory
where the samples were tested to locate the toxicologist who’d performed your parents’ lab tests.”
Max tapped the edge of the envelope against the stone of the fireplace. “And they gave you this?”
“Reluctantly, yes. The medical examiner who wrote the report has passed away. I told them I was
a reporter who’d been assigned to investigate errors in lab results and—if they doubted me—to
review your parents’ toxicology reports. I further told them that I’d be willing to omit names of
individuals and the laboratory in my report. However, I mentioned that if I needed to get a subpoena
to access the record, then I would be obligated to name the source.”
“You couldn’t get a subpoena,” said Max in disbelief.
 “They didn’t know that.”
He added a dry log to the fire. “You blackmailed them?”
“I prefer to call it … persuasive dialogue.”
Max’s brows knitted together. “Why did you tell them you’re a reporter?”
Rosemary steadied her breath. “I’ve been lying to you, Max. I was sent to the auction by my
employer, The Daily Sun. They paid for our date with the expectation that I would write a sensational
piece on you.”
Max clenched his fists and took a step away from her. “This was all fake?”
“I don’t know how to answer that.” She looked down at her trembling hands. “It’s complicated.”
“How is it complicated?”
“My parents are about to lose their home. If I don’t give The Daily Sun a provocative exposé on
you and your family, I’ll lose my job and our home.”
“And that’s worth more than your integrity?” he asked through clenched teeth.
“I’m sorry that the person you fell in love with doesn’t exist, and I’m so sorry that this is how the
toxicology report has come into your hands. Goodbye, Max.”
He turned his back to her and faced the sputtering fire. “Goodbye, Rosemary.”
Rosemary walked out to the waiting car in the driveway in a daze. The driver took her bags and
placed them in his trunk without a word, possibly due to her unabashed tears. She cried most of the
forty-five-minute drive to her home in University Park.
When they pulled down her street, a light in her yard caught her attention. She scrunched her eyes
and gasped when she saw what the light illuminated. She rolled down her window and stared at the
white wood “For Sale” sign in the center of her yard that squeaked as it waved in the wind. She’d
told her parents that she’d be able to come up with the money. Why would they place their house up
on the market?
Other than her mother’s squawking parakeets, the house was silent as she entered through the front
door. Her parents must have still been visiting with friends, a normal Sunday evening activity for
them. Except for the thin laptop case slung around her shoulders, she dropped all her bags at the
bottom of the stairs that led to her bedroom and trudged upwards.
She stood in the doorway of what had been her bedroom and sighed. Without photos on the wall
or books on the shelves, her room felt drab and incomplete. She lay down on her bed and punched her
pillow in agony. Now she was homeless, heartbroken, and possibly jobless.
After a few more minutes of self-deprecating, she decided she’d spent long enough allowing
herself to wallow in her own pity party. It was time to write the article. She pulled the laptop from its
case and pressed the on button.

MAX ’ S GUT twisted as he slowly tore off the side of the cream envelope, then pulled out the piece of
paper. He unfolded the document to find two sheets of paper. He finished scanning them in a matter of
seconds but didn’t understand the results.
He used his phone’s browser to search for what levels of morphine were lethal. Within seconds,
he had a selection of websites that explained how to read postmortem toxicology reports. He clicked
on one that mentioned morphine. It only took him a minute longer to scan the article and find the
information he needed.
 He dropped to his knees in front of the blazing fire when he read the numbers. His father’s
morphine levels had been above a lethal amount when he’d passed. His mother’s morphine levels had
thankfully been below the range considered lethal, clearing the possibility that his father had a role in
her death. Max had always wondered how he’d feel or react if he found out that his parents had
chosen to leave them. His father knew he was losing his wife and would die soon himself, but it was
still difficult for Max to comprehend why someone would choose to not battle until the end,
especially when children were involved. He knew now that he’d never be able to fully understand,
because he couldn’t be inside his father’s mind and body as it suffered through extreme physical and
emotional pain.
Max stood from his knees and held the papers out over the fire, singeing the hair on his arms. No
one else would ever have to know.
The front door flew open and his sisters came barreling in. Max jerked his hand behind his back
and clenched his fist, crumpling the papers into a ball.
“Max!” yelled his sisters in unison. They ran to him and gave him a group hug.
“What is that awful smell?” asked Mille.
“I burned my eyebrows off starting the fire for y’all. Do you see the sacrifices I make for you?”
He wiggled his eyebrows when they looked up at him, causing them to laugh. “See? You could never
leave me.”
“You’re right,” said Mazy. “And there’s only one solution to our predicament.”
“What’s that?” asked Max.
“You need to move to Atlanta and join the Patriots as well.” She nodded as if once she’d decided,
it was as good as done.
“I wish it were that easy,” said Max.
“Why can’t it be?” asked Millie.
“It just isn’t,” said Mason, stepping into the room.
“I have something you need to see,” Max said to Mason, holding out the crumped wad of paper in
his hand.
“Thanks, man. You shouldn’t have,” Mason said with sarcasm.
“Read it sitting down,” said Max.
Mason shot him a look of confusion and walked out of the room.
“What smells in here?” asked Miles as he stepped inside the room and leaned against the wall.
“Girls, I need to talk to Max alone for a few minutes.”
“But we haven’t seen him all weekend,” whined Millie, giving him a tight squeeze.
“Please,” said Miles with unusual sadness in his voice.
The girls gave Max a quick kiss on his cheek and hurried out of the room.
“When did Rosemary leave?” asked Miles.
“About an hour ago,” he replied. He hadn’t thought about Rosemary since she’d left. He’d
compartmentalized the pain of her betrayal to focus on the toxicology report, but now it rushed back
to the forefront of his mind. Max sat down on the deep leather couch that faced the fireplace, bent
forward, and rested his face into his hands. “When did you realize?”
Miles sat on the couch and set a manila envelope between them. “When I read the article about
your Valentine’s Day date, it was as if I heard her voice speaking. Then, when I’d mentioned it in the
kitchen before we’d left for our flight, her reaction affirmed my suspicion.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You know why,” stated Miles.
 Max couldn’t suppress his irritation. “You wanted me to realize that I loved her, only to then
realize that she wasn’t who I thought she was and I couldn’t have her? I don’t get your reasoning.”
“Read the article, and you will.” Miles tapped the folder. “I also have a warning letter in there
from our attorney for The Daily Sun, if you want to go that route.” Miles placed his hand on Max’s
shoulder. “This is where you have to make the most difficult decision of your life, Max.”
“And what’s that?”
“If you’re going to walk away from the woman you love, or forgive her, trusting that she’s the
woman you fell in love with.”
“She deceived me in every possible way,” said Max, kicking at a fuzz ball in the carpet.
“Really?” asked Miles, standing to leave. “How exactly did she lie to you?” Miles walked out,
allowing Max his space to think.
Max tore open the envelope. This envelope differed from the one that Rosemary had given him in
that it held a hope for the future. The other envelope afforded him a glimpse into the past, providing
him with an understanding of how he could make peace with his parents’ passing. Both envelopes
were necessary for him to move forward, but he’d only been excited to open one.
As he read Rosemary’s article, he heard her voice speaking in his mind, just as Miles had. When
he finished reading, he carefully placed the piece of paper back into its envelope and kneeled onto the
floor in front of the hot fire. In the words of Thomas Moore, the poet: Earth has no sorrow that
heaven cannot heal. He needed healing and help with this decision. There were two things he was
sure of after reading the article—Rosemary loved him, and he loved her, more than ever.
 15

R osemary woke to the annoying buzz of her phone. She’d only had a few hours of sleep.
She should have turned it off instead of simply placing it on vibrate. With her eyes still
closed, she patted her nightstand until her fingers grasped the phone.
“Hello,” she answered in a soft voice.
“Georgie. I need your butt down here at the office ASAP.”
Rosemary shot up in bed. Ginger’s voice had startled her completely awake. “You received my
email?”
“Yes. I read through your article, and we need to talk. How soon can you be in?”
Rosemary cleared her throat to sound more awake. The fact that Ginger wanted to talk in person
was a good sign. At least, Rosemary assumed it was. “I can be there in half an hour.”
“Perfect. And Rosemary?”
“Yeah?”
“Make sure you’re put together.”
“Okay?” she said more as a question than an affirmation.
Ginger didn’t explain herself. She didn’t say anything more; she simply hung up on Rosemary,
leaving her to wonder what Ginger had planned.
Rosemary grabbed a simple red non-wrinkle dress from her suitcase, one that Max had
complimented her on every time she wore it. She ran to the bathroom and took a five-minute shower,
deciding not to wash her hair. She could get away with running a quick flat iron over it.
In fifteen minutes, she was downstairs and ready to jump in her car.
“Are you okay, Rosemary?” asked her father, stepping into the kitchen as she grabbed a piece of
toast out of the toaster.
“Yeah, sorry.” She reached up and gave him a quick peck on his cheek. “Can’t talk right now, or
I’ll be late for an appointment.”
Her mother appeared in the doorway. “We’re sorry, Rosemary. We should’ve never put you in the
position we did. You keep your money. We’ve decided to sell the house and downsize. We accepted
an offer this morning above our asking price.”
Rosemary’s shock prevented her from speaking. She walked over to her mother, placed her arms
around her, and held her tight for longer than they’d ever embraced before. When they released each
other, there were tears in both their eyes. “I’ll help you begin packing after work today,” she
promised.
“What about the nanny gig?” asked her father.
“I’ll tell you about it over dinner.” Rosemary threw her jacket over her shoulders and ran out the
door.
Rosemary’s flats clicked against the slick floors of The Daily Sun twenty-eight minutes after
she’d hung up with Ginger. There was an unusual buzz of commotion in the office as she walked
between the cubicles straight to Ginger’s office. Ginger waved Rosemary into her office as she paced
behind her desk.
“I’m here,” said Rosemary, taking her usual seat in front of Ginger’s glass desk. “Give it to me
straight.”
Rosemary had changed since she’d started working at the Moore mansion. She’d written about
those changes in the article she’d submitted three hours earlier to Ginger. It had taken her until six
o’clock that morning to complete her thoughts. The article would undoubtedly need a healthy edit,
having been written in the middle of the night—but it was honest, raw, and full of the personal
heartache that Ginger craved. Only it wasn’t Max Moore’s personal heartache. It was hers.
Ginger threw a stack of papers onto her desk. “You’ve captured how gifted Max Moore is in
every aspect of his life. Welcome to the family, Rosemary. Your office will be ready for you to move
into in three days.”
“I made associate editor!” Rosemary screamed, jumping up out of her seat and gathering up the
papers Ginger had thrown down on her desk. She paused and wrinkled her forehead. “These are
blank.”
Ginger shrugged. “That was for effect. You know we don’t print anything anymore. I’m entitling
the article ‘The Gifted Groom.’”
“Thank you,” said Rosemary, clasping her hands together, too excited to ask Ginger to explain
why she wanted to title the article “The Gifted Groom.”
“Don’t thank me. Thank Maximillian Moore. Without what he offered us, this article would never
go to print.”
“Max?” asked Rosemary, not attempting to hide her surprise. “What has Max offered you?”
“An exclusive to his engagement,” said Max from behind her. “For a million dollars that can be
used to purchase your parents’ home.”
Rosemary spun around, gasping for air. Did he just say a million dollars? That could buy her
parents’ home with some cash to spare. Max looked amazing in his black suit. He went down onto one
knee, holding the glass rose he’d made on their Valentine’s date out to her. A film crew panned their
cameras between Rosemary and Max.
“Engagement?” Rosemary repeated, waiting for her brain to catch up with her rapid heart.
“Or refusal,” said Max quietly with a pained expression. “Honestly, I’m not sure which they’re
hoping for more, an engagement or a rejection. Rosemary, as I’ve said before, a rose by any other
name wouldn’t smell the same. And I could never love another rose as much as I love you. Will you
marry me?”
Her heart pounded so hard in her chest that she thought it might explode. She stepped up to him.
“But I deceived you. Do you really know who you’re proposing to?”
“What did you lie to me about, Rosemary? Did you lie about your affection for my sisters?”
“No.”
“Did you lie in either of the articles you’ve written about me and my family?”
“No.”
“Then you haven’t lied to us. You’re the woman I’ve fallen for. You’re the woman I want to spend
forever with. You’re the woman who owns my heart.”
Her emotions gripped her chest with such force and her tears came so fast that she had to mentally
count to keep herself from hyperventilating. “I do?”
“Yes.” He handed off the glass rose to Rosemary’s office friend, Cassie, and pulled a black ring
box out of his suit jacket pocket. He slowly opened it to a reveal small, delicate diamond set in rose
gold. “This was my mother’s.”
Rosemary held out her left hand. “Yes!” she yelled as he slipped the ring onto her finger.
He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her up as he jumped to his feet. “You ready to come home
with me and tell our family the good news?”
She stared into his green eyes as she placed her hand against his bearded cheek, loving how the
soft hairs tickled her palm. “How about we go somewhere and kiss first? I’ve really, really missed
that.”
“Why go somewhere?” he asked with a devious smile and wink at the camera before kissed her.
Rosemary pulled back momentarily. “You’re such a ham, but I wouldn’t have you any other way.”
He winked, lightly brushed his lips to hers, and waited.
“You know I can’t stand to not kiss you, don’t you?” she asked while her lips tingled with
anticipation.
Max’s breath mingled with hers. “What can I say? When you got it, you got it.”
She giggled. “And I got you.” And she’d never let him go, ever.

THE END

Miles Moore’s Story

For Miles Moore’s story, check out Sarah Gay’s other Moore Family Romance: The Protective
Patriot.

Mason Moore’s story will be hitting shelves in June 2019.

Annie’s Story
For Annie’ s story, check out
First Glance: A Terrence Family Romance.

Sarah Gay’s other Texas Titan Romances:

The Forbidden Groom & The Storybook Groom
 ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Raised in Milwaukee, Wisconsin and Atlanta, Georgia, Sarah currently calls the northern Utah mountains, and the southern Utah red
rocks, home. She graduated in Human Development from Brigham Young University and spent several years working as a Human
Resource Professional. Her human resource skills are now utilized managing a workforce of four young children. When Sarah’s team is
being trained off campus, she dedicates her time to writing inspirational stories.
She would love to hear from you and can be contacted at sarah@sarahgay.com. To register for new releases, promotions, and free
recipes, sign up for her newsletter at http://www.sarahgay.com/register/.