Olivia’s POV
By the ti the rain had lessened enough for us to get back on the road, Maxwell and I were talking like we’d been best friends for years.
The earlier tension had dissolved completely, replaced by an easy comfort that felt both new and familiar at the sa ti.
"Canada," Maxwell was saying, shaking his head with a rueful smile. "That pneumonia incident was the hardest thing I ever pulled off."
I turned in my seat to look at him. "It was fake? The whole thing?"
"The whole thing," he confird, keeping his eyes on the road. "I an, I was a bit feverish. But it wasn’t pneumonia. I just exaggerated the symptoms to get you to take care of . But what I didn’t expect was my entire family showing up."
"Maxwell!" I gasped, but I was smiling. "You manipulative..."
"I know, I know," he said, grinning now. "But it worked. I got to be close to you. Touch you. And kiss you without it looking weird because I could bla everything on the fever."
Heat flooded my cheeks at the mory of that kiss on the plane.
"Even in the ambulance," he continued, "I was dropping hints about our past, hoping sothing would jog your mory. When it didn’t, I just... I decided I had to use the pneumonia as an excuse to kiss you. One way or another."
I laughed, covering my burning face with my hands.
"I can’t believe you," I said through my fingers. "All that ti I was so worried about you, and you were just faking!"
"Not entirely faking," he protested. "I did feel terrible. Just not pneumonia terrible. More like ’the woman I love doesn’t rember and I’m dying inside’ terrible."
The casual way he said ’the woman I love’ made my heart skip.
I dropped my hands and looked at him, and he glanced over at , his expression soft and open in a way I’d never seen before.
"We’re okay, right?" he asked quietly. "You and ? We’re going to be okay?"
I smiled, feeling sothing warm and hopeful bloom in my chest.
"Yeah," I said. "I think we are."
******
The town appeared gradually through the rain - small buildings with lit windows, a main street with a few shops and restaurants, everything looking wet and slightly abandoned in the storm.
Maxwell pulled into a gas station, the fluorescent lights harsh against the gray afternoon.
"I need to fill up," he said. "Want to co in with to the convenience store? We should probably grab so provisions. Who knows how long we’ll be stuck here."
"Sure," I agreed, grateful for the chance to stretch my legs.
We got out of the car together, and Maxwell went to the pump while I headed toward the store.
Inside, it was warm and bright, the sll of coffee and hot dogs filling the air. An older man sat behind the counter, reading a newspaper.
Maxwell joined a few minutes later, and we walked through the aisles together, picking up items.
"Umbrellas," he said, grabbing several from a display. "Because apparently we’re going to need a stockpile of these at the rate we’re going."
I laughed. "Planning to open an umbrella store?"
"Planning to never be caught in the rain unprepared again," he said seriously, then added with a grin, "Though getting caught in the rain with you hasn’t been entirely terrible."
We moved to the grocery section, picking up bread, sandwich at, so fruit.
"I’m going to make you the best al you’ve ever tasted tonight," Maxwell declared, examining the limited selection of ingredients. "With these fine gas station provisions."
"You’re going to make a gourt al out of gas station food?" I asked skeptically.
"Of course," he said confidently. "I’m an excellent cook when properly motivated."
"And what’s motivating you?"
He looked at , and the intensity in his eyes made my breath catch.
"You," he said simply. "Always you."
We grabbed so drinks too - juice, water, a couple of sodas - and made our way to the counter.
The old man looked up from his newspaper as we approached, his weathered face breaking into a smile.
"Well, well," he said, his eyes twinkling as he looked between us. "Young couple here for an early sumr vacation?"
"Oh, we’re not..." Maxwell started.
"Yes," I interrupted, surprising both Maxwell and myself. "We ca to cool off from the city, but we didn’t expect this storm."
The old man chuckled, scanning our items.
"Climate change," he said, shaking his head. "Really changing all the regularities of the world. Used to be you could count on the weather patterns. Now? Who knows what’s coming next."
"Exactly," I agreed, very aware of Maxwell’s heavy stare on the side of my face.
I kept my eyes on the shopkeeper, pretending not to notice.
"You folks staying at the beach houses?" the old man asked.
"We were," Maxwell said, his voice a little strained. "But we need to get to the police station. Could you give us directions?"
"Police station?" The man’s expression shifted to concern. "Everything alright?"
"Just need to file a report," I said quickly. "Nothing serious."
The old man nodded, then gave us detailed directions - two blocks down, take a left at the pharmacy, can’t miss it.
We thanked him, paid for our items, and headed back out into the rain.
"Here," Maxwell said, handing the bag of umbrellas and opening one. "Get in the car. I’ll pack the rest of this in the boot."
"I can help..."
"Please," he said, and there was sothing in his voice. "Just get out of the rain."
I took the umbrellas and got into the passenger seat, watching through the rearview mirror as he loaded the groceries into the trunk.
When he finally got into the driver’s seat, shaking rain from his hair, the atmosphere had shifted.
We sat in silence as he started the car and pulled out of the gas station.
The quiet stretched between us, thick and charged.
I could feel him glancing at . Quick, furtive looks that he thought I didn’t notice.
But I noticed everything about Maxwell. Always had.
"Olivia..." he started.
"The police station is two blocks down," I said, cutting him off. "Left at the pharmacy."
He nodded, his jaw tight, and drove in silence.
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