“Look what I got,” Annabelle says as she reaches me, thrusting her bucket out for me to examine. “You can have some if you want.”

I ruffle her hair and tell her, “Oh . . . I so want.”

“I’ll give you some of mine too, Aunt Jules,” Rocco pipes in, his need for affirmation evident on his face.

“You are so generous, Rocco,” I tell him. “Thank you.”

Levy ignores all of us, pawing through his treasure trove of treats.

“Okay, looks like the kids’ buckets are full,” Max says as he claps his hands together, and then puts a hand to Levy and Rocco’s backs to urge them forward. “How about we get them back to Zack and Kate’s house and they can get started eating all of that rotten goodness.”

Kate elbows me slightly in the ribs, and when I look at her, she gives me a knowing grin.

It says, “Max cannot wait to get you alone. He’s so cute in his impatience.”

I grin back, and when I slide my gaze over to Max as he starts pushing the boys down the street, he shoots me an intense look over his shoulder that promises our alone time is going to be very good.

We make it back to Kate and Zack’s house, and Max and I hang around for about thirty minutes to make sure my crew is settled and they’re not going to wig out when I leave. Turns out, Annabelle, Levy, and Rocco are quite the independent little brood as they barely glanced at me twice when I reminded them that they were staying the night and I’d see them in the morning. I had to even prod them to stand up from the table where they were digging into their candy to give me a goodbye hug.

After farewells to everyone, Max and I walked out to his car hand in hand. He had laced his fingers with mine as we headed down their driveway to where he parked his car on the road. It felt natural and right, as if we’d been holding hands our entire life.

After we both get settled in and buckled, Max turns to me in his seat before he starts the car. “Jules . . . I want you to know I have no real expectations of where tonight is going to go. It’s been four weeks since we first met, but tonight is really our first date.”

“I have no expectations either,” I tell him, and while that’s true, it doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about how far things might go. “I’m just happy to have a kid-free night and to share it with an amazing man.”

“And gorgeous too,” Max says with a grin. “I’m gorgeous, right?”

“Totally,” I agree with a laugh.

“All right,” he says as he starts the car. “Then my suggestion is that we have a quiet night. Take-out Thai would be my suggestion and then we go to your apartment or my house and just hang.”

“Thai sounds great and let’s do your house,” I tell him. “I’d like to see how the rich and famous but mostly bachelor Max Fournier lives. I’m going to stereotype here and say I’m expecting a sink full of dirty dishes in the kitchen and clothes all over the bedroom floor.”

“That’s awful forward, Miss Bradley,” Max says with a mock huff as he pulls away from the curb. “I’d never let a lady see my bedroom on a first date.”

I snort in response, but then I wonder . . . is he teasing me or being serious?

Max’s fingers brush against my temple and then sift through my hair. I shift my head as it lays on his right thigh, and I think to myself . . . nothing awkward about this. Again, my time with him is effortless. Conversation is engaging, silences are golden. He freely touches me and it feels natural.

The end credits roll on the screen of his sweet eighty-inch 4K TV that takes up an entire wall in his living room. Dinner was causal as we ate on the deck of his beautiful home. It’s what I expected and then it’s not. It’s large and in a well-to-do neighborhood, but it’s not ostentatious. The furnishings are comfortable; the colors are warm. It’s the type of house that you don’t worry about tracking mud in, but that has nothing to do with the house itself. It has everything to do with Max’s casual and easygoing nature.

After dinner he suggested a movie and I happily agreed. He’s right . . . neither of us have any expectations, and I can’t ever remember a first date being so spontaneous and fun. I can’t ever remember meeting anyone like Max and having just an innate feeling of comfort around someone.

That is not to say that there isn’t some sexual tension between us. No, rather . . . there’s quite a bit. Max and I haven’t had much time together the last few weeks since our first amazing kiss. I’ve still been working brutal hours since giving my notice at the gas station and Max is deep into regular season hockey. He’s playing phenomenal and I’ve learned quickly that to play at that level takes extreme dedication to your job. That means daily workouts, sometimes for two to three hours. Practices and team meetings. The games themselves. And let’s not forget about travel. A two game trip out to California had him gone for a solid five days.

But that’s not to say we haven’t seen each other. Last weekend Max hung out with me and the kids one afternoon and we took them to a museum. And a few times Max came and hung out with me at the convenience store, and yeah . . . there may have been a little making out at the end of my shift and before he put me safely in my car for my drive home. Each one of those make-out sessions got a little hotter and our hands tended to roam further and further on each other the more we tested boundaries. The last time he kissed me, which was three nights ago, his hand ended up between my legs and mine ended on his crotch, but totally with the material of our jeans separating us. Still, it was intimate and thrilling and both of us groaned as we touched each other and kissed.

Max ended up tearing himself away from me and muttered something about “not wanting to fuck you for the first time in a parking lot.” Of course, that only guaranteed I’d fantasize about him fucking me in a dark parking lot, but I knew that wouldn’t be how we came together for the first time.

And there’s no doubt . . . we are going to have sex. It’s what both of us want. It’s the next logical step to take. I am wildly attracted to him, and it doesn’t have a damn thing to do with his muscled body or his near perfect face. It has everything to do with the fact that Max Fournier is perhaps the best person I’ve ever known next to Melody, and I have no qualms about giving my body to him if he wants it.