I rolled my eyes. “Very funny.”

“Or . . .” He smirked. “I’ve seen your closet. You’re Jordan Litwright. Prone to panic. I put two and two together. Oh, and I’m a genius—my mom says so.”

“All moms say that.”

“Remember.” Max released me and ignored my jab. “Your hair is your superpower, making you the Samson in this scenario. So Delilah’s going to have a hell of a fascination with your hair. Word to the wise, don’t let him cut it.” He leaned in. “You may lose your power.”

“Power?”

“Magic girl power that has Reid, at this very moment”—Max checked his watch again—“most likely drinking and wondering what the hell you’re doing and why the hell it matters.”

“You’re an odd duck.”

Max got a teary-eyed gleam. “I’ve always wanted to be able to yell, quack, quack, quack, without having to use the excuse of watching Mighty Ducks one.”

I laughed.

“Or two, or three for that matter.” Max sighed. “Emilio!”

“Okay.” I put my hand over his mouth. “Thanks for the dress, but maybe stop ruining the moment with your words.”

I brought my hand back.

Max opened his mouth.

I shook my head.

He pouted and slumped his shoulders.

With a grin I pulled in him for a hug and kissed his cheek, then whispered, “You did good, Max. You did real good.”

He hugged me back and whispered. “Only crazy bitches melt at midnight. Don’t go doing that disappearing act once things get hot and heavy. My advice is this . . . take it or leave it.”

“I’m not sure I want your advice.”

“Life,” Max said, spreading his arms wide, “is like a box of chocolates.”

I rolled my eyes. “I think I know how this ends.”

“You buy the box because you think you want variety, but if you’re really honest with your greedy little self, all you really want are the caramel ones. But they don’t sell chocolates that way, so you do what everyone else does. You follow the crowd and try ones you know you’re going to hate. Why?”

I swallowed. “Because you’re trying to find the caramel ones.”

Max nodded. “Exactly. You think, maybe this time I’ll get lucky, only you’re left disappointed when it turns out to be some weird coconut shit.”

“Or hazelnut.”

Max nodded. “Or even dark chocolate, which, let’s be honest . . .”

“Isn’t caramel,” I finished. My eyes for some reason filled up with tears as Max put a hand on my shoulder.

“Exactly.” He nudged my chin. “I think we both know where this is going.”

“Yeah.”

“You’ve found your caramel,” Max said softly. “But you’ve refused to bite.”

“But—”

“Biting,” Max said with a shrug, “can be scary . . . terrifying, hell, what if you don’t even like caramel anymore?”

“RIGHT?” I shouted, half wondering if Max had pumped illegal drugs into the air vents and we were both high on ’shrooms, because, let’s be honest, Max actually making sense was scarier.

“There’s only one way to find out if he’s the chocolate for you,” Max said soberly. “I think you know what you need to do.”

“Bite,” I whispered.

“Louder. I didn’t quite get that?” Max cupped his ear.

“Bite,” I said, a little louder.

Max frowned.

“BITE THE CHOCOLATE!” I shouted, then thrust my fist into the air for good measure.

“Max,” Milo called.

I turned on my heel.

Colt, Milo, and Becca were all standing in the doorway.

“Just don’t let him tell you to be the doughnut.” Milo nodded. “That translation gets lost really easy.”

“Eye of the tiger.” Max sighed. “If you listened better you would have had Colt faster. I can’t work in these conditions!” Max raised his hands into the air and then, as if remembering our talk, grabbed the garment bag, thrust it into my hands, and nodded. “You got this.”

“Okay.”

He eyed me up and down, then up again, his eyes watering slightly as he took in my hair.

I patted my head.

“Maybe, just . . .” He tucked it behind my ears. It popped loose.

With a curse he tried it again.

This time my hair nearly poked his eye out.

“Damn it!” He flailed back and nearly landed on the couch. “Okay, what if you just let your hair be free. Maybe it’s trying to tell you something.”

“Well,” I said, sighing, “it’s naturally wavy and just . . . huge. I straighten it and—”

Max held up his hand. “You what it?”

“Straighten,” I said slower.

“Aw, it’s like you’re brand-new.” He smiled patronizingly and without taking his eyes off me yelled, “Colt, as a man—though the jury’s still out on that one,” Max said out of the corner of his mouth, “what say you? Straight hair or fluffy sex kitten hair that goes roar?”

Colt took a step away from Milo and said, “Roar.”

Milo charged him.

“Max’s fault.” Colt held up his hands. “And baby, I love you regardless of your hair.”