Max had learned that Jazzy liked simple. She did not want to go to Clive’s—that was all Fabi. She did not like mushrooms—again, Fabi. She liked walking in the park and getting day-old bread from the bakery to make French toast for dinner. She liked cuddling into his side and falling asleep. She liked asking him about his family and she’d mentioned several times she’d like to meet Birdy.

Well, today was that day. Max had the weekend off, and he’d invited Jazzy for breakfast at his place. Nerves flowed through him at the thought of her being here, in his house, where Irina had once been.

He had more to tell her about his first wife, and loads more to talk about before they moved to the next phase of their relationship, but in Max’s mind, he was ready to take at least a baby step in the serious direction.

And that meant a kiss with the woman who’d been plaguing his dreams for a solid month.

She’d recovered well from her fall, though when he’d discovered she’d walked from her apartment to the park and all around it, he hadn’t been happy. She’d only been six days out from her fall, and Fabi had told him she’d slept for thirteen hours that night.

Still, he wasn’t her doctor even if he did feel extremely overprotective of her. He’d mentioned that he’d like her to take it easy, and then he’d made sure she did. Another week had gone by, and she’d gone back to work and laid off the pills.

He’d gotten up way too early to start breakfast, as Jazzy wouldn’t be coming over until ten. So Max put some birdseed in the cage and took his guitar out to the backyard. He really wished he had a dog to toss a ball to, but he pushed the desire away as he positioned his guitar across his lap.

Maybe there’d be a time in his life where he could get a dog, but it wasn’t now. He’d only plucked through a couple of songs before his phone rang.

“Cathy,” he said, a note of surprise in his voice. “It’s early for you, isn’t it?”

“I have a job, remember?”

“Ah, yes. The overnight newspaper. I can’t believe there’s still somewhere printing newspapers.”

She grunted, her usual response to Max and any views she didn’t want to discuss further. “So I haven’t actually been to bed yet. I did, however, just get off the phone with Mom.”

“Oh, boy.” Max couldn’t help smiling, because he now knew why his sister had called. “And she told you about Jazzy.” Max may have mentioned he was seeing a new woman. His mom hadn’t made a big deal out of it, though they both knew it was a very big deal.

“Your girlfriend.” Cathy nearly singsonged the word, as if Max hadn’t had a girlfriend before.

He ran one hand up the back of his head. “Not really, Cath. It’s not quite official or anything.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means…I don’t know. We haven’t defined anything.”

“Are you seeing her today?”

“Yeah.” Max wasn’t sure why today mattered. He hadn’t seen her since Wednesday, when he sensed she’d had enough of him for a while. Jazzy’s patience had worn thin easily since her accident, and Max understood why. She was in pain almost all of the time, and she’d never had an experience where she had to rely on someone else quite so completely.

He went through the details of what he was doing that morning, omitting the part where he wanted to kiss Jazzy, and then said, “I still have Birdy. I hope he doesn’t terrify Jazzy.”

“He’s nothing but a softie,” Cathy said. “She’ll love him.”

Max seriously doubted it. In fact, he wasn’t sure how anyone could love the cockatiel, but he kept that to himself. The call ended, and he went back to his guitar, letting his thoughts wander with the notes.

It wasn’t until his doorbell rang that he realized he hadn’t even started breakfast yet. He jumped to his feet, the guitar making an echoing sound as he moved. He checked his phone, but of course Jazzy was right on time. He’d never known her to be early or late, but always arriving precisely when she was supposed to. This morning was no different.

He hurried through the house and opened the front door to find the gorgeous sight of her face, those pale blue eyes and full lips. She wore a pair of black shorts and a pink sleeveless blouse that enhanced the blush in her cheeks. The fabric looked smooth and soft and Max wanted to touch it.

“It smells decidedly un-maple-like,” she said with a flirty smile. “I thought we were eating here?” She glanced past him as if an army of sausages would make themselves known.

“We are,” he said. “I just lost track of time.”

She nodded to the guitar in his hand. “That was you playing, wasn’t it?”

His face heated, and his pulse bounded through his body. He felt too old for such reactions to a woman, and yet he couldn’t quiet them. “I guess so.” He put the guitar down, embarrassed she’d heard his meandering tunes. “My sister called, and I got distracted. Come in.” He stepped back, hoping the light cleaning he’d done the night before would be good enough.

Jazzy scanned the room, as he knew she would. He had decent furnishings, mostly leftover from Irina’s decorative touch. At one point, he’d thought about selling his house, and a realtor had told him to put plants out for a pop of greenery and a hint of freshness. So he had a tall plant in the corner beside the television he never watched. Two on the end tables flanking the couch, which was a dark shade of denim. Irina had spent six months shopping for the cream, blue, and green rug on the floor, and Fabi’s gaze stayed on it for longer than the other furniture.

“This is nice,” she said, giving him an accepting smile.

Birdy chose that moment to let out an ear-splitting screech.

“Birdy,” Max chastised, lunging for the blanket he kept nearby to cover the cockatiel. He tossed it over the cage, but that only sent the bird into a squawk-fest for the ages. Matilda would surely be knocking on his door at any moment. It wouldn’t matter, because he couldn’t hear anything anyway.

He tried laughing, but it was strained, and Jazzy had backed herself against the front door. Max wanted to drop-kick the bird as far as he could, but he’d settle for just getting it to be quiet. He sent a prayer heavenward that God could somehow silence the fowl so he could enjoy his morning with Jazzy.

Miraculously, Birdy quieted a few moments later, and Max moved into the kitchen to get out the sausage he should’ve started a half an hour ago. “Better late than never, right?” He glanced over his shoulder and gestured Jazzy closer. “The bird doesn’t bite. Well, he actually does, but only if you stick your fingers in the cage.”

The tension between them broke, and Jazzy slid her hand up his arm, making him pause. “What can I help you with?” she asked.

“Nothing.” His voice sounded like he’d swallowed a cue ball. “I was making you breakfast, remember?”

“And then you forgot.” She gave him a playful smile and added, “I can scramble a mean egg.”

“How are you with French toast? Because that’s what I was going to make.”

“Killer.” She set about his kitchen as if she belonged there, and Max babysat the sausage as the scent of meat and vanilla mingled in the air.

“So I wanted to talk to you about my ex-wife,” he said, his words barely louder than the sizzling sausage.

“Oh?” Jazzy didn’t even glance at him, but checked the temperature on the griddle he’d set on the counter for her. She slathered butter on it, which melted into a bubbling froth immediately.

Max summoned all his courage about the same time Jazzy doused a thick slice of bread in the egg mixture she’d made and laid it on the griddle.

“She wanted…our marriage ended because she….” Why was this so hard?

Jazzy finished filling the griddle with French toast and looked at him, her eyes beautiful and wide and accepting.

“She had four miscarriages before she left me,” Max said. “I wasn’t enough for her, and when I couldn’t give her a child, it was over.” The words felt like they had knives on the letters, slicing his throat as he spoke.

Jazzy’s mouth opened into an O and then she stepped effortlessly into his arms, despite the pair of tongs he held. “I’m sorry, Max.” Her voice was as soft as her skin, her curves. “Did you want kids too?”

“Yes.” But he’d been satisfied with Irina. She’d been enough for him. Unfortunately, that street hadn’t gone both ways.

Time stalled with Jazzy in his arms, the feminine, floral scent of her hair infusing his every breath.

“I want kids too,” she finally said, easing away from him one inch at a time.

Max met her eye. “Yeah?”

She lifted one bare shoulder into a shrug. “My mom had nine kids. I think one or two less than that would be ideal.”

Max gaped at her for a moment before realizing she was kidding. He laughed, and she joined in. He liked the sound of their combined voices, especially here in his house. It hadn’t had a womanly visitor in a long time, and a sense of…rightness hung in the air.

“Families are fun,” she said. “But mine’s huge, and I don’t think I have even a tenth of the patience my mother does.”

He shook the pan, sending the sausage links jostling over each other. “I’m sure you do.”

“Remember how I had my sister call my grandmother to break me out of the apartment?” She giggled, a cute little sound that wormed its way right into Max’s heart. “I think this is ready. Want me to heat up the syrup?”

He stepped to get it out of the cupboard at the same time she reached for the plate to put the French toast on. His hand collided with her arm, sending the plate into the air. Max caught the plate as it bobbled, and then her wrist as she gasped.

Their eyes met, and Max tugged her closer, thrilled when she came willingly. “I haven’t dated anyone seriously since Irina,” he said, not sure where the words had come from.

“Haven’t hardly dated anyone at all,” she said. “If the rumors are to believed.”

He cocked his head, trying to hear more behind her words. “You been asking about me around town?”

Jazzy’s coy smile sent his heartbeat into a frenzy. “Maybe.”

A chuckle rumbled in his chest, but he turned serious a moment later. “How do you feel about maybe you and me becoming more serious?”

“What would that entail, exactly?”

“Oh, you know.” He kneaded her closer, bringing his other arm around her and holding her against his chest. “A little of this.” He leaned down and swept his lips along her jaw, every cell in his body flaring to life with the nearness of her, the mere possibility of kissing her.

“Mm,” she said. “That’s not so bad. What else?”

Max took a moment to flip off the stove so the sausage wouldn’t burn. Then he returned to Jazzy, his eyes fastened on her mouth. “A little of that.” He dipped his head, moving within an inch of her, letting her either meet his kiss or have the option of stepping away.

He’d never been happier than when her lips touched his. There one moment, gone the next. He growled, the sound part predatory and part desperation, as he sought for a better connection.

Their lips met again, and this time, Jazzy kissed him properly. He kissed her back, creating new memories in this house that had seen so much sadness, making things between them serious, and feeling like this kiss was the beginning of something bigger than anything he’d had before.