Holly, Max decided, had lost the right to give him grief about depending too much on physical challenges. At least the wilderness one that morning had relied on brains more than brawn. Granted, they’d tied with the Wolves, but Max refused to believe it was because the guys could only win with their muscles.

Holly, however, was embracing traditional gender roles with a vengeance. Baking, woman’s health, and now…

“Tonight, one team will earn the coveted Locavore badge,” she announced. “The business group is having a barbecue by the boathouse, and the spa group is eating a cold meal tonight, so the kitchen is ours.”

No one whooped in response. Perhaps there were no natural chefs in the group, or they just had no idea what a locavore was.

Holly explained. “You have to cook a meal using only local ingredients.”

“Takeout pizza is local, right?” one of the guys called. Max thought that was an excellent suggestion.

“A vegetable garden was planted earlier this year, and it’s been producing really well. There are blueberries in the woods. Mushrooms too, though we already sourced those for you. We don’t want anyone in the hospital because they read the guidebook wrong. You’ll find some locally raised eggs and other goodies in the fridge.” Several members got their game faces on, ready to compete, and their eyes widened at Holly’s final instructions. “And, because I’m such a fan of Top Chef, you have ninety minutes to create tasting plates for both groups and five members of the staff. Go!”

Max attempted to lead his group—that was still his job, after all—but it immediately became clear it wasn’t necessary. He was a solid cook if someone wanted steak or a pasta dish, that sort of thing, but no one would mistake him for a gourmet chef—which Holly of course knew.

The individual prizes were nice, but he still wanted the big shiny trophy and the bragging rights that went with it. If the Wolves won this round, the guys would be behind by one. They’d need to win both challenges tomorrow to claim victory.

Max huddled with his group. “Please tell me one of you has some kitchen skills.”

Christopher, a quieter guy who’d spent the last few days disappearing into the background, pushed his glasses onto the bridge of his nose. “I can handle this.” He glanced over Max’s shoulder at the women’s group, and a slow smile spread across his face. Max could swear he looked taller than he had before. “They may have a baker, but I’d wager they haven’t got the owner of Hartford’s best vegetarian restaurant on their team.”

The Bears stared at him like he was a visiting angel.

Max clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re in charge.”

Ten minutes later, Max found himself in the woods with a bucket, searching for the blueberry bushes he knew were around somewhere.

Of course Emma beat him there.

He’d been trying, with little success, not to feel like a gigantic asshole. Everything he’d accused her of being—shallow, self-absorbed, dismissive of men’s feelings—was literally how she’d been raised…and she’d managed to overcome it. Despite all her mother’s lessons, Emma hadn’t used her beauty to snag a rich husband. Instead, she used her face to craft a brand and launch a company. She was as pragmatic about her looks as her mother had been, but she owned her beauty instead of bartering it.

He’d mocked her piles of makeup instead of viewing them as paint, with her face the perfect canvas. Some people sold paintings. She sold enhanced cheekbones and smoky eyes. Holly had figured that out days ago, while he’d been determined to think the worst.

She hadn’t seen him yet, so he took a second to study her freely. Every time he saw her, he felt that punch in the gut at her beauty, like it was almost too much to process. Her profile was to him, with its perfectly straight nose. He’d grown up with a family who gave him no reason to doubt they loved him just as he was. She’d been raised by a mother who’d driven her underage daughter to the plastic surgeon.

Max stepped on a thin stick, deliberately making noise so he wouldn’t surprise her. Even so, she jumped and spilled her bucket.

“Damn it!” Emma glared at him, though with little heat. “Can I bust you for interference? You just cost us five important minutes.”

“Ah, yes. The world-renowned broken-stick strategy. Devious of me.”

She threw one of the spilled blueberries at him. It bounced right off the tip of his nose.

“Good aim.”

She flexed her small biceps. “Damn straight. Now help me pick these up.”

Max crouched next to her, ignoring his empty bucket. He scooped up a handful of berries and dropped them in, using the movement to brush his hand against hers. He almost hooked their fingers together, wanting that connection, and he hurried to gather more berries before his fingers developed a mind of their own.

He was starting to miss the guy who felt in control of himself around women, rather than constantly two seconds away from making a fool of himself.

Except that would mean never meeting Emma. Just the thought made Max wince.

“What is it?” she asked.

“You’re pretty good at reading people, aren’t you?”

“I was raised with a lot of Hollywood people. You have no idea how important image is for them. That stereotype is true, at least. Careers hang on saying the right thing and looking the right way, especially for women. If you don’t at least figure out who’s full of shit, life’s gonna be pretty tough.”

“So I can take comfort in knowing I’m not full of shit?”

“No.” She peered at him, and he made himself hold her stare as she seemed to be searching for something he wasn’t sure existed. “You know we’re doomed, right? Nothing’s changed.”

He pulled back and sat hard on the ground. “Doomed? That’s pretty harsh.”

“You know what I mean. I’m not looking for a long-distance relationship.”

“Do you ever look for any relationships?”

She pulled herself up straight. “Don’t throw my past at me. I’m talking about us. Here and now.”

“But not in the future.”

She nodded.

Max had been avoiding thinking about it. She wasn’t saying anything he didn’t know, but the words still twisted his insides. “Yeah, I know what we are.”

“Good. That’s good. It was just…”

“What?”

“Nothing. Never mind.”

The unfinished sentence hung there, like a hazard in the middle of the road. He needed to swerve to avoid it. “We have tonight and tomorrow, then you’re back in L.A., building your lipstick empire. I’ll be here, working the store.”

“Exactly.”

He tried to study her as closely as she had him, but for once her expression was blank. No sly lips, no determined eyebrows. She was giving him nothing.

“Can I come to your cabin tonight?” Max stretched out his hand to her, only to find himself reaching for empty space. Emma had risen, the now-full bucket cradled against her chest like a shield.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

The air in his lungs stopped moving. “I thought we said two more nights. I thought you agreed.”

“No, I was agreeing that we were doomed. Right now, we’re good, aren’t we? We like each other, which is more than we could say a couple days ago.”

“Sure.” He drew the word out, wary, certain he was walking into some sort of verbal trap and not knowing how to escape.

“Let’s quit while we’re ahead. We’ve already got to get through three more challenges. The more time we spend together, the more likely we are to screw it up.”

“Is that really what you think will happen?”

She turned away. “I think there’s a good chance. Let’s keep it friendly. For Josh and Ruby’s sake.”

Max rose so he didn’t have to look up at her. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Ruby texted today. They’re having a great time, love eternal, blah blah, and they’ve decided to spend a year in Briarsted while she works on her next album.”

He should be grinning. His best friend back for twelve months? Life would get back to normal. That strange emptiness he’d felt for the last year might heal.

Instead, he was glowering. “So?”

“So I’ll be flying out to see her. We’ll all hang out. I don’t want things to get weird. ”

Max wanted to argue, but she wasn’t wrong. Life would be easier if they kept it simple.

That’s what he told himself, anyway, and ignored the stupid part of him demanding he pull her to him and kiss her until she begged him to stay.

To stay the night, he meant.

Instead, he looked at his empty bucket. “That was five minutes lost for me.” He kept his voice light. “We’re even now.”

“Then I guess I’ll see you inside. Prepare to lose, by the way.”

As she walked off, Max had the sinking feeling he already had.