It happened quietly, a few weeks after Boston.
Not in a single conversation or a grand confession, but in the smallest, almost forgettable moments-Catherine lingering a second longer in Maximilian's office doorway, accepting his coffee without the reflexive hesitation, asking questions that were not strictly necessary. Nothing reckless. Nothing unguarded. Just... softer.
She did not open herself all the way. She never did.
There were boundaries now, clearly drawn, named without ever being spoken aloud. Catherine kept them in place for Celine-out of loyalty, out of caution, out of the unspoken promise she had made to herself after Boston: I will not misread safety as permission again.
And Maximilian understood that.
Or rather-he learned to.
He noticed how Catherine's laughter still stopped short when it came too easily. How her shoulders tensed if the room felt too closed, too quiet. How she never sat too close, never let her knees brush his, never reached for him even when the instinct was there. He noticed everything. He always had.
But he did not push.
Instead, Max took advantage of the shift in the only way he knew how: by becoming reliable. Predictable. Present.
He stayed late on the nights she worked late. Walked her down to the lobby without making it feel like an escort. Asked before touching-Is this okay?-even when it was something as small as guiding her past a crowded room. When she said no, he accepted it without disappointment. When she said yes, he treated it like a privilege.
Celine saw all of it.
She pretended not to, of course. She rolled her eyes at Max's newfound patience, teased Catherine about her "corporate emotional support billionaire," and loudly took credit for destiny whenever the three of them found themselves in the same place at the same time.
But privately-quietly-Celine counted the small victories.
She believed, fiercely, that people were shaped by timing as much as intention. That sometimes the right person arrived too early or too late, and what mattered was whether they stayed kind in the meantime. And if fate had a hand in anything, then she had certainly nudged it-Boston, the long conversations, the trust she placed in Max when Catherine couldn't yet place it herself.
Maximilian, she decided, was one of the rare ones.
The kind of man who could be present at a wedding-not as a disruption, not as a complication, but as a steady point. Someone Catherine could trust to stand near her joy without demanding a claim to it. Someone who made safety feel like an offering, not a transaction.
Time did the rest.
Winter loosened its grip on Manhattan. The city softened, snow turning to slush, coats growing lighter, conversations stretching longer into the evening. Spring arrived without ceremony-trees blooming between glass buildings, café doors propped open, sunlight slipping into places it hadn't reached in months.
And with it, Catherine changed.
She smiled more easily. Slept better. Began to talk again-not about the things she was still protecting, not about the chapters she wasn't ready to revisit, but about smaller truths that belonged only to her.
One night, while the city hummed below and the office lights dimmed around them, she told Max something inconsequential by most standards. Something that wouldn't make sense to anyone who didn't know how carefully she chose her words.
She told him she never listened to music on the subway because she liked hearing the city breathe. That she rearranged her bookshelf when she couldn't sleep. That she disliked surprises-but liked plans that felt like suggestions.
Max listened as if each detail mattered.
And maybe that was why she kept going-just a little.
She didn't reach for him. Didn't lean closer. Didn't cross the lines she had drawn for herself, for Celine, for the fragile equilibrium they were all maintaining. But something had shifted all the same.
Trust, she realized, didn't always announce itself.
Sometimes it arrived disguised as a preference. A habit. A truth small enough to be shared without fear.
──── ୨୧ ────
The invitation arrived the way most of Celine's plans did-already decided, already blessed by family tradition, already impossible to decline.
Every summer, without fail, Celine's family gathered for the Fourth of July. It was less a party than a ritual: a long weekend in the Hamptons, generations folded into one another, champagne on the deck, fireworks over the water, the quiet insistence that everyone belonged simply by being present.
Catherine was included again, as she always was.
No one questioned it anymore. She was spoken of as a distant relative-an affectionate fiction born of years spent drifting in and out of Celine's grandmother's penthouse, of birthdays celebrated at the same long table, of her name appearing naturally on guest lists beside cousins and old family friends.
This year, however, there was a new name.
Axel Maximilian.
Tenant of the penthouse. Business associate. A man whose presence complicated things simply by existing.
Max read the invitation twice before looking up at Celine. "I don't think this is appropriate," he said carefully. "It's a family event."
Celine didn't even pause while packing. "You can't argue with that, Max. My grandmother invited you herself. Personally. And she even graciously offered to host one of her clients last summer, so trust me-you're not the anomaly here."
He frowned. "Celine-"
"Fourth of July. Hamptons. My summer home," she continued, ticking the points off with her fingers as she zipped her bag. "No need to argue. No need to excuse yourself. And most importantly, you have to respect my grandmother."
She turned at the door and gave him one last look. Not a threat-something closer to a promise.
"Don't make this difficult."
And then she was gone, already on her way east to help her grandmother prepare for the party.
Adrian, who had been watching the exchange with open amusement, leaned back in his chair. "She's right, you know. You should come."
Max shot him a look. "You're enjoying this far too much."
"Absolutely," Adrian said. "Besides, I'll be there. I can chaperone. Make sure you behave."
"That's not reassuring."
Adrian grinned. "Look on the bright side. You'll be with Catherine for the holidays. You'll grow closer. Maybe there'll be some summer love afterward."
Max didn't respond. He didn't agree-but he didn't condemn the idea either. He simply returned his attention to his desk, as if the conversation had ended there.
It hadn't.
Later that afternoon, while the office had settled into its familiar late-day quiet, Max's phone buzzed against the desk.
It was the group chat.
Celine: So. How are my favorite office people surviving today?
Adrian reacted first, as expected.
Adrian: Barely. Max scared two interns before noon.
Max didn't bother defending himself.
A moment later, another message appeared.
Celine: Good. That means nothing's broken.
Also-reminder-you guys have to leave tomorrow morning. Early. If anyone even thinks about traffic as an excuse, don't.
Max could almost hear her voice-brisk, decisive, already three steps ahead.
Then the tone shifted.
Celine: I'm already in the Hamptons. Grandmother has decided the terrace needs rearranging, the seating chart is wrong, and somehow I'm now in charge of fireworks timing.
So please be functional human beings when you arrive.
Adrian sent a laughing emoji.
Adrian: You sound like an event planner.
Celine: I am the event planner now.
There was a brief pause before her next message-more personal, softer beneath the authority.
Celine: Catherine-did you eat today?
Max glanced instinctively toward Catherine's empty desk, then back to his phone.
A few seconds passed.
Catherine: Not yet. I will.
That was all it took.
Adrian: Unacceptable. I'll take her to lunch.
Something very expensive. I feel generous.
Catherine: You really don't have to-
Adrian: I insist. Consider it rehearsal for tolerating my family tomorrow.
Max watched the conversation scroll, something faintly amused-and unexpectedly steady-settling in his chest. Tomorrow they would leave the city behind: noise, schedules, the careful lines Catherine kept drawing around herself.
And Celine, already orchestrating the weekend from miles away, had made sure of one thing-
No one would arrive unprepared.
Max watched the conversation scroll, something faintly amused-and unexpectedly steady-settling in his chest.
And then, without quite meaning to, he spoke.
"Adrian."
The name alone made Adrian look up. In five years of knowing Max-through negotiations that bent markets and moments that tested loyalty-he had learned to recognize every version of the man sitting across from him.
This one was new.
"Yes?" Adrian said carefully.
Max's gaze drifted, briefly, toward Catherine's empty desk. Her notebook was still there, closed neatly, as if she had stepped away with the full intention of returning.
"Let me take her," Max said.
Adrian frowned. "Take her where?"
"To lunch." A pause, deliberate. "Just the two of us."
The silence that followed was heavy-not uncomfortable, but unfamiliar.
Adrian leaned back slowly, eyes narrowing in scrutiny. "Jesus," he muttered. "You're asking," he said, more statement than question.
Max met his gaze at last. There was no calculation there. No strategy. Just something bare, earnest, and unguarded.
He had never begged anyone-not colleagues, not partners, not adversaries, not even his Father. Only his mother, once.
And now-
"I won't cross any lines," Max said quietly. "I won't push. I just want... time. An hour."
Adrian let out a low whistle. "Wow," he murmured. "You're serious."
"Yes."
Another beat passed. Then Adrian laughed, shaking his head as if the universe had personally offended him. "Unbelievable."
He waved a hand, surrendering. "Fine. Go. Take her to lunch."
Max exhaled, the tension easing from his shoulders just enough to be visible.
"Thank you," he said.
Adrian smirked instantly. "Don't thank me yet. This isn't a date."
"I know," Max replied.
Adrian stood, grabbing his jacket. "I'm calling it a lunch-not-date. Very important distinction."
Max didn't argue.
Later-far too later for Max's comfort-Adrian was already typing.
Adrian: Breaking news from Manhattan.
Max is taking Catherine to lunch.
The response was immediate.
Celine: WHAT.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Reappeared.
Celine: Define "lunch."
Adrian: Relax. Lunch-not-date. He begged.
Another pause. Then-
Celine: HE DID WHAT.
Adrian laughed out loud.
Adrian: Relax. Boundaries respected. No crimes committed. Yet.
The typing indicator exploded.
Celine: I'M SO HAPPY I COULD SCREAM.
Do NOT mess this up, Maximilian.
Max stared at the screen, heat rising to his ears.
"I didn't agree to this public announcement," he muttered.
Adrian clapped him on the shoulder. "Too late. Also-since I'm being generous-"
He grinned. "You're driving the support car to the Hamptons."
Max blinked. "The what."
"The responsible car," Adrian said cheerfully. "Supplies. Extra luggage. Emergency exits. You're good at being prepared. Consider it part of your redemption arc."
Max sighed. Then nodded. "Fine."
"Promise," Adrian pressed.
"I promise," Max said.
Adrian's grin widened. "Look at you. Lunch. Road trip. Emotional growth."
Max didn't respond.
But as he reached for his jacket-heading toward a lunch that wasn't a date, toward a weekend that would change more than any of them expected-he realized something quietly undeniable.
This time, he wasn't being pulled into the story.
He had chosen to step in.
They chose a place Catherine already knew.
Nothing extravagant. A quiet bistro a few blocks from the office, windows fogged slightly from the midday heat, the kind of restaurant that didn't rush its patrons or expect them to perform. Max noticed the way her shoulders loosened the moment she recognized it.
"You come here often?" he asked as they were seated.
"Sometimes," Catherine said. "When I need to think but don't want to be alone."
He nodded, filing that away-not as leverage, not as intimacy, just as understanding.
They ordered simply. No wine. No ceremony.
For a few minutes, they ate in comfortable silence, the kind that didn't feel like avoidance. Catherine broke it first.
"Thank you for asking," she said quietly.
Max looked up. "For lunch?"
"For asking instead of assuming."
Something in his chest shifted. "I wanted to make sure it was okay."
"It is," she replied. Then, after a pause, "This feels... easy."
He smiled faintly. "I was hoping it would."
They talked about inconsequential things at first-work, a project Catherine had been quietly proud of, a meeting that had gone sideways and somehow ended in laughter instead of disaster. Max listened more than he spoke, his questions gentle, open-ended, never probing.
At one point, Catherine laughed-really laughed-and then caught herself, surprised by the sound.
"Sorry," she said reflexively.
He shook his head. "Don't apologize for that."
Another small pause. Then she said, "You know, I usually hate last-minute plans."
"I know," Max replied.
She raised an eyebrow. "I don't remember telling you that."
"You didn't," he said. "But you reorganize your calendar when someone cancels instead of enjoying the free time."
She stared at him for a second, then smiled. "That's... accurate."
The food disappeared unnoticed. So did the time.
When they stood to leave, there was no awkwardness, no lingering expectation. Just a shared understanding that this had been exactly what it was meant to be.
Outside, the city pressed back in-noise, heat, urgency-but something between them had settled.
"Thank you," Catherine said again, softer now.
"Anytime," Max replied. And then, carefully, "If you want."
She nodded. "I do."
ᯓ★
The next morning came early.
The city was still half-asleep when they gathered at the curb, luggage lined up neatly, coffee in hand. Celine was already in motion, issuing instructions into her phone, directing chaos with the precision of someone born into it.
Adrian tossed a duffel into the back of one car and pointed at Max. "Support vehicle. You're up."
Max took the keys without complaint.
He loaded supplies methodically-coolers, extra bags, a folded blanket Catherine hadn't known she'd need until she saw it there. He didn't comment when she noticed. He didn't comment when she chose to sit in the passenger seat beside him.
The city fell away mile by mile.
Traffic was merciful. The sky wide and blue. The road stretched out ahead of them, unhurried.
They drove mostly in silence, music low, windows cracked just enough to let summer in. At one point, Catherine rested her head back against the seat and closed her eyes-not sleeping, just existing.
Max glanced at her once, then returned his eyes to the road.
This wasn't a date.
This wasn't a promise.
But as the Hamptons drew closer, he understood something with quiet certainty:
Whatever came next, they were already moving toward it-together, at exactly the right pace.
──── ୨୧ ────
The front door opened before they reached it.
Celine's grandmother stood there-upright, elegant, eyes sharp with recognition and unmistakable warmth. She took in the group with a single glance, then focused on Catherine.
"There you are," she said, as if Catherine had never been absent. "You look well."
Catherine smiled, something easing in her chest. "It's good to see you again."
Her grandmother nodded, satisfied, then turned her attention to Max-and this time, there was no scrutiny.
"So," she said, a smile already forming. "Axel Maximilian. You're early."
"Yes, ma'am," Max replied, polite but at ease. "Traffic was kind."
"Good," she said. "I like a man who plans ahead."
She stepped closer, her tone softening. "It's good to see you again. I'm glad you could join us this year."
Celine made a face. "You say that like he's family."
Her grandmother smiled, unapologetic. "He's been here often enough. And he's always respectful. That counts for something."
Max inclined his head. "Thank you. It's always a pleasure to be here."
"Mm," she said, approving. "And I hear you're driving the support car."
Adrian coughed a laugh. "Word travels fast."
"Of course it does," she replied calmly. "And I appreciate it. People who look after others are always welcome in my house."
She stepped aside, gesturing them in. "Come. You'll want to settle in before dinner."
As they moved inside, Catherine glanced at Max, a flicker of surprise in her eyes-quickly replaced by something gentler.
He belonged here more than she'd realized.
And Celine's grandmother, already fond of him, clearly intended to make that known.
Max did not seek the private moment.
It found him anyway.
Celine's grandmother caught him just as he finished placing the last bag outside the guest rooms, her steps quiet despite the polished floors. She didn't announce herself, only waited until he noticed.
"You've grown into yourself," she said.
Max turned, surprised-and then smiled. "I've had good teachers."
She hummed approvingly. "You listen. That's rare." She gestured toward the open terrace doors, the late afternoon light spilling in. "Walk with me."
They moved slowly, side by side, the sound of the house-voices, laughter, footsteps-fading into the background.
"I was glad when Celine told me you were coming," she continued. "You bring a steadiness with you. People feel it, even if they don't know why."
Max hesitated. "I hope I'm not intruding."
She stopped walking and looked at him fully now. "If you were, you wouldn't have been invited back."
The corner of her mouth lifted. "You've always been respectful of this family. Of this house. And lately..." She glanced toward the windows, where Catherine stood with Celine and her cousins, animated, smiling. "You seem particularly careful."
Max followed her gaze.
"I care," he said simply.
She nodded, as if that was the correct answer. "Good. Care is heavier than affection, but it lasts longer."
When they returned inside, the house had grown louder.
Celine's cousins had arrived in clusters-barefoot, sun-kissed, loud in the way only people who grew up together could be. Catherine was already among them, laughter spilling easily as she listened to a story she'd heard before and pretended not to remember the ending.
"Wait," one of them said, pointing at her. "You're the one who knows where the extra blankets are, right?"
Catherine laughed. "Third door on the left. Bottom shelf."
"See?" Celine announced. "She's basically one of us."
Catherine felt it then-not the effort of fitting in, but the ease of belonging. The way no one asked how long she'd stay. The way her name moved through conversations as if it had always been there.
Across the room, Max watched.
He noticed how naturally she leaned into the group, how her laughter came without hesitation here. How she didn't look over her shoulder, didn't brace herself. This place held her gently.
Dinner was announced just as the sun dipped low, the sky painted in soft oranges and gold.
They gathered around the long table on the terrace, candles already lit, the scent of grilled vegetables and salt air blending together. Celine took command of seating with practiced authority.
"Max, you're there," she said, pointing. "Catherine, next to me. Adrian-don't argue."
"No promises," Adrian muttered, pulling out his chair.
The meal unfolded slowly.
Stories passed back and forth. Glasses refilled. Catherine found herself speaking more than usual-adding comments, teasing gently, listening without the familiar weight in her chest. She caught Max watching her once, his expression unreadable but warm.
Later, as laughter rose around them and the first stars appeared overhead, Celine's grandmother lifted her glass.
"To summer," she said. "To family-however it finds us. And to the people who know how to stay."
Catherine felt the words settle deep.
Across the table, Max met her eyes.
For the first time since Boston, she didn't look away.
ᯓ★
The fireworks didn't start all at once.
There was a warning crack first-sharp enough to make Adrian look up mid-sip of his beer.
"Oh," he said, grinning. "That's our cue."
Celine was already there, tugging Catherine toward the edge of the lawn. "Come on. Best view is by the terrace railing. And no, Adrian, you're not blocking anyone this year."
"I'm tall," he protested. "It's not my fault."
"It absolutely is," Celine said, shoving a cold bottle into Catherine's hand. "Drink."
Max followed with quieter steps, a beer of his own already opened, the label damp against his palm. He stopped beside Catherine-not too close, not distant either-just naturally there.
The first firework burst open above them, white and blinding, scattering sparks across the sky. Catherine laughed instinctively, the sound surprised out of her.
"Okay," she admitted. "I missed this."
Adrian raised his bottle. "To summer traditions we pretend we hate but absolutely don't."
They clinked bottles-awkwardly at first, then with laughter when Adrian nearly dropped his.
"Careful," Max said, amused. "Those are expensive."
"Everything here is expensive," Adrian replied. "Including our emotional baggage."
Celine snorted. "Speak for yourself."
The sky bloomed again-red, then blue, then gold-each explosion reflected in the water below. Catherine leaned back against the railing, beer forgotten in her hand, laughter coming easily now.
"You know," she said, glancing at Celine, "your family does this very well."
Celine beamed. "We specialize in dramatic displays and forced bonding."
Max chuckled quietly, lifting his bottle. "It's effective."
Catherine looked at him, eyebrows lifting. "You're enjoying this."
"I am," he admitted. "Don't tell anyone."
Another round of fireworks thundered overhead, louder this time. Adrian whooped openly, earning a sharp look from Celine that dissolved into laughter a second later.
"God," she said, wiping at her eyes. "I love nights like this."
Catherine did too-and she realized it with a small jolt of surprise. Not the fireworks themselves, but the way she wasn't counting exits. Wasn't bracing for the sound. Wasn't retreating inward.
She was just... there.
At some point, someone turned the music up softly behind them. The beers grew lighter in their hands. The teasing gentler. Max leaned in slightly to hear Catherine over a particularly loud burst, then stayed there, shoulder brushing hers without either of them reacting.
When the final firework faded and the sky went dark again, there was a collective sigh.
"Well," Adrian said, stretching. "That lived up to expectations."
Celine nodded, looping an arm through Catherine's. "See? Worth the chaos."
Catherine smiled, warm and unguarded. "Yeah," she said. "It really was."
Max watched the three of them for a moment-Celine glowing with satisfaction, Adrian still grinning, Catherine relaxed in a way that felt new and fragile and real.
And for once, the night wasn't about what came next.
It was about being exactly where they were-together, laughing, summer settling comfortably around them.
── .✦
Morning arrived unapologetically.
Sunlight spilled through the wide windows as if the house had decided sleep was optional today, illuminating half-empty water glasses, abandoned shoes, and the unmistakable aftermath of a successful Fourth of July.
Catherine woke to the sound of groaning.
Not dramatic groaning-familiar groaning.
"Who decided fireworks required this much beer?" Adrian's voice drifted down the hall.
Catherine smiled into her pillow, head aching pleasantly, the kind of ache that came with laughter and late nights rather than regret. She rolled onto her side and sat up slowly, blinking against the light.
Downstairs, Celine was already fully awake, which felt unfair.
"Everyone hydrate," she called cheerfully. "And if anyone mentions my name in a complaint, I will revoke beach privileges."
Adrian stumbled into the kitchen, sunglasses already on despite being indoors. "You don't have that authority."
"I absolutely do," Celine replied, handing him a glass of water. "Drink."
Max appeared next-composed, but not immune. His hair was slightly rumpled, sleeves rolled up, moving through the kitchen with the quiet efficiency of someone who had planned for this exact scenario.
Coffee was already brewing.
Catherine paused in the doorway, taking them in: Celine directing, Adrian suffering dramatically, Max holding out a mug as if it were a peace offering.
"For you," Max said softly.
She accepted it with gratitude. "You're my favorite person right now."
Adrian squinted at him. "Traitor."
They gathered around the kitchen island, nursing coffee and toast, conversation slow and disjointed at first. Someone opened a window. The scent of salt drifted in, carrying the promise of a bright day.
"So," Celine said, clapping her hands once. "Agenda."
Groans all around.
"Relax," she said. "It's a gentle agenda. Beach this afternoon. Lunch in town. No obligations until sunset."
Adrian perked up. "There's a place on Main Street with oysters."
Catherine winced. "Maybe... later."
Max smiled. "I'll drive."
Celine nodded approvingly. "Support car energy continues."
By late morning, the house had fully woken. Cousins drifted in and out, barefoot and laughing, sharing sunscreen and sunglasses. Catherine found herself in the middle of it again-pulled into conversations, handed a hat, asked opinions on where to eat.
She caught Max watching her once, amusement soft in his expression.
"You're blending in dangerously well," he said.
She laughed. "I've had practice."
Outside, the day stretched open-bright, unhurried, full of possibility.
And as they packed towels and debated beach spots, Catherine realized something simple and unexpected:
She wasn't thinking about leaving.
Not yet.
The beach afternoon passed without urgency.
Shoes were abandoned in the sand, towels claimed and reclaimed, laughter rising and falling with the waves. Celine dragged Adrian into the water only to abandon him halfway, triumphant and dripping. Someone opened the cooler. Someone else fell asleep under an umbrella.
Catherine stayed mostly dry, content to sit at the edge of it all. Max settled beside her without comment, passing her a bottle of water before she realized she wanted one.
"You always do that," she said.
"Do what?"
"Notice."
He smiled, small and unapologetic.
They talked in fragments-about nothing important, about everything easy. When the wind shifted, their shoulders brushed. When she reached for sunscreen, Max wordlessly handed it to her, then paused.
"For your shoulders?" he asked.
She nodded.
His touch was careful, brief, respectful. Still, it grounded her more than the sun ever could.
Nearby, Adrian squinted at them. "Are you two being quietly sentimental, or am I imagining things?"
Celine threw sand at him. "Let them exist."
By late afternoon, the sun softened, the beach growing quieter as people packed up. Catherine stood barefoot at the shoreline, watching the light turn gold on the water.
Max joined her.
"Ready to head back soon?" he asked.
"In a minute," she said. "I want to remember this."
He nodded. "Me too."
────୨ৎ────
The last night in the Hamptons did not announce itself as important.
It arrived quietly-plates cleared, candles burned low, the house settling into that particular stillness that only comes after a long day lived fully. The ocean murmured somewhere beyond the trees, steady and indifferent.
They gathered on the terrace again, this time with blankets pulled close and glasses half-full. Celine leaned back in her chair, studying the three of them with an expression Catherine recognized well.
"This feels like a good night," Celine said. "The kind where we talk about things we normally avoid."
Adrian groaned softly. "That's never a good sign."
Celine ignored him. "How did you two actually meet?" She looked between Adrian and Max. "I've heard three different versions, and I'm convinced at least one of you is lying."
Adrian chuckled. "Canada," he said. "Toronto. I was already senior at the firm. Thought I'd seen every kind of prodigy."
"And then," Celine prompted.
"And then his father walked him into the boardroom like he was presenting an asset," Adrian continued, glancing at Max. "Didn't introduce him as a son. Introduced him as an investment."
Max's mouth curved-not quite a smile. "He wasn't wrong."
"He was barely twenty-four," Adrian added. "And already smarter than half the room. Terrifying, really."
Catherine looked at Max, surprised. "You never told me that part."
"I don't usually," Max said. His voice was calm, but there was something practiced in it. "It wasn't a gentle beginning."
Celine tilted her head. "What did you want to be before all of this?"
The question landed softly-but precisely.
Max leaned back, eyes lifting toward the dark sky.
"A pilot," he said. "In high school. I liked the idea of being alone up there. Responsible for nothing but staying steady."
Catherine smiled faintly. "That fits."
"Oh, it fits too well," Celine cut in immediately, sitting up straighter. "Wait-hold on." She squinted at Max as if framing him in her mind. "Pilot uniform. Dark jacket. Clean lines. Aviator sunglasses."
Adrian snorted. "Please don't encourage this."
Celine ignored him. "You'd absolutely be unbearable. Calm voice on the intercom. Everyone trusting you with their lives."
Max shook his head, a rare, real laugh slipping out. "You're romanticizing turbulence."
"No," she said cheerfully. "I'm romanticizing competence."
Catherine laughed softly, surprised at herself, and when she looked back at Max, she caught the brief, unguarded expression on his face-half amusement, half something wistful, like he'd let himself imagine it too.
"For what it's worth," Adrian added, raising his glass, "he would've been excellent. Terrifyingly excellent."
Max glanced away, the bad-boy ease settling back into his voice. "Good thing my father had other plans."
"He loved being super-rich," Max continued, voice smooth now, almost amused. "Loved the aura. The power. The way the world bent when he walked into a room." He rolled the glass between his fingers. "He enjoyed being wanted."
Celine hummed thoughtfully. "Sounds... familiar."
Max shot her a look. "Careful."
"Oh, please." She smiled sweetly. "You have his face. His confidence. That terrible ability to make people listen without raising your voice."
Adrian laughed. "She's not wrong. First week in Toronto, half the interns thought you were trouble."
"I was trouble," Max said lightly.
Catherine raised an eyebrow. "You don't deny it."
"I refine it," he replied, the bad-boy edge slipping into his tone so naturally it startled her.
Celine leaned forward, delighted. "See? That. That's genetic. Absolute playboy DNA."
Max scoffed. "I resent that."
"You flirt like it's muscle memory," Adrian added. "You don't even realize you're doing it."
Catherine opened her mouth to protest-then stopped. Thought better of it. Said nothing.
Max glanced at her, catching the hesitation, and his smirk softened. "I didn't say I followed his example," he said. "Just that I learned how the world works early."
Celine reached out then, squeezing his arm-not teasing now, but grounding.
"You survived it."
"I adapted," Max corrected quietly. "When your father has three wives, you learn what charm costs. You learn what it breaks."
The terrace fell still for a beat.
Adrian lifted his glass, gentler now. "And somehow you didn't become him."
Max exhaled, slow. "I came close."
Catherine looked at him-not the composed executive, not the easy smile-but the man who had learned restraint the hard way.
"That matters," she said softly.
Max met her gaze, something unguarded flickering there before he masked it again with a half-smile.
"Still," Celine added, unable to resist, "if you ever do go full playboy billionaire, I want credit for calling it first."
Max laughed, low and real this time.
"Noted."
And as the night settled around them, Catherine realized something quietly unsettling and reassuring all at once-
Max knew exactly who he could have become.
And every day, he chose otherwise.
ᯓ★
They left the Hamptons just after sunrise.
The house was still half-asleep when luggage rolled across the stone path, when doors closed softly instead of slamming. Celine moved with practiced efficiency, issuing instructions through a yawn. Adrian complained out of habit but followed every one of them.
Max loaded the support car without being asked.
The road out of the Hamptons stretched long and forgiving, the early light turning the trees pale gold. Catherine sat in the passenger seat, legs tucked in, coffee warming her hands. The radio stayed low-something instrumental, unobtrusive.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
The night lingered between them-the laughter, the confessions, the way Max's voice had shifted when he spoke of his father. Catherine glanced at him once, then looked back out the window.
"You were different last night," she said finally.
Max kept his eyes on the road. "Different how?"
"Less guarded," she said. "Like you stopped performing."
A corner of his mouth lifted. "That's rare for me."
"I noticed."
Traffic thickened as they neared the city. The skyline appeared slowly, familiar and unyielding, steel catching the morning sun.
"My father used to say the city makes men honest," Max said after a beat. "It forces you to choose who you are when no one's impressed."
Catherine smiled faintly. "Do you believe that?"
"I think," he said carefully, "the city makes it harder to hide."
They crossed the bridge in companionable silence. Manhattan unfolded around them-noise, urgency, inevitability.
As Max pulled toward the curb, Catherine felt the quiet of the weekend slipping away-but not the closeness it had created.
"This weekend mattered," she said.
He nodded. "I know."
She reached for the door, then paused. "I'm glad you told us."
"So am I," he replied.
She stepped out into the city, the car door closing softly behind her.
Max watched her disappear into the crowd before easing back into traffic, carrying something new with him-something lighter, and far more dangerous than charm.
Truth.
And Manhattan, as always, waited to see what he would do with it.
────୨ৎ────
The days that followed did not announce themselves as different.
They simply were.
Back in Manhattan, the office slipped into its familiar cadence-meetings stacked into hours, coffee refilled without thinking, silences broken only when necessary. And yet, something between Max and Catherine had eased, as if a tension they hadn't named had quietly let go.
Celine noticed immediately.
"So," she said one morning, leaning against Catherine's desk with theatrical innocence, "are we calling it flirting now, or are we still pretending it's accidental?"
Max didn't look up from his tablet. "We're calling it professionalism."
Catherine smiled into her mug. "He's doing better," she said simply. "You should stop bullying him for it."
Celine blinked. "Wow. Public defense. I love this phase."
Max glanced at Catherine-half caution, half gratitude.
She met his eyes without hesitation. "You are better right now," she added, quieter. "You should let yourself be."
He didn't argue.
Their rhythm adjusted in ways so small they almost went unnoticed. Conversations stretched. Silences stopped feeling like something to manage. Max no longer braced when Catherine laughed; Catherine no longer rehearsed her words before speaking to him.
And Saturdays, Saturdays stayed sacred.
The routine now lived first in their group chat.
Celine:
Saturday check. Coffee or brunch? I vote brunch because I'm emotionally fragile.
Adrian:
Coffee. Brunch is just lunch pretending to be productive.
Max:
Coffee. Same place.
Catherine:
Same place is good 🙂 What time?
Max:
10?
Celine:
See? He's decisive now. Hamptons changed you.
Max:
Don't start.
Adrian:
Too late. She already started.
Sometimes Celine joined them, sometimes Adrian. Sometimes neither. But the plan always landed the same way-effortless, assumed.
The same café. The same corner table. Max always ordered first; Catherine always changed her mind at the counter. They walked afterward, no destination agreed upon, letting the city decide for them.
One Saturday afternoon, as they crossed the street together, Catherine reached instinctively for the extra napkin Max had forgotten again.
"Still doing that," he murmured.
"Someone has to," she replied.
They began predictably enough. Late coffee. Wandering streets. Lunch that blurred into afternoon. But by nightfall, the rhythm changed.
It always started with a pool.
Sometimes it was Celine's penthouse-glass walls glowing against the city, music humming low while the water caught the lights like something alive. Other times it was Maximilian's place, quieter, more controlled, the pool immaculate, the view expansive and deliberately understated.
Alcohol appeared without ceremony. Beers dropped into ice. A bottle opened, then another. Adrian claimed the music half the time; Celine seized it the rest, turning the volume just loud enough to feel but not overwhelm.
Catherine liked the water best.
She floated more than she swam, hair slicked back, laughter easier than it used to be. Max watched her without hovering, content to sit at the edge, feet in the pool, drink sweating in his hand.
Celine noticed everything.
"Look at him," she stage-whispered once, nudging Adrian. "Not brooding. Not plotting. Just... existing."
Adrian raised his glass. "Miracles do happen."
Later, they dressed up-not carefully, not impressively. Just enough. The city welcomed them the way it always did on Saturday nights: neon, noise, bodies pressed close together.
Clubs blurred into each other. Music thumped. Catherine danced with Celine, unselfconscious, alive. Max stayed close without claiming space, his presence steady, grounding. When their eyes met across the floor, there was no tension-just recognition.
Sometimes they stayed out too late. Sometimes they left early.
The question afterward was always the same, asked casually, never loaded.
"Celine's?" Adrian would say.
Or Max, quieter: "Mine's closer."
No one made a rule of it. Some nights ended on Celine's couch, limbs tangled, shoes abandoned by the door. Other nights, they crossed the city to Maximilian's penthouse-clean lines, calm air, the kind of silence that felt intentional.
Catherine learned the difference between the two spaces.
Celine's was laughter that lingered.
Max's was quiet that held.
She fit into both.
By Sunday morning, there was always a soft reckoning-headaches, coffee brewed too strong, sunlight spilling where it wasn't invited. Celine complained dramatically. Adrian pretended he was immune. Max moved quietly, making space without comment.
And Catherine-Catherine woke without dread.
No one named what these nights meant. They didn't need to.
Because the routine itself said enough:
They trusted each other with their time.
With their exhaustion.
With who they were when the city finally slowed.
And for now-
That was more than enough.
Because whatever had shifted between them wasn't loud or reckless or obvious.
It was steadier than that.
And for the first time in a long while, they moved forward-not ahead of each other, not behind-
But side by side, one Saturday at a time.