Chapter 11 — Max
"Sorry," Caroline said quickly, flustered. "I know it's a little messy."
She hurriedly scooped clothes off the couch, forcing an awkward smile as she tried to make the place look presentable.
"We're trying to start a business, and Max's cupcakes are incredible! She's genuinely a baking genius!"
On the couch were a few T-shirts and a lone sock—
but even more lingerie.
On the table nearby sat a tray of half-finished red velvet cupcakes.
Max leaned casually against the doorframe, showing absolutely no intention of helping.
"Relax, Caroline." She smirked. "He's seen worse."
She shrugged lazily.
"Like my life."
Ethan glanced around the small, warm but clearly modest apartment and smiled.
"Trust me," he said, "based on what I know about Max, this place is basically heaven."
At night, under the glow of the lights, Max and Caroline's apartment did feel cozy—
but no amount of warmth could completely hide how simple it was.
The air smelled sweet—cupcake batter, sugar, frosting—
with the faintest hint of… horse.
All thanks to Caroline's beloved horse, Chestnut.
Ethan couldn't help asking, "Wait… is that an actual horse?"
"Of course," Caroline said proudly. "He's very healing."
She hesitated, then admitted:
"Although… we do have to clean up his emotions every day."
Max cut in instantly.
"I believe you mean his poop."
At the moment, Ethan sat on the "very vintage" couch, while Caroline—who was orbiting him like an overexcited Chihuahua—tried her absolute best to play hostess.
Max clicked her tongue. "The first time I brought Caroline here, she walked in and said my place had been robbed. I told her—no, it always looks like this."
Ethan glanced around with a grin. "Honestly? Not bad. You even have a yard. Feels like the perfect place to relax… and do drugs, without sacrificing either."
Max nodded proudly. "Obviously."
"So, Ethan," Caroline said as she poured him coffee, batting her big blue eyes innocently, "has your clinic considered hiring an Operations Director with a Wharton brain and world-class people skills?"
Max sank into the armchair, lazily poking at the yogurt cup Ethan had bought on the street. "Wake up, Caroline. He doesn't need a former socialite who'll renovate the waiting room into Versailles and bankrupt him."
Ethan smiled politely. "The clinic is still just getting started, so I can't exactly afford an Operations Director yet. But thank you, Caroline."
"See? What he needs is patients!" Max said, turning to Ethan. "Rich patients, preferably. Seriously, Doctor—did you come all the way into our slum just to perform some kind of community service for an ex-girlfriend and her roommate?"
"Mostly," Ethan said, his gaze settling on Max, "I came to see how you're doing."
He paused, softening.
"And… I'm glad we ran into each other again."
Caroline immediately clutched her chest dramatically. "This is so moving! Like the beginning of a romantic movie! Except our hero is a doctor—not a prince on a white horse—oh wait."
She pointed toward the balcony proudly.
"We actually do have a horse. It just lives outside."
"Chestnut is more reliable than most princes," Max muttered. "At least he doesn't pretend he's a donkey."
---
Over the next few hours, with Caroline "strategically" disappearing into the kitchen—claiming she needed to research a new cupcake flavor—the atmosphere slowly eased into something natural.
They talked about medical school stupidity.
They talked about weird diner customers.
Ethan even remembered every one of Max's dark jokes about her chaotic family.
"Remember when you said you wanted to use my stethoscope to listen to the neighbors through the wall," Ethan said with a laugh, "so you could tell whether they were fighting… or doing some kind of advanced cardio?"
Max smirked. "I thought your stethoscope was a sex toy. Had no idea you were an actual doctor. And I was right—they were working out."
She leaned back lazily.
"Just… with disturbingly creative positions."
Then Max fell quiet.
Her eyes lingered on him—this man in a clean shirt, completely out of place in their poor little apartment.
"Honestly, Ethan…" Her voice lowered. "You're basically a prince in a white coat now."
She exhaled.
"And I'm still the waitress running circles in a diner. We're not in the same world."
"The world is what you decide it is," Ethan said.
"Please." Max rolled her eyes. "That line is pure motivational soup."
Ethan didn't flinch. He just looked at her.
"In my eyes," he said steadily, "you've always been the smartest, funniest, toughest girl I've ever met."
He smiled slightly.
"Back then. Now. Always."
"God—don't talk like that." Max rolled her eyes again, but her hand moved unconsciously to rub her sore shoulder. She sighed. "If we're being honest… my biggest dream right now is surviving my morning cupcake batch without painkillers."
"Let me see," Ethan said.
He moved naturally to sit beside her and placed his fingers gently on her shoulder and neck.
His touch was professional—firm where it needed to be, soft where it mattered.
Max's body loosened before she even realized it.
"You can massage?" she asked, surprised.
"I rotated through rehab medicine," Ethan replied.
His fingers followed the line of her shoulder with calm precision—and in the faintest, almost imperceptible flash, a soft warmth passed through his palm.
Max nearly let out a sound. "Wow… you know, if you'd done this back then, I wouldn't have dumped you so easily."
Ethan's voice was quiet. "It's not too late."
Under his hands, Max felt an unfamiliar kind of relief—like she'd been holding her breath for years and finally let it out.
"Damn it, Ethan…" she muttered, not sure if she was cursing him or herself. "Can you stop being so… perfect? It makes it really hard for me to pretend I'm not interested in you."
The next second, she twisted around on the couch, grabbed his collar, and kissed him hard.
Wild, blunt, reckless—
a kiss that screamed to hell with reality.
Ethan hesitated for only a heartbeat…
then kissed her back.
---
The Next Morning
Sunlight spilled through the window onto Max's ridiculously comfortable bed—the most luxurious investment in the entire apartment.
Ethan was awake, leaning against the headboard, still half-sleepy, smiling as he looked at her.
The sunlight traced the curve of her shoulder.
"You know," he said softly, a teasing disbelief in his voice, "I used to think your confidence was an act…"
He paused.
"But after last night, I realized… you're an honest woman."
Max didn't answer.
She cracked one eye open, stared at him for two seconds—
then rolled over and wrapped herself tightly in the blanket like a burrito.
The bedroom door creaked open.
Caroline entered wearing a bowtie made from a clean napkin, speaking in an exaggerated stage whisper:
"Good morning! This apartment's exclusive breakfast service is now open! Featuring crispy-edge fried eggs, cold bread, and my sincere blessing from the heart!"
"Caroline," Max groaned into the pillow, "if you don't shut up, I'm going to put you in the oven."
---
After breakfast in bed, Ethan put on his coat and looked at Max seriously.
"About us…"
"No." Max cut him off instantly, folding her arms across her chest. "If you leave some money on my nightstand, I'll like you more."
"Max—" Ethan tried.
"Just leave it," she said, forcing her usual sharp expression back onto her face.
"We'll be the kind of… friends who occasionally have dinner."
She narrowed her eyes.
"And you can give me massages."
"That way it's better for both of us."
Ethan stared at her for a long moment.
Then he nodded.
He leaned in and hugged her gently.
"Anytime you need me… I'm here."
When the door shut, Max lay in bed for a long time without moving.
Caroline stepped in quietly. "What happened?"
Max sat up, walked into the kitchen, and started preparing cupcake ingredients.
"I keep baking my cupcakes. He keeps saving people."
She didn't look back.
"Everyone gets a bright tomorrow."