Title: Dreamer's Holiday Series: Valentine's Day 2001
Author: Carol (spacemom)
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I own everything related to Roswell. I bought it this morning. That includes rights to the fictional characters (esp. Max) as well as to Jason Behr's wonderful body. I might be willing to rent out the others from time to time, but don't even ASK about JB. Meanwhile, I have fired ALL the writers and am now taking applications from this board for staff writers. Several of you already have a definite leg up!
(Okay, for legal reasons, I should admit that the above is a lie, and I don't own anything, but this is a FIC board, right?)

Dreamer Holidays: Valentine’s Day 2001

Max Evans had been staring at her for years. Maria had mentioned it during a shift at the Crashdown one day last year, but the truth was, Liz had been aware of it long before that. At first, it had freaked her out just a little. The news was full of stalker stories, and for a brief time, she was afraid he might hurt her. It wasn’t long, though, before she noticed little things that put her mind at ease—his caring toward his high-strung sister, the way he was the first to help if somebody spilled their notebook papers all over the hall or stumbled coming down the stairs, the way his eyes softened as he watched a mother help her child settle into the booth next to him. It was a lot of things, but eventually she had come to count on his quiet attention. Now, she admitted to herself, she wanted more.

One of Max’s most appealing traits was his total oblivion to the bevy of girls who worked hard to get his attention. Tall, dark, and brooding, with deep amber pools where his eyes should be, Max was the epitome of the unattainable perfect man. Being the first to attract and tame this desirable specimen had become an obsession for some of Roswell High’s most confident females. The unsubtle ones rubbed their bodies against his at every opportunity while they laughed shrilly and batted mascara-laden eyelashes. Liz often had to suppress a giggle as she watched him extract himself uncomfortably from their radar, sometimes catching her eye and shrugging helplessly, confused about how he always seemed to be standing in the most crowded places. Others did their homework; they arranged to share classes or joined the gym where he played racquetball with his dad just so they could forge that bond that grows from common ground. Meticulously polite but always remote, he remained alone.

And that was just one thing that confused Liz. Why was Max always looking at her? If he were interested in her, wouldn’t he have approached her by now? He couldn’t be so out of it that he didn’t realize he could have any girl in school he wanted. But if he didn’t want Liz, then what was all the time at the Crashdown about? And why did he look away every time she caught his eye?

"Just go over there and talk to him!" urged Maria. "You know he wants you to."

"Don’t be ridiculous, Maria," Liz countered. "If he’d wanted to talk, he could have picked any of the 101 visits to the Crashdown."

"Aha! You’ve been counting all those times he comes in!"

Liz rolled her eyes. "That’s absurd, Maria. That was just an statement. I just mean he’s had plenty of opportunity to talk to me, but he never has. I think that says it all."

"It may just say he’s shy," suggested Maria. "Cute guys can still be shy, you know."

Liz shrugged and turned away to refill the napkin dispensers, but she couldn’t quite shake Maria’s words. In spite of her best intentions, a seed of an idea grew in her mind, and she bit her lip, wondering if she had the nerve to go through with it. The fates answered her question clearly when Max’s sister Isabel approached the counter, her usual aloof demeanor compromised by a trace of uncertainty.

"Liz?"

"Hi, Isabel, what’s up?"

"Uh, you know that physics project we have to do?"

"You mean the toothpick bridges due after spring break?"

"Yeah, well, Ms. Fletcher said we should choose a partner, and I thought, maybe . . ."

Liz tried hard not to smile. She knew Isabel was having trouble in that class and wanted to pair up with somebody smart so she’d get a better grade. It was a heady feeling to be in the driver’s seat with the school ice princess.

"You thought what?" Liz asked, pretending not to know where this was going.

Isabel sighed and took the plunge. "I thought maybe we could be partners. We have a basement with a big worktable where we could build it, and my mom keeps the fridge well stocked."

Liz stifled amusement at Isabel’s attempt at a friendly smile. She looked like that awful Chucky doll from the old horror movie.

Enjoying the upper hand, Liz continued to bait her. "Oh, well, I was talking to Jerry Bowen and he said his dad’s an engineer. I was thinking he might be a good partner because his dad knows all about this stuff."

The clown smile faltered. "Really?"

"Your dad’s a lawyer, right?"

The smile crumbled. Isabel heaved a great sigh and collapsed on the barstool. "My dad sucks at this stuff," she huffed. "And I don’t have a clue. Please, Liz? You’re the smartest one in class."

Liz savored the image of Isabel playing right into her hands.

"Okay," Liz agreed. "Saturday at your house?"

"Yes!" Isabel jumped up, excited, until she realized how she looked to the largely teen crowd in the café. Instantly, she assumed her aloof air. "That would be fine, Liz. Shall we say 1 o’clock?"

Liz swallowed a yelp of victory. "See you then, Isabel."

Operation Max Evans was underway.

********

Saturday dawned hot and dry, unusual for early February. Customers at the Crashdown were already complaining about the heat. Full of nervous anticipation, Liz darted impatiently through the kitchen’s humidity, the grouchy customers, and the spilled milkshake at table 6, distracted by the clock’s slow ticking toward noon. When the big hand at last clicked into place over the 12, she dropped her dishcloth, shed her apron, and sprinted up the stairs to shower and change. She was already sweaty, and that wasn’t the impression she was going for today.

Wearing her low-slung jeans and a coral tank top, she hoisted her backpack over her shoulder and stepped out into the hot sun. Turning in the direction of Max’s house, she suddenly began to doubt herself. What was she doing? She was going to his house? He would see right through her! She’d never ever been there alone before. The only reason she even knew where it was was because they’d built the freshman float in the Evans’s driveway two years ago. Get a grip, Liz, she told herself. Isabel asked you to be her partner. Not the other way around.

She was still psyching herself up when she arrived at the front door. Knocking tentatively, she took in the details of the yard. The garage door was open and a wheelbarrow with a young tree standing in it was poised at the gate to the backyard. Liz could see a hose snaking around toward the back of the house, and a bag of fertilizer stood open just inside the fence. Liz thought she could here a scraping noise coming from just beyond her line of vision.

When no one came to answer the door, Liz walked slowly toward the back of the house. The sight that met her eyes brought her up short. There in the hot sun, with his back to her, Max was digging a hole. She bit back a gasp, her eyes drinking in the powerful shoulders and bulging biceps that flexed and strained as he wielded the shovel. Then her eyes fell lower. He was wearing cut-offs that should probably have been retired last year, and the seams were taut to the point of bursting as his thighs raised and lowered his body in an even rhythm. The sheen of sweat made her think of those body-builder photos in the magazines. She was speechless. How had he managed to hide this body?

Breathing heavily, Max leaned against the shovel handle and reached for a glass that had been perched on the fence. Eyes closed, he slid the glass across his forehead, letting the beads of condensation cool him. Then he downed its contents in a series of gulps and sighed heavily. Setting the glass back down, Max turned to reach for the fertilizer. Their eyes met.

"Liz." It was almost a whisper.

Liz dropped her gaze, embarrassed that she’d been caught staring. "I . . . I’m supposed to meet Isabel for our physics project but . . . uh . . . nobody answered the door. I . . . uh . . . heard noises back here . . ."

Max continued to stare at her.

"I’ll get Isabel," he mumbled, and bolted for the back door.

Liz wanted to cry. Obviously, her appearance had been completely unwelcome. Obviously, project Max Evans was dead before it even began.

********

Max stood staring at Liz, wondering for a brief moment if she was really there or if his imagination had finally pushed him over some mental cliff. Here this angel had appeared in his backyard, wearing form-fitting jeans that left a strip of smooth, forbidden abdomen peeking out at him. That coral tank top only accentuated her deep tan, and her dark hair, fanned across her shoulders, shone in the sun. But whereas she was a vision, he was a mess—filthy, wearing these throwaway shorts, and dripping with sweat. She must be totally disgusted by his appearance. Damn Isabel! Why didn’t she tell him Liz was coming over!

"I’ll get Isabel," he mumbled, and ran for the safety of the house. Bounding up the stairs, he pushed open the door to his sister’s room without knocking.

"Why didn’t you tell me Liz Parker was coming over here? And why didn’t you answer the door when she knocked?"

His face was pure outrage, and Isabel laughed out loud. "What’s the matter, Max? Don’t tell me that her just showing up here got your hormones in a twist! For your information, I was doing my nails and couldn’t get the door. Why don’t you ask her to come up? I’m almost dry."

"You ask her!" he fumed. "I’m taking a shower!" He slammed the door to her room. Seconds later, she heard the door to the bathroom slam as well.

Still chuckling, Isabel ran down the stairs and opened the front door. Where had Liz gone? Confused, she turned back into the house, only to hear a tentative rapping at the back door.

"Isabel?"

"Liz! Sorry, Max kinda freaked when you showed up. I can’t believe he left you standing out there. I didn’t hear the door. I’m just finishing my nails. Come on up."

Liz followed Isabel into the house and up the stairs. "Why would he freak? Doesn’t he like visitors?"

Isabel laughed again. "Don’t tell me, Liz, that my brother’s total infatuation with you has escaped your attention!"

Liz gaped at her. "Infatuation?"

"Excuse me," Isabel drawled. "Are you the same Liz Parker who works at the Crashdown where Max lives every day after school? Where Max tries to stare at you without being noticed day after day?"

Liz could feel herself blushing to her very roots. It’s what she’d hoped, even suspected, but he’d never approached her in all that time, and he’d bolted like a rabbit when she’d shown up here. It was all very confusing.

"Do us both a favor, Liz. Put him out of his misery or we’ll never get anything done on this physics project."

Physics was the last thing on Liz’s mind now. Suddenly, the sound of the shower running was all she could hear. She kept getting images of him in there, naked, soapy, thinking of her. Her body heated up without warning, and she was helpless to control the reaction.

"Good god," Isabel sighed, rolling her eyes. "You’re as bad off as he is, aren’t you?"

Liz could only swallow and stare. This was not going at all the way she’d expected.

"Liz, can you help me gather up these papers and stuff? My nails are a bit tacky still. We can take them down to the basement. . . . Liz!"

Liz shook herself. "Huh?"

"Papers? Basement? Physics?"

"Uh, yeah. Sure." Liz began to stack the papers strewn across Isabel’s desk, and walked into the hall, plowing smack into Max, who was scurrying down the hall with only a towel around his waist. Papers flew everywhere. Their eyes locked in a moment of sheer agony. They were both as embarrassed as two people could get.

"Sorry," breathed Liz, unable to keep her eyes from wandering down the chest, the towel . . . oh, god.

"No, it’s my fault. I . . . uh . . . forgot to take clean clothes in . . . Here, let me help."

He bent to pick up some papers when he realized the towel was loosening around his waist. Dropping the few papers he’d picked up, he grabbed frantically for the towel before it slipped around his hips. "I . . ."

Giving up on rescuing any dignity, he almost ran into his room further down the hall, leaving Liz open-mouthed behind him. Between her reaction to him and her supreme embarrassment, she felt her body temperature spike. Looking back toward Isabel’s room, she found Isabel leaning against her doorjamb, shaking her head.

"I’m beginning to think you two deserve each other."

Together they picked up the papers and made their way to the basement.

********

Max was miserable. He had managed to create two ridiculous scenes in which he made himself look stupid, incompetent, and klutzy, all at the same time. Even his fantasies about Liz Parker would have to stop after today. Even his imagination wouldn’t be able to dismiss this debacle. He had to get out of here. Now.

Entering the kitchen to grab his keys, he saw his mother struggling with the door, her arms full of groceries.

"Hi, Max. Is Liz Parker here yet?"

"You knew she was coming? Did everyone know but me?" His anger was obvious.

His mother stopped and looked at him through narrowed eyes. That one little retort was more reaction to a girl than she’d ever heard from her handsome son before.

"Why, Max? Is that a problem?"

Way to go, Max, he scolded himself. Let’s just see how really bad you can make this?

"No, Mom, of course not. I have to go."

His mother frowned. "You do? Because I need some help with these groceries."

Max sighed. "Sure, Mom."

Eager to have something specific to do, Max walked out to the car, taking more bags of groceries from the open trunk. When he returned to the kitchen, his mother had already prepared a tray with two glasses of lemonade and a plate of cookies.

"Would you take these downstairs to Isabel and our guest, please, Max?" she asked.

"Mom, I was just leaving. Could you do it?"

Diane Evans hid a smile. "I’d appreciate your doing it, Max. I have these frozen foods to put away and some meat to take care of."

Sighing with resignation, Max picked up the tray and headed for the basement stairs. As he descended, he caught sight of Liz, hidden behind a curtain of hair as she glued a toothpick into place. "See, Isabel, you have to create a series of triangles for strength. It’s the most stable geometric form . . ."

The sound of Max setting down the tray brought her head up, and when they locked eyes, they both began to blush again. Isabel could hardly stand it. They didn’t have time for this dance.

"So, Liz," Isabel asked in a pseudo-casual voice. "Do you have a date for the Valentine’s Day dance?"

Liz dropped the toothpick triangle. It glanced off the edge of the worktable, breaking on one side.

"Uh, no . . . uh . . . Kyle and I sort of . . . well, we don’t really go out . . . it’s just this casual . . . uh. No."

"That’s too bad, Liz. Who are you taking, Max?"

Max glared at her with such venom, it would have scared Liz had she been able to lift her eyes from their single-minded study of the floor. He was choosing from a number of inadequate answers when his mother intervened. Her words were both a relief and a nightmare.

"Liz, Isabel tells me this is a big project. I hope you’ll stay for dinner. That way, you can work some this evening, too."

Liz froze. What should she do? She ventured a glimpse at Max, who seemed equally frozen in the moment. Was that hope or panic on his face?

"Thanks, mom!" Isabel shouted up the stairs. "Great, Liz," she beamed. "Now we can knock off a bunch of this tonight!"

She threw a victorious glance at her brother. "So, triangles, huh? I didn’t realize they were so strong."

Max trudged up the stairs. His day couldn’t get much worse.

********

"This is delicious, Mrs. Evans. Thank you." Liz was trying to force down some dinner, which really would have been delicious if her stomach hadn’t been in knots. When Liz had returned from the bathroom before dinner, the whole family had been seated, and the only empty chair was next to Max. Every time they both reached for the salt or their legs brushed against each other, a shot of adrenalin zapped her system and her stomach did flip-flops. She noticed with some satisfaction that Max wasn’t eating much either.

Thankfully, Isabel had deflected attention away from Liz with her whining. She was trying to convince her parents that she needed a new dress for the Valentine’s dance, even though she had half a dozen gowns already. Liz was sure her presence was all that kept a family argument from erupting.

"Liz, tell them," Isabel insisted. "Tell them you can’t wear a gown that people have already seen to one of these dances."

Liz was trapped. Her family couldn’t afford a new gown for every dance, and Liz often settled for different accessories or one of Maria’s magic makeovers. Her discomfort was obvious, and Max hurried to her rescue.

"Some people don’t need a new dress to make an impression," he goaded her. Liz gave him a wide-eyed look, and saw him wink at her. She suppressed a giggle. She wasn’t sure if that was a slam on his sister or a compliment to her, but either way, she appreciated it. Isabel, however, did not. Rising from her chair, her eyes shooting daggers at her brother, she flounced from the room.

"Come on, Liz. We have work to do."

Diane Evans watched Max’s face. His eyes never left Liz as she walked from the room.

"Liz, let us know when you two have finished for the night and Max will drive you home."

Liz and Max both looked at her with surprise. "I can walk, Mrs. Evans. That’s okay."

"Nonsense. We won’t have you walking home alone after dark. You just give a holler when you’re ready."

"Yes, ma’am." Liz tried very hard not to skip from the room.

********

Liz was motivated—motivated to get finished for the night so that she could go home. Or more to the point, so Max could take her home. Besides, she was tired of Isabel watching her work on the project instead of helping. Comments like "Oh, you’re so much better at that; you’d better do that part" or "I don’t understand what you mean. You do that and I’ll watch how you do it" made her realize why no one wanted to be partners with Isabel Evans. She promised herself that when it was time to write up the report to go with this bridge, Isabel would do it."

Straightening up, she stretched. "I think that’s far enough for tonight, Isabel. I need to get home."

"Huh? Oh yeah, fine, Liz. Thanks for helping me."

Yeah, right. Who was helping whom? Liz thought. But she smiled and headed up the steps. Walking through the deserted kitchen, Liz looked for Max. No one seemed to be around at all, and she sighed with disappointment. She wasn’t about to go looking through the house. Max probably hadn’t really wanted to take her home anyway; his mother was just pushing him.

Liz stepped out onto the front porch, shutting the door quietly behind her. As she moved toward the steps, though, a voice startled her.

"You weren’t going to walk home, were you? You want to get me in trouble with my mother?"

Liz spun around to see Max in the shadows, his long legs moving the glider gently back and forth. Slowly, he rose.

"Your chariot awaits." He bowed formally and held out one arm. Liz grinned at him and wrapped her small hand around the crook of his arm. The act of touching seemed to have an impact on both of them because they spent several seconds just standing there, conscious of the contact and getting lost in each other’s eyes. Finally, Max broke the look with a little shiver, walked her down the steps, and helped her into his Jeep. They rode in awkward silence for several blocks. Suddenly, Max pulled the car over.

"Max? We’re still two blocks from my house," Liz reminded him, confused by the sudden stop. She turned questioning eyes to him.

"I know, but I wanted to talk to you—without anyone else around."

Liz’s heart sped up. This was the beginning of one of her favorite fantasies. She wondered if by some miracle, he knew the rest of it. She was almost afraid for him to speak again and spoil it.

"I . . . uh, well, I almost never agree with anything my sister says, but she actually did say one sensible thing tonight."

"Yes, Max?" Liz was holding her breath.

"Well, if it’s true that you don’t have a date for the Valentine’s dance, and I know I don’t have a date for it either, well, wouldn’t it make sense to go together?"

He did know the rest of fantasy—or at least the next part of it! Liz realized she wasn’t breathing and when she went to take a breath, it sounded like a gasp. Max panicked.

"I mean, we don’t have to stay together the whole night. Like, you could dance with anyone you wanted, and . . . I mean . . . you probably don’t want to. Never mind."

Max started the car and put it in gear, wishing he could somehow get Liz home without actually have to take her there himself.

"Max."

He looked over his shoulder, waiting for traffic to clear.

"Max!"

Waiting . . . waiting . . .

"MAX!"

Spinning his head around, he looked at Liz. "What did you say?"

"I said ‘yes.’ I’d like to go to the dance with you."

"Really? You don’t have to. I only asked because . . ."

"Max, I would like to go to the dance with you." The relief on his face made Liz’s heart sing. He really did want to take her. "But I’ll warn you, I don’t have a new dress," she teased.

"You’ll still make an impression," he teased back, his eyes softening. Liz couldn’t take her eyes off of them. Smiling broadly now, he started toward the Crashdown again. The silence between them was still awkward, but lighter somehow. The air was charged with anticipation.

"Thanks for the ride home, Max," Liz smiled, stepping out of the car.

"Thanks for agreeing to come to the dance with me. Next Saturday night? 7:30?"

"It’s a date," she assured him. He stared after her as she walked through her door.

A date. He had a date with Liz Parker. What had he done?

********

The rest of the weekend was torture. Max was beating himself up with worries of one kind or another. He didn’t tell Isabel that he’d asked Liz to the dance because he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. She was insufferable enough half the time. He was afraid to tell his mother because she would go on and on about "cute couples" and "come here for pictures" and "it’s so nice to see you with a lovely girl like that."

Then there was the fact that he couldn’t afford to let anyone get too close. And if he went out with Liz Parker, there would be nothing he wanted more than to be close to her. He wasn’t like Isabel; she was able to flirt and date and participate without risking anything of herself. Max knew he’d been only too ready to give his heart to Liz Parker for most of his life. How would he keep any distance between them once they’d crossed this line?

For that matter, he wasn’t entirely sure how Liz felt about the invitation. Was he just convenient because she didn’t already have a date? Did she even want to spend more time with him before the dance? Maybe she would think he was stalking her if he started talking to her between classes or at the Crashdown. This was too complicated. He started to wish he’d never asked her.

Meanwhile, Liz was on cloud nine. Maria had squealed uncontrollably when Liz told her the news, and they had already started working on transforming Liz’s dress. Every moment of Sunday was like living in an alternate universe, Liz’s mind hardly her own as flights of fancy took her to the dance again and again. The dialogue changed from daydream to daydream, but the outcome was always the same, and Liz’s lips burned with expectation.

Monday morning brought cooler temperatures and a few clouds, but nothing could mar Liz’s good mood. She almost danced to her locker, quickly pulling out the books she needed for her first three periods, and then scanned the hall for Max. His locker was down the hall, but he usually passed by hers.

Spying him walking through the doors, Liz beamed. "Here he comes, Maria!"

"Here who comes?" Kyle sidled up to Liz and threw an arm around her shoulders. "Me? I’m flattered."

"Kyle, no! Not you. What are you doing here? I thought you had the flu."

"Ah, yes, well, you could call it the flu, I guess. Or you could call it ‘I had an English paper due that wasn’t finished yet.’ Glad you missed me." He planted a quick kiss on her cheek. "Later!" And he disappeared into the crowd.

Mildly annoyed, Liz turned back around to Maria, and her mouth fell open. Standing behind Maria was Max, looking hurt and trying hard not to show it.

"Max, I . . ."

"Hi, Liz," he answered stiffly and hurried down the hall toward his locker. Liz turned to go after him, but Maria stopped her.

"Liz! Honey, don’t go running after him. This is perfect! He’ll realize that you have plenty of options and it’ll make him want you all the more!"

"But you didn’t see that look on his face, Maria. I think he was hurt."

"It’ll just give him something to think about. Now come on. We’ll be late for Psych."

Liz let Maria lead her toward their first class, the image of Max’s hurt statement looming in her mind. Whether by chance or design, she didn’t see him the rest of the day. He didn’t even come into the Crashdown after school or phone her that evening. Her euphoric mood evaporated into thin air.

Tuesday, Max must have entered school through a different door because she waited for him by her locker until the last possible minute, but didn’t see him. She even ran out to his car after school, but when she saw him come out of the building with Isabel and his friend Michael in tow, she lost her nerve and ducked out of sight. Another evening went by without a phone call, and she started to consider that he was regretting his decision to ask her.

Wednesday, Liz chose to eat alone out behind the school. She didn’t want to make conversation or explain herself to anyone. She just wanted to wallow in misery by herself. She ducked inside the half-wall that bordered one side of the football field and welcomed the soothing sensation of the sun-warmed concrete against her tense muscles. Seated with eyes closed, face to the sun, she sighed heavily and tried to let her mind blank out.

A loud thud next to her forced a startled cry from her lips. Her eyes flew open to see a backpack sitting right next to her. She looked around in confusion, wondering where in the world that had come from.

"Oh my gosh, I’m sorry." Liz looked directly over her head to see Max staring down at her from the other side of the wall. "I had no idea anyone was there; I just tossed my bag over so I could hop over instead of walking around. I’m so sorry. I’ll grab it and go somewhere else."

Liz’s patience gave out. "Max, I don’t understand. First you ask me to this dance, and then you avoid me like the plague. Did I do something? Are you sorry you asked me because if so, you’re more than welcome to change your mind. At this point, I just don’t care."

Liz crossed her arms in front of her and stared straight ahead, oblivious to the half-smile that erupted on Max’s face. Soon she heard him land softly next to his backpack and slide down to a sitting position.

"What we have here is a failure to communicate," he said seriously, using one of his father’s favorite expressions. "I thought you were the one regretting the decision to go with me. I mean, you know I saw you with Kyle Monday morning. It looked like maybe you were getting a better offer."

"From Kyle?" she said with disdain. "I told you—he and I are nothing now. Just barely friends. Besides, you sure backed off in a hurry if that’s all this is about."

Max crossed his legs and leaned toward Liz earnestly. She turned to look at him and caught her breath. All teasing was gone; all that remained were those tender eyes she’d almost drowned in on Saturday and that beautiful mouth she couldn’t stop thinking about. What would those lips feel like touching hers?

"Liz." She forced her brain back into gear. "I’m sorry. I got the feeling that I’d pushed you into something you didn’t want, and I was trying to give you an out." He reached for her hand and she thought she might not be able to breath at all. "I do want to take you, if you still want to go."

The long silence was torture for Max. Liz was busy pushing through the wonderful images of what an evening spent with Max Evans might be like. Those eyes looking right through her, those hands holding her close, that mouth maybe . . . possibly . . . hopefully touching hers for the first time.

"Liz?"

"I’m sorry," Liz let out in a rush. "Yes, I would rather go with you than anyone in this world!"

No. She did not just say that. Where on God’s green earth had that come from? Liz wanted to die of embarrassment. Was a cornier line ever delivered in the history of dating? Had she managed to ruin everything that had just happened? She couldn’t even look at him, which is why she didn’t notice the bemused statement on Max’s face. He recovered first. "Just this world?" he smiled.

Liz let out a giggle of relief, able to concentrate once more on the electric sensation of their hands touching. Neither Liz Parker nor Max Evans had lunch on Wednesday.

********

The rest of the week passed in a haze for both Max and Liz. Although still a little tentative, they began to plan little bits of time together. Lunch . . . a Crashdown conversation after school . . . a quick evening phone call. By Saturday, Liz was a bundle of nervous anticipation. Maria had worked wonders on her burgundy dress from Homecoming of sophomore year, removing the sleeves and replacing them with little spaghetti straps, cutting a daring slit up one side, and adding a beaded appliqué across the bodice. Liz went back and forth about what to do with her hair; she finally decided to go sophisticated, piling her hair high and applying her make-up with agonizing care. Even with all that, she was ready 20 minutes early. She paced in her room for a while, and then her imagination took flight.

Suddenly, she was dancing in his arms, breathing him in, reveling in the feel of his strong arms wrapped around her as they danced, looking into those miraculous eyes that made her want to fall in and never come out. In her fantasy, he bent his head to kiss her cheek, her neck, his hot breath tickling her ear.

"Liz! Max is here!" called her mother unceremoniously.

Jolted back to reality, Liz reached for the door. Stopping, she grinned sheepishly and reached for her perfume. Just a drop behind the ears, she thought.

********

Liz’s stomach was in knots. More than anything, she wanted Max Evans to be glad he had asked her to this dance. She wanted to be beautiful for him, elegant and graceful. Her dry mouth and sweaty palms did little to enhance her self-image, though, as she walked down the hall toward the living room. She rounded the corner into the room and saw Max sitting on the sofa, smiling nervously at her father. When Jeff Parker stopped mid-sentence to take in the vision that was his little girl, Max turned, too.

Liz’s heart swelled as Max rose slowly, open-mouthed and wide-eyed. The speechless gape was quickly replaced with a smile—the smile that Liz dreamed of night and day. It was only part of the package, though. He looked gorgeous—tanned, toned, and timid. She could have died happy right then.

"You look . . . incredible," he stammered.

"So do you," she whispered, beginning to feel like Cinderella. How had she managed to find herself on the receiving end of that smile? Why was this charming prince standing in her living room?

She watched, mesmerized, as he approached her. She couldn’t take her eyes off his, that is, until she felt him take her hand, and the shiver that went through her was delicious. Looking down, she saw him slip a wrist corsage of three white sweetheart roses over her hand.

"You look beautiful, Liz," he murmured. "I don’t know if that’s a new dress or not, but you’ve definitely made a impression."

Her head whipped up to see him grinning at her, a teasing twinkle in his eye. As happened so often lately, her fantasy life took over, and she pictured that grin dissolving into a slightly open, expectant mouth. It would descend slowly to hers and she would feel his breath kissing her before those lips did the same, and it would be soft and tender and . . .

"Liz?" Her mother was handing her the small florist’s box that contained Max’s boutonniere of one deep red rose. She pulled herself back to reality with a private grimace and lifted the boutonniere and it’s long pin from the box. Slipping the stem through his buttonhole, she struggled to pierce the tough florist’s tape with the pin. Just as Max reached to help her, she yelped as the pin slipped, pricking her finger and drawing a drop of blood.

Disgusted at how she’d ruined the moment, she instinctively pulled her hand back to suck on her finger when Max stopped her. Holding her gaze, he slowly lifted her finger to his mouth and kissed it, a soft, gentle, lingering touch that set her finger, then her hand, and then her whole body tingling. He smiled as he released it, and after a breathless moment of losing herself in those eyes again, she looked at her finger. No one would have guessed that she’d cut herself. Amazing.

Max finished securing the boutonniere, and offered his arm, just like he had when he took her home a week ago. "I have a classier chariot tonight," he said, a mock-serious tone in his voice. "Dad loaned me the Miata."

"I guess that will have to do, then" she countered, taking him by surprise. She saw him lift one eyebrow, amused by her playful sarcasm. They walked out into a perfect night.

********

To the neutral eye, the school gym looked exactly like a school gym, only decorated with shiny red and silver hearts; red, pink, and white streamers; a mirror ball; and 8-foot tall speakers blaring loud music. But to Liz, it was heaven. Just walking in with Max was a heady experience. Eyes followed them wherever they went, followed by heads bent together in gossip. She could have predicted their reaction: someone had finally gotten Max Evans to a school dance! What she would have been surprised to hear was the follow-up: he was with Liz Parker—that cute brainiac girl who Kyle Valenti dated until he found out she didn’t put out. How did she wind up with Max Evans?

Max was conscious of the stir as well. He knew his presence was probably a surprise to people, but he couldn’t imagine why anybody cared. He felt proud to be making his way through the crowd with Liz. He had always thought she was beautiful . . . wonderful, in fact. But suddenly he felt incredibly inadequate. He should have told Liz that he wasn’t a very good dancer—not much practice. Isabel had tried to teach him, but she was always so impatient and critical that he’d avoided pursuing that idea. He prayed he wouldn’t embarrass himself—or Liz.

Isabel and her date had saved Max and Liz a seat. At the same table were Liz’s friend Maria and Alex Whitman. They often went to dances together because Alex would have been too embarrassed to ask anyone else, and Maria seemed just a little "out there" for most of Roswell High’s mainstream guys. Liz adored her, but she had to admit, you had to chip through several layers of attitude to find the Maria that was Liz’s best friend. Liz, Alex, and Maria had bonded early in life, and, inexplicably, their differences had not broken that bond in all these years.

It was clear that Isabel was not happy that she had to sit with two geeks, but Maria had promised to sit with Liz, and Isabel had promised to sit with Max, so they were stuck with each other.

"You’re here!" Isabel fairly shouted when the newest arrivals finally found them. "Good. Everything okay? Great! Bye." She grabbed her date’s hand and rose to find her "real" friends.

"Come on, Whitman. Time to show me those sexy moves of yours," Maria announced, tugging at Alex.

"She wants me," Alex winked at Max. "They all do." Max and Liz laughed at her friends as they entered the fray on the dance floor.

"Can I get you something to drink?" Max asked.

Liz nodded, feeling the heat of young dancing bodies raising the room temperature already. Max moved away, quickly disappearing into the crowd. Liz just leaned back in her chair, taking it all in, still afraid she might wake up and find it had only been another fantasy. Max was a dream, that’s for sure. But she hoped he was a dream that would last a while.

"Lizzie!" Kyle stood swaying in front of her, grinning drunkenly. "How’s my girl?"

"I’m not your girl, Kyle," Liz sighed and shook her head. "Go find your date."

He groaned, as he tried confusedly to see just one Liz Parker. "My date? She had other plans," he gestured vaguely across the room. "See ‘er over there, plastered to Steve Layman? Caught ‘em out in the parking lot swapping spit. Dance with me, Lizzie." He reached out his hand.

"Go away, Kyle. You’re drunk. I have a date," she tried to make it clear but he was wasted. As he reached for her arm, he tripped over the chair and landed in her lap, a drunken deadweight, his face delightedly coming to rest between her soft breasts.

"Get off me, Kyle," Liz snorted, her patience running out. "Max won’t like . . ."

Suddenly, Kyle’s weight was lifted off of her and she watched in awe as he sailed several feet through the air, landing hard against the raised stage wall. Liz had hardly registered what happened when Maria and Alex hurried to her side.

"Are you okay, chica? What in the world got into Kyle?"

"Did you see Max toss him like he was nothin’?" Alex gaped, clearly impressed.

"I’m fine, you guys. Kyle’s just drunk. His date dumped him." She looked between her two concerned friends to see Max standing over Kyle, jaw clenched. His lips were moving, but she had no chance of hearing what he was saying over the music. A crowd was starting to gather.

Liz rose, straightened her dress, and walked with as much dignity as possible toward Max and Kyle.

". . . and if you ever so much as touch her again . . ."

"Max." She laid her hand softly on his arm. He whipped around, eyes blazing, face flushed. Seeing her changed his demeanor completely, though.

"Liz, are you okay?" He pulled her into his arms for a thrilling moment, then drew back only far enough to see her eyes.

She smiled reassuringly. "Yes, Max. I’m not completely helpless. I think I can handle a drunk Kyle. I’ve done it before."

Max frowned, as if he didn’t like to think she’d even had to deal with this before.

"That was a hella throw, Max," Alex gaped. "You lift weights or somethin’?" He bent to help Maria pull Kyle to his feet.

"Uh, yeah, I work out sometimes."

"Remind me not to piss you off, man," Alex joked as they each supported Kyle on one side.

"Okay, stud," Maria drawled patronizingly to Kyle. "I know a great trashcan outside where you can throw up."

"Aww, thanks, Maria," Kyle mumbled appreciatively.

Max turned back to Liz, searching her face again, not completely convinced she was all right. Liz’s heart almost stopped at what she saw there. If she hadn’t known better, she would have sworn it was love—shining, almost radiating from his face. She couldn’t take her eyes off of him. Her fantasies were out of control. She was reading too much into this. She had to keep control or they’d give her away for sure.

"Liz . . ."

"I guess you’re my hero, now, Max. Saving a damsel in distress and all?"

"He was hurting you . . . his face was practically . . ."

She could see how upset he was, and she struggled against her natural reaction. Those lips were so close . . . Down, girl, she thought. Don’t scare him.

"Dance with me, Max."

It took a few seconds before Max drew some of his emotion back into himself, struggling to readjust his mindset. He had brought Liz to a dance—to her, it was their first date, even though he felt she’d been a part of him forever. Down, boy, he thought. Don’t scare her.

And then—oh yeah, a dance.

"Liz," he began, embarrassed about throwing Kyle, embarrassed about what he’d revealed to Liz in that look, embarrassed about his dancing. "Liz, I should have warned you. I’m not a very good dancer. Maybe we should just sit and enjoy the music . . ."

"Not a chance, Max. I want to feel your arms around me."

Max registered what she’d said ever so slowly. She wasn’t afraid of him or turned off or even embarrassed! She wanted him to hold her! That was the easiest request anyone had ever made of him.

Liz closed her eyes involuntarily when Max slowly slid his arms around her. She seemed to disappear into his broad chest, her head nestling perfectly into the crook of his neck. She didn’t even think twice when her body pressed itself against the length of him, eager to maximize the contact. She heard the hitch in his breath when their hips slid across each other as they adjusted their "fit," and she smiled to herself. It wasn’t all her imagination. He was reacting to her just as she was to him.

In a spontaneous bit of womanly mischief, she adjusted her hips again, wriggling against him for several seconds. She almost laughed with joy when she felt the reaction she’d been seeking.

"God, Liz," he hissed. She leaned back to grin her impish grin, but it faded on her lips when she saw the look in his eyes—desire, need, and . . . yes, there it was again . . . love. Then the fantasy kicked in. His head lowered slowly. She could feel his breath on her face, her lips. The air fairly sparked between them as inches became centimeters. And then his lips were on hers, and her mouth opened to him instantly. Their tongues slid together, searching for more . . . for deeper . . . for a promise of more kisses to come.

Liz could hardly let herself believe this was really happening, but this was much more real and beautiful and Max than any of her fantasies had ever been. And suddenly, without being able to explain it, Liz could feel what Max felt for her. And to her astonishment, she knew right then and there that it was love. It didn’t make sense, but there it was. First date or not, she felt to her very soul that he loved her. And equally strange, she knew she loved him. It was magic beyond any fantasy.

When at last they pulled back to look into each other’s eyes, everything had changed. Gone was tentative or embarrassed or afraid. Only they were left, together. It was the best feeling in the world.

"This dancing thing isn’t so bad," Max breathed.

"Almost like a fantasy," Liz sighed. They melded into each other once more and let the music wrap itself around them.

"Happy Valentine’s Day, Liz," Max whispered in her ear.

Liz smiled dreamily. There would never be a better one.