I jerked back in surprise. “How the fuck do you know that?”
Jake laughed. “I hope to hell you don’t think you’ve been subtle about that. The two of you have had enough smoldering chemistry for the past few years that it’s a damn miracle the brewery didn’t burn down around you.”
I nodded. Interesting. I hadn’t figured anyone else would have picked up on my feelings. But Jake saidwehad chemistry. So maybe Maggie had been feeling more than a one-night desire to see what came of us. Who knew since the woman was radio silent. “Anyway, almost a month and a half ago, Maggie drank too much when we were at Max’s. I took her home, but she asked to stay at my place.” Jake’s head tilted at that. “I didn’t act on anything that night. She’d had far too much to drink. But the next morning, we both jumped off the ledge we’ve been on.”
“Kaboom?”
I laughed. “Yep. Shit-hot chemistry. Best I’ve ever had.”
“Then why is she a ghost?”
I shrugged. “Fuck if I know.” I decided to keep the broken condom and tears to myself. Not sure how much Maggie wanted shared of our morning together. Hell, the answer was probably none of it.
Jake nodded, looking over the bar, then back to me. “So, where does she fit in your plan?”
“What plan?”
“Don’t fuck with me, man. You have a plan for everything, and I’m guessing Maggie Jameson features pretty heavily into it.”
I sighed. “I don’t know, Jake. In an ideal world? Maggie and I’d get together, date for a while, and spend the next fifty years or so making each other crazy.”
“Kids?”
“Fuck yeah. Just not yet.”
Jake shrugged. “Who knows, Sullivan? Man plans, but God laughs. Maybe Maggie just needs you to relax.”
“I’d be glad to if the woman would just talk to me. Beyond all the rest of this, she’s a good friend. I hate that we might have fucked that up. I’ve worked out more this month, put in more hours at the brewery, because I’m trying to honor her unspoken request for space.” I ran my hand through my hair, wanting to tug it out in a fit of frustration.
“So why didn’t you just appear on her doorstep?” Jake asked, watching me with interest. I knew damn well that in our over ten years of friendship, he’d never seen me torn up over a woman. Asshole was probably enjoying this.
“Maggie doesn’t like to be cornered. She’s always said she’s leaving Highland Falls one day.” I shrugged, trying to ignore the clench in my stomach when I thought of that. “Didn’t want to give her reason to speed up that move.”
“How does this move fit in with your future plans for fifty years making each other crazy?”
Tipping my head back to look at the ceiling, I let out a sigh. Looking back to Jake, I uttered two words, “It doesn’t.”
3
Cookies and Pearl Jam
Maggie
Emma was dancing around Max’s kitchen singing into a wooden spoon. I couldn’t help but grin at my friend. Her brown hair was curled in soft waves, and she tossed it from shoulder to shoulder as she belted out lyrics to “Shallow” from theStar is Bornsoundtrack. Originally, we were doing it as a duet. However, since she was on the third time through with the same song, I’d moved on to baking cookies, and Max fled the kitchen to man the grill.
Emma’s voice rang out as she began the song again. God, I loved Em, but she was no Gaga. Tonight should be fun. It would keep my mind off my own issues, that was for certain.
I placed the chocolate chip dough balls on the parchment paper, then slid the trays into the oven. Emma piped up from over my shoulder, “Mags, thanks for the cookies. Yours are the best!” She grinned and spun around, hair flying like a cape.
This was a conversation we had often. Emma was a hell of a cook, but she couldn’t figure out baking for some reason, which puzzled me. Shaking my head, I smiled and held up the yellow Nestlé’s bag. “It’s all right here on the back of the bag, my friend. That Ruth Graves Wakefield knew what she was doing.”
Emma shook her head at me. “Nope, your recipe is different.”
“No seriously, it’s not that different. You just need to commit these two secrets to memory: cream the hell out of the butter with the sugarandrefrigerate the dough in balls for at least three hours before cooking. That’s it. You’ll get kick-ass cookies too, my sweets.” I leaned over, setting the timer on Max’s oven, then grabbed my sparkling water as I hopped up on the counter and considered Emma. “So, when are you moving in here?”
Emma slid my purse to the side and hopped up on the island in front of me. She kicked her legs out, tapping my feet, then let them fall back. I glanced from her feet, bare with bright pink nails, and looked back up at her. Emma looked out the back door to Max—he’d left the grill to throw a small tennis ball around the yard with Poppy—then her eyes came back to me. “Well, I’m essentially in now.” She grinned.
“Yeah, yeah, but when is it going to be official, you know? Like when will all your possessions be contained in this household?”
