Page 39 of 6 Clues Your Nemesis Loves You

“And the rest is history,” she says, fanning her hand at the room.

It sure is something. Eleven years later, I’m expanding my own business with Desmond, planning outdoor activities, fostering confidence and leadership skills in kids and adults, all because Cal circled that ad in the paper and shoved it in my face. “Still don’t know why he thought I’d be good at teaching and leading programs, considering I sucked at school. Probably just wanted to save his eardrums from Coldplay hell.”

“I bet he hated seeing you so sad. I hate that you were so sad,” she says tenderly.

We turn our heads at the same time, smiling fond smiles at each other. The gift of easy companionship—sharing stories, even when some of them are tough.

The moment lingers, the tender mood tipping into something more intense. We’re on our backs, staring at each other, our smiles transforming into parted lips and heavier breaths, and I’m at a loss. I don’t know where to look when it comes to Maggie. Everything about her is too much—her striking cheekbones and petite nose, those sensual lips, her mass of freckles, here there and everywhere. Those mesmerizing emerald eyes that seem to absorb and memorize my face too.

Her tongue traces the luscious curve of her top lip. I bite my cheek, the zip of pain an attempt to contain myself. Do not grab her. Do not devour her sassy mouth.

Awareness drags south, down to my abdomen—a hot tug that has me flexing. “I lied before.”

Her pupils blow wider. “About what?”

“I do have friends. I have Delilah and my brothers, who are annoying but awesome. And…” I pause, hoping she reads the sincerity in the weighted beat. “I have you.”

Her expression shifts, hints of desire tumbling into what looks like longing. Or maybe that wistful look is quiet affection, her tender gaze and paint-splattered face proving how much fun we have together. “I didn’t realize how much I missed you,” she whispers.

“Told you I bring the fun.”

“You certainly do.” Hesitantly, she touches my beard, dragging her fingers over my jaw.

Electricity sizzles through me, so intensely I want to close my eyes and soak in the sensation, but I don’t. I can’t miss a moment of Maggie.

Something fervent flashes across her face. Just as quickly, she grins. “You’re gonna have paint in your beard for weeks.”

“All thanks to you. Might have to shave it.”

“No,” she says, then clams up.

“No?”

She shrugs a shoulder. “I like the beard.”

It’s a bashful admission, the sentiment hitting me in the chest. She presses her fingers harder into my beard. I turn my head, enough that my lips hit the tips of her fingers. I give them a soft kiss—the tender gesture of a friend, who would like to be more one day.

She doesn’t reprimand me for breaking her no-flirting rule. She curls her fingers into a fist. Not angry or defensive. Just folds her fingers delicately like she’s holding my kiss in her hand.

chapter fourteen

The next morning, I’m once again hiding from Maggie Edelstein. This time, instead of asphyxiating in a supply closet, I’m wedged behind a large tree, waiting for her to leave her house. As per our conversation yesterday, my nemesis is nervous about seeing her boss today. She probably didn’t sleep well last night. I can’t help her with her work issues, but I can give her morning a boost.

I’m on one of Windfall’s quaint streets, colorful Victorian homes stretching in both directions. Rows of hickories cast shade over the asphalt and grass…and the tombstones dotting the lawns. Windfall clearly still loves Halloween. The town has done an exceptional job creeping itself out for tonight’s trick-or-treating. Maggie rents the basement in that cute yellow house covered in spider webs and skeletons. Based on when I’ve seen her at Sugar and Sips, I’ve concluded she leaves her home on weekdays around 8:30 a.m.

As expected, she appears on time.

She swishes from the back of her house, her high heels clicking on the paved driveway. Her hair is pinned back in a neat ponytail, her slim skirt emphasizing every sway of her hypnotizing hips. I bite back a groan and hide more firmly behind my tree.

Her white Jeep is parked across the street from her home. She doesn’t seem to notice the white paper I stuck under her windshield wipers. Her lips and brow are pinched, her strut gaining speed. Her focused expression hints at a loud internal monologue.

Everything about her reads, I’m Stressed about What Today Will Bring.

That’s where my note comes in.

Unfortunately, she swishes to the driver’s side of her Jeep, without so much as a glance at her windshield. Dammit. She opens her door with zero reaction. Turns the ignition. She starts pulling onto the street, but she quickly brakes.

I perk up.