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“I didn’t know you were a part of the Ranger Nation.” Maggie set the box on the counter.
“Part of what?” Mac reached for the action figure, but his eyes were on Maggie’s face.
“A Power Rangers fan.”
“Oh, yeah, I like them fine.” Mac pressed his knuckles to his lips, dragging them back and forth against his mouth.
“You don’t have to do this,” Maggie said. “I know you didn’t come here intending to buy the nineteen-ninety-three Megazord. It’s vintage,” she winced because the figure was only a few years older than her, “so it’s expensive.”
“I can afford it.” Oh, well then, it must be nice to drop several hundred bucks on a whim and not miss it at all. Mac leaned back over the counter to put them more eye-to-eye. “I know Gary is a good guy, but I don’t want you or Shay in trouble. Besides, I bet Dean would have done the same thing.”
He wouldn’t have. Dean may have only been Maggie’s fake boyfriend, but she’d known him her whole life. Would he have stood up for Shay? Absolutely. Would he have demanded that the jerk respect Maggie and her coworker? A million times over. But he would have done it by hauling the man out of the store, and it would not have occurred to him that Shay or Maggie could be in trouble for losing a big sale. They wouldn’t have been in trouble. Gary would have sent that man packing with some strong words, but it was nice of Mac to think of them.
Maggie scanned the box, wincing at the total that appeared on the screen. Mac dug his wallet out of his back pocket and handed her a credit card before she could even read the number off.
“Can I at least pay half?” She asked, and he shook his head. Which was a mercy, really, because her bank account did not want her to pay half.
“Run the card, Maggie.”
“Yes, sir,” Maggie said with a mock salute. She pushed the card into the bottom of the reader and waited for it to beep. She chanced a glance up at Mac, who had frozen at her words. His pupils expanded, swallowing the dark brown of his irises. His mouth opened on a ragged inhale. Maggie’s center went hot and liquid, a deep ache starting between her thighs. She rubbed her legs together, resisting the urge to either moan or giggle.
“Since I know you didn’t come here for Megazord, what brought you to the shop today?” Maggie tried to wrench her wayward body back on track.
Mac stared at her, his gaze glued to her mouth. Maggie let her tongue out to wet her bottom lip. Her pulse picked up and her breath turned shallow. She was out of control. Prolonged eye contact had never made her this hot before. It must have been all the extra time spent with Dean, dating Dean, and then adding in one heroic act straight out of a romance novel, and Maggie was in heat.
Mac looked away first, and Maggie sighed in relief. She wasn’t certain she would have dropped eye contact.
“I brought you something.” He reached into his bag.
“Did you bring more blades?” Maggie asked, and the excitement crashing through her almost buried the tingles in her stomach. Excitement because Mac’s work was exquisite.
“I brought one.” Mac placed a leather wrapped dagger on the counter.
“Is that—” Maggie leaned in and looked at the wooden handle with sweeping bronze scroll work. It curved in a smooth arc, ending with a cap of bronze.
“You said you wanted one of the daggers from last week,” Mac said. “I made it for you.” Maggie unwrapped the leather, taking great care not to jostle the dagger. While she was staring down at the shining steel of the blade, Mac gathered up his vintage action figure and left, the bell signaling his departure.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Maggie’splanforSaturday’sdate involved her favorite coffee shop and a sacrifice of one of her favorite drinks. The Perk-u-Later was busy but not crowded when Maggie pulled the door open. The welcoming scents of roasted coffee beans and the buttery smell of flaky pastries wrapped around her like a hug.
There were enough people for the murmur of conversation to create a low bass line below the folk music wafting from the sound system. Chattering patrons filled half of the booths that edged the small café, but Maggie didn’t need a booth for today’s date. She didn’t plan for them to stay in the shop that long.
Dean had left planning for each of the dates up to her and despite today’s simplicity, it had still taken her two full days to put things in motion. Maggie was grateful to be in charge. In every romance book, characters fell in love over very specific and common scenes. Why not see if they’d work for her and Dean? Trying out classic tropes was also a good way to keep her nerves in check. Anxiety was a frequent companion when Maggie faced unknown scenarios and surprises, so it was better all-around if she made the plans and inserted Dean as needed.
The ending notwithstanding, their date at the fair had been as close to perfect as a fake date was possible to be. Even with the audience, she and Dean had had fun, and she’d gotten some tingles and there had been some heat when their bodies had brushed against each other. Not quite the same tingles she’d experienced during the week with Mac, but she chalked that reaction up to a high stress scenario and nothing more. It was time they had a date, just the two of them. Their eyes would meet, their hands brush, and their feelings would slip down the rocky hill into emotional entanglement. Maggie would also get a chance to see Dean maybe shirtless, after she finished dumping her coffee on him.
Maggie checked her phone for the time and saw that she was a few minutes early. Dean was one of those fashionably late people who rolled into scheduled events at least ten minutes after they started. Maggie thought it was a real testament to her feelings for Dean that his lack of punctuality didn’t bother her. Usually, when people were late to meet with her, Maggie immediately assumed they weren’t coming.
“Hey Maggie.” Gwen waved from behind the counter, her tan apron already stained with cocoa powder and espresso grounds. Maggie waved back. “Shall I get your usual?”
“Not yet. I’m meeting someone.” Her cheeks heated, and even from across the café, she heard Gwen squeal.
“A date?” Gwen wiped her hands on a striped towel before making her way around the counter to take Maggie by the arm. “Come sit. Tell me everything before they show up.”
In any other situation, Maggie would have wanted the floor to open up and swallow her instead of having a bunch of strangers eavesdrop on this conversation. But Gwen was a darling. Her gray-streaked hair was piled into a messy knot on her head, and her gold rings glinted in the overhead lights as she served drinks and “nibbles” as she liked to call them. Gwen shoved Maggie down into one of the plush velvet chairs, a deep purple one, and collapsed into the seat across from her. With her chin propped in her hands, Gwen looked about ten years old, not the fifty-six she actually was.
“It’s not a big deal,” Maggie said, which was a lie because she went breathless, her ribs unable to expand enough, just waiting for him to show up.
