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“There’s no one here. Go to the break room and read the damn email so we can squeal and jump around together when it’s all glowing and shit.”
Maggie stared at her friend. She would have to read the email eventually, even though the thought made her break into a cold sweat. It might be better to get it over with, especially in a comfortable, but neutral, environment. Hell, if she read the damn email at home, and it was awful, she wouldn’t have anywhere to go to escape the crushing weight of failure. But if she read it at work and it was awful, she’d have to suffer through the rest of her shift and the commute home.
“I’m scared to look at it,” she said to Shay. “I’m not sure I can physically make myself open the email, let alone decipher the words.”
“I can read it for you. If you think it would help.”
“Absolutely not.” Maggie shook her head. “We’re friends.” Shay would have to lie to her, and Maggie would know and there would go three years of friendship, and as if that wasn’t bad enough, who on earth would Maggie look forward to seeing at work every day?
“You aren’t making any sense with that one, but—” Shay’s eyes scanned the empty racks of comic books and playing cards. They paused at the man standing in front of some of their mystery boxes, the ones stuffed with old comic books. Mac was wearing a dark green sweater over dark denim pants, square-rimmed glasses sitting low on his nose as he checked something on his phone. “Have Mac read it to you.”
Maggie struggled to hold in her snort of laughter but studied Mac, too. Shay could be on to something. Mac was almost a friend but not quite. They spent time together, sure, but they didn’t hang out. He was polite whenever they spoke, and if he wasn’t friendly, well, he wasn’t a guy who was super friendly with anyone. The romance world would categorize him as a “Grumpy” if he were a main character. Mac would probably read the email for her and not spare another thought to what it said. He also wouldn’t care that she was too chicken shit scared to read it herself. He’d go right back to his regular life as if nothing had happened.
“Mac,” Shay said, their voice carrying in the small store.
His head lifted from the phone, glancing at Maggie and Shay standing behind the counter. Maggie watched his thumb turn off his screen, and he shoved the phone into the back pocket of his jeans. He walked over to the counter, stopping to lean his forearms on the glass. He spread his hands apart in a “what” gesture.
“Do you read?” Shay asked. They hoisted the cardboard box back off the counter.
“Of course he reads. He’s a professor.” Maggie blushed. She hoped Shay would correctly interpret the do-it-and-die look she was sending their way.
“Do you read romance?” Shay was apparently unaffected by eye threats.
“No,” Mac said, dark eyes moving from Shay to Maggie. “Why?”
“Perfect. Maggie needs help with something.” Shay winked at Maggie’s red face, shifted the box to one hip, and walked away as if they hadn’t tried to destroy Maggie’s life.
Now, whether she wanted to or not, Maggie had to ask Mac for help. Okay, so she had planned to ask Mac for help, anyway. She’d have taken a lot more time to do so, but she would have asked. Something Shay obviously knew. Mac looked at her with interest. Dark hair peppered his forearms except for a puckered pink patch of skin above his left wrist. A burn from his forge, no doubt.
“I saw the blades you dropped off,” Maggie said, and Mac blinked slowly, dark lashes brushing his tanned cheeks. “I really like those Ñoldorin daggers Galadriel gave Merry and Pippin. Even if they’re from the movies, not the book. I may treat myself to one if they’re still here by Friday.” Payday.
“What do you need my help with?”
“It’s nothing,” Maggie said. “An email. And I was serious about the daggers.”
“Don’t waste your money,” Mac said. “Tell me about the email.”
“It’s not a waste.” Maggie put her hands on her hips. “I think you are supremely talented, and I love The Lord of the Rings, and even if I’m a teensy bit intimidated by weapons, they’re still gorgeous art pieces.” She expected him to wince at the word ‘art,’ but Mac did nothing. Maggie wondered if he’d even heard her.
“If you want a blade, I’ll make you a blade. Tell me about the email.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Mac. That’s a lot of work and time—”
“Maggie.” One hand lifted to pinch the bridge of his nose and he let out a rough breath. “Do you need me to read an email? Or write an email?”
Maggie sucked in a breath, her nerves swirling in a dizzying rush, even as the tension left her shoulders. Her voice, when she found it, came out in a whisper. “Read it, please.”
“Okay.” Mac opened his eyes and held his calloused hand out for her phone. “Do you want to do it here or somewhere more private?” Maggie blinked up at him and Mac cursed. He moved his outstretched hand to run through his shaggy hair, leaving the thick strands standing straight up. “I didn’t mean…. Never mind.” He held his hand out again and opened and closed his fingers a few times to get her moving.
“We can go to the break room,” Maggie said. “Don’t tell Gary, although you’re basically an employee.”
She stepped away from the counter and pushed her phone into Mac’s hand as she passed him. His palm was a little sweaty against hers, or maybe her palm was sweaty against his. She smiled at Mac, a smile he didn’t return, but his eyes didn’t leave her face as he curled his fingers around her cracked iPhone. Maggie gestured for Mac to follow her down the far wall, studded with Pokémon paraphernalia, to the break room at the back of the shop. She let the door click closed behind them, knowing Shay would watch the front. Her heart pounded in her chest.
Mac held her phone up.
“You should probably pull the email up yourself and give me a little context. Have you read it yet?”
Maggie typed in her passcode—her thumbprint had stopped working months ago—and pulled up her Gmail account. She ignored the three-hundred and ten notification bubbles that assaulted her and navigated to the unread email. She handed the phone back to Mac. He was watching her, brows pulled together in the typical frown he always wore around her. Around everyone.
