“Yes, you are.” I stroked her cheek softly. “Do you like stir-fry?”
“Never had it. We’re real big on cereal and sandwiches at my house.” She laughed. I didn’t.
She began looking over the ingredients spread out on the counter. “What are these?” She held up the white bulb in her hand.
“Water chestnuts.”
“They look yummy, and please stop staring at me as if I’m going to melt,” she said, gently. “Here, I’ll help you cut up the vegetables.”
I pulled a knife out from a large butcher block set on the counter, reluctantly handing it to her.
“I’m not going to slice my wrists open if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I wasn’t, except now that you’ve said …” I narrowed my eyes playfully.
“Ridiculous.” She began chopping up some carrots, helter-skelter like.
“Hey, what did they ever do to you?”
“What? They are only carrots.” I put my hand over hers and placed another carrot in front of her, guiding her hand and the knife over the carrots, chopping them patiently.
“Don’t these look more appetizing?”
“They’re beautiful.” She teased. “Do you think they feel better about being chopped up nicely?”
“You can be quite sarcastic sometimes.”
“You just noticed?”
“Cooking is an art, Maggie. The presentation is almost as important as the taste. Have you been sleeping through culinary class?” I asked, rinsing off the knife before proceeding.
We continued chopping, slicing, and making small talk about vegetables. She asked me about my parents and how they'd died.
“My dad was a Chaplin in the Air Force, and we had traveled lot so I’ve lived all over world.” I left out the part about him and Booker’s dad being on the same undercover operations team.
“My Mom and Dad made what was supposed to be a quick trip to Guatemala to say good bye to his troops since he was retiring, only they never returned home. The plane suffered mechanical failure and crashed into the Sierra Madre mountain range. There were no survivors.
“My family and Booker’s were pretty tight. I moved in with him for a while until I was back on my feet. He was a real lifesaver. He helped me buy this house and taught me about woodworking. We renovated it together. It was good therapy.”
“How long did it take you?”
“A couple years,” I said. When she asked when exactly my parents had died, I began fidgeting around, opening and closing drawers loudly in an effort to stall her until I could think up with a good cover story.
I was saved from answering when she began rubbing her temples. I helped her back onto the bar stool, and she let the subject drop. “We’re pretty much done, I’ll finish.”
I poured several different seasoned oils into a wok. When the oils began popping in the heat, I added the chicken strips, browning them before adding the veggies, each hissed loudly as they hit the oil. Steam and smoke spirited out of the pan making the kitchen come alive with the aroma. I poured the ingredients for the sauce in a separate pan as the stir-fry cooked.
“Where did you learn to cook like this?”
“When we were stationed in France, I took a class. After moving back to the states, I took a few more classes with my mom.” Tired of me playing spy with my dad all the time, she wanted me to have other interests so we enrolled in the cooking class together, and my love for cooking was born.
While I finished the meal, Maggie insisted on setting the table. I held out her chair as she sat down, stealing a whiff of her hair in the process. Thanks for all the etiquette lessons, Mom.
Maggie ate two helpings of dinner, spooning up the extra sauce off her plate when she’d finished. We were both too full for desert: a high calorie, carb laden, chocolate creation chilling in the refrigerator. We’d have it later, or maybe I’d send it home with her, along with the leftovers from dinner. Sorry, Cole.
I suggested we sit by the fire when we were finished. She curled up on the couch while I went over to the fireplace and flipped a brass switch on the wall. The fire roared to life.
She laughed. “I’m guessing you were never a boy scout?”
“You’ve got to love the ease of a gas fireplace,” I said, settling down next to her. We sat quietly for a few minutes watching the flames dance around behind the glass. I doubt she had any idea of the battle raging inside me as I debated whether to put my arm around her. Nervously, I bit the bullet and slipped my arm around her tiny shoulders, nudging her close.
Big mistake.
Her fingers sprang to her hair, and she began twisting the thin brown strand around frantically. I didn’t mind the twisting, I thought it was cute, but I knew what it meant; she was nervous, and probably not in an “Oh, goodie, he’s going to try and kiss me” way. More likely it was an “Oh, no, he’s going to try and kiss me” way. Girls truly should come with a manual!
The phone began ringing before I could make my big move, talk about lousy timing. It rang several times, but I made no effort to answer it.
“Aren’t you going to get it?”
“No, I’ll let the machine. I’m too comfortable to move.”
The machine picked up the call; “Hello, Seth here. Please leave a message.”
“Hey, Seth.” Maggie flinched at the voice. “It’s Hilly, I’ve missed you. Sorry about deserting you at the festival and leaving with Zack. He lied and said you and Trailer Girl were … I know, disgusting thought.” She giggled.
Hillary was the bane of my assignment. I’d asked Booker if we could reassign her and her friends to another agent, but he said no, saying we had a good relationship going, clearly his opinion. Although she wasn’t doing drugs, she had friends who were, one being Zack. He only admitted to smoking weed, but the rumors going around the school recently were that he was doing more, a lot more. Hopefully, he’d be the ticket to our dealers.
“Anyway, um, I’ve come to my senses. I realized you would never, well, not with her anyway.” The longer ’Hilly’ continued to babble, the faster Maggie’s fingers twisted her hair.
“I know we’re just friends and all, but my parents are out of town for the weekend, and I’m all alone. I’d love it if you would come over, and you know, keep me company. I’m sure we could think of—” I’d had enough and reached around the wooden end table, unplugging the phone line.
“She’s delusional.” I settled back down and bravely put my arm around her again.
She ripped her fingers out of her hair, ouch, that had to hurt, and pulled away.
“You know, Seth, you and Hillary make sense.” She stood up and walked over to the fire, holding her hands to the flames for warmth. “You two come from the same circles. You should—”
“I don’t believe it. Please tell me you’re not doing this.” I tried, unsuccessfully, to remain calm. I felt as if weeks of patience and hard work were about to blow up in my face. Instead of us becoming closer, she was going to push me away. Was she actually going to suggest I hook up with Hillary?
“Doing what?” she asked, stunned by my reaction. She was clueless as to how I felt! Had I not spent weeks dropping hints? Had she not noticed any of them? Did she feel nothing for me other than friendship?
Impossible. I’ve seen the way she looks at me, not to mention what happened earlier at my front door. This was beyond maddening.
“Now that you’ve calmed down, you’re trying to distance yourself from me. You’re back behind the wall you’ve built.”
“What are you talking about? I don’t have walls around me.”
I rubbed my face in frustration. She couldn’t possible believe that, could she? Okay, fine. She wanted proof, I’d give it to her. “Who’s your best friend, Maggie?” I walked toward her. “Who do you call at three in the morning when you just want to talk? Who do you confide in when your heart is breaking?”
She said nothing, she knew I was right, and there was no denying it. “You have this wall a
round you,” my words were flowing out fast and furious now, “and the second someone gets a peek inside, you add another row of bricks, like today. When you first got here …” My face warped into a tortured expression, and I couldn’t finish my sentence.
“I was upset and exaggerated the situation, I’m embarrassed actually. It really wasn’t a big deal.” She was lying through her teeth. Self-preservation, Maggie was an expert at it. She didn’t want me close to her. Her life was a hard life, filled mostly with pain, no doubt, she was afraid of risking a broken heart on top of everything else. Knowing her, she probably felt it was better to break it off before she got hurt. Did she really believe she was unlovable?
She continued. “I was mostly upset with my mom for throwing the lunches across the room, I was pretty hungry, and if I allow myself to become really tired like I did, I’m completely unreasonable.”
“Stop.” I held onto her shoulders, fearing she’d run if I didn’t. “I can’t go on pretending any more. I don’t want to be just your friend. I’m in love with you.” That wasn’t how I’d imagined telling her the first time, I had envisioned something much more romantic. My bulldozer approach was probably going to push her over the edge, but since I couldn’t take it back, I forged on.
“I want to be the one you need and the one you call. I know you’ll deny it, Maggie, but I think you feel the same way. I swear I can see it in your eyes every time you look at me.”
My confession seemed to floor her completely. She stood there with her mouth hanging open saying nothing for several seconds. They were the longest seconds of my life.
17
Maggie
“Come on, Maggie, admit it.”
But I couldn’t. My mouth wouldn’t form the words I’d never uttered aloud to another living soul. I had to do something quickly, because with every fiber of my being, I knew what was coming next. I did what I do best when backed into a corner; I lashed out.
“Hillary’s not the only one around here who’s delusional.” His face went hard. He dropped his hands from my shoulders, and I felt sick for hurting him. I snatched up my clothes from the counter and ran up the stairs to change, not realizing he followed me. I no sooner shut the bedroom door, when it flew open again. He grabbed the clothes from my hands, tossing them onto the bed. He wrapped his warm hands around my face and pulled me next to him.
“Are you saying I don’t matter to you?”
“No. We’re friends, good friends.” I swallowed hard at my words.
“So if I were to kiss you, it wouldn’t mean a thing to you?”
“It’d be like kissing my brother,” I whispered.
“Is that right?” He ran his thumbs along my jaw, sending a shiver up my back. He smiled. “Let me show you who the delusional one is, Maggie. Oh, and if I’m boring you, feel free to stop me at any time.” He leaned forward and in one swift motion captured my mouth with his before I could utter a word.
My head screamed out in protest, my body, on the other hand, rebelled against me. While the battle raged in my mind, my arms wrapped themselves around his waist holding him tight. He pressed his mouth firmly onto mine as he tunneled his hands through my hair, holding my face to his. His lips felt incredibly soft and warm as they moved hungrily against mine.
NO! This is not what you want. He’ll be like every other boy, my head yelled. He’ll make demands. Don’t trust him. My mother’s cruel words played repeatedly in my head, and I knew I should push him away.
But I didn’t. With my poor heart pounding wildly, his kiss spilled through to my soul, and I was lost. His lips never left mine, yet he was all over my mouth. Never before had I felt anything this wonderful. I knew I’d pay dearly for my surrender, but I’d gladly pay it. I hoped the kiss would never end. A throaty sigh escaped my lips, and he drew me even closer.
As each of my bones melted, one by one, I was impressed I had the strength to remain standing. It felt as if the entire world ceased to exist. There was only he and I left, alone and together. My heart and soul swam in a sea of pure joy.
He started to pull away, except I wasn’t ready yet and didn’t loosen my hold on him. He pulled me back tight and whispered my name against my lips, which caused a fire to explode inside my heart. My soul was so tangled up in him, I had no idea how I was going to survive after he left me.
When he pulled back the second time, I didn’t stop him. I dropped my head onto his warm chest, trying to catch my breath. He held me against him, his breath was as erratic as mine.
“I can feel your heart beating against my chest,” he whispered. I could feel his too.
After my breathing slowed somewhat, I lifted my head and looked up into his eyes. I could feel the fear rising up now that I could think clearly again. “Please don’t hurt me. When you’re tired of me, just let me know. I promise not to be a clinging vine.” I sounded vulnerable and completely pathetic, and I never hated myself more. I was a fighter, not a weak hapless wimp. I didn’t need anyone, certainly not a guy to make me happy.
Only I wasn’t happy. I was alone. And I was sick and tired of being alone. I was also very much in love with him. It frightened me beyond words.
“Maggie,” he said, stroking my hair. “I’m not going to get tired of you, and I certainly don’t plan on hurting you, not on purpose, anyway. But I don’t want to be just here.” He kissed me softly on the lips. “I want to be in here too.” He brushed my head with his lips. “And in your heart. I’ve never loved anyone like this before.” With that declaration, he kissed me again with a kiss every bit as enjoyable as the last one. When he stopped, I was breathless again. “And I have no intention of letting you go.” He rolled his eyes as if I were crazy to think such a thing.
We’ll see.
“Do you still want to go home?” I shook my head. “Good. Let’s go back down by the fire.” He took my hand and led me downstairs. We sat watching the flames fluttering around, neither one of us speaking. It felt right to be in his arms. I looked up at him and smiled.
“What are you thinking?” He softly stroked along my chin with the back of his hand.
“I was thinking about how beautiful you are.”
He frowned. “Women are beautiful, not men. They’re... I don’t know, handsome or something. Certainly not beautiful.”
“If you say so.” After all, who was I to argue with this beautiful creature?
“I love you, Maggie.” His eyes were soft and warm. I wanted to say it back, I certainly felt it. I loved him and had loved him for some time, yet the fear of saying it aloud overwhelmed me. I nodded as guilt ripped at my heart. How could I not tell this guy I loved him after all he’d done for me? He’d proven repeatedly he was trustworthy. Yet even with my self-inflicted guilt trip, I couldn’t say it.
“Let’s start knocking down those walls of yours. Tell me something about yourself no one else knows.”
“What do you want to know?” Nervous, I picked up his hand in mine, weaving my fingers through his.
“Tell me your life story.”
I took a deep breath, ordered myself to remain calm, and began the boring vignette that was my life. I told him about the fights my mother would have with my grandparents and about how my grandma had taught me to feed and take care of myself.
“I don’t remember my grandparents very well, being so young when they died, though I do remember feeling safe with them. It was something I’ve never felt living with my mom.”
I shared with him the details of the car accident and about my mother’s non-stop drinking. He drew our intertwined fingers to his lips as I spoke.
“Thanks to my grandmother’s preparations, I was able to survive life with my mother. Over the past two years, her drinking seems to have gotten worse. I think I prefer her drunk, she’s pretty nasty when she’s sober.” It felt good to share my history with someone, like a huge burden was being lifted off me.
“I’ve never told anyone about my life before, it’s liberating and scary at the same time. Quick,
tell me some deep dark secret about yourself to even this whole thing out. I mean seriously, all I know about you is you’re a saint who runs around doing good deeds and rescuing damsels in distress.”
“I’m not a saint, Maggie, I have my skeletons.”
“Let me guess, you slept in one Sunday and missed church?”
“Very funny, let me show you how funny.” He reached for my waist and started tickling me. I squealed and wiggled free, jumping off the couch as he chased me into the kitchen. I ran around the center island and did my best to keep it between us, except with his uncanny speed I was no match. He caught me, pulling me to his lips again, this time I didn’t try wiggling free.
“What were we talking about?” I asked a few moments later.
“Who cares?” He started to kiss me again when a vibrating sound interrupted us. He picked up his cell phone off the kitchen counter. “It’s Hillary. She’s a persistent little pain.”
“Wait. Let me answer it.”
“I’ve never seen this sadistic streak in you before. I like it!”
I put it on speakerphone and set it back down on the counter. “Hello.”
“Who’s this?” demanded the snotty voice on the other end of the line.
“Maggie Brown. Who’s this?” I remained calm while Hillary’s voice grew more anxious.
“This is Hillary. Why are you answering Seth’s phone.”
“I had dinner at his house, now we’re… busy.” Seth mouthed, you’re asking for trouble, as I continued to torment Hillary. “What do you want anyway?”
“I want to talk to Seth, Trailer Girl.” Seth came up from behind, wrapping his arms around me.
“Mmmm, that feels nice.” I shut my eyes and cuddled into the warmth of his chest.
“What did you say?” It's official. Hillary’s gone ballistic. I half expected her to reach through the phone and smack me.
Seth snatched up the phone. “We’re busy, Hilly, got to go, bye.” He set it back down. “Delusional.” He took my hand and led me back to the couch. “Do you like old movies?”