I pull out my phone and type up a text to my foolish ex-boyfriend.
Maggie:Fishing tomorrow at noon?
Kaleb:I’ll bring the beer.
Chapter 7 – Clay
Something smells good.?
I open my eyes and immediately reach for my phone on the bedside table to check the time.
7 a.m.
I never sleep this late. I’m usually up by five, already across town pounding on the doors of Golden Farm to train with Dallas before my shift at the station begins or before he gets to work on his farm. Sadly, that won’t be happening today after last night’s injury.
Tossing the phone back onto the table, I sit up abruptly, my mind racing to make sense of where that smell is coming from while trying to piece together the fragments of last night that I can’t seem to remember.
After leaving the ER, I’d decided to take an Uber back to my apartment across town instead of heading to Dallas’ place to pick up my truck. The pain meds had really knocked me out, and I wasn’t about to risk getting into an accident.
When I’d gotten through my front door, I’d felt loopy and out of it. I remembered taking two more pills and then passing out face down in my bed. That had to have been close to around one inthe morning...
Did I lock the door behind me?
I rub the side of my body, feeling the soreness of the contusion more without the effects of the drugs in my system any longer. I glance at the bottle next to my phone and decide against taking any more.
It’s not that bad.
Ihatetaking medicine, even though I know it will help ease the ache from the bruises that have now shown up. I have a 24-hour shift at the fire station tonight, and I can’t afford to be medicated when I need to stay sharp and focused. The doctor had assured me nothing was broken after reviewing the scans Maggie took, but this feeling reminds me of the time I got kicked by a foal as a teenager—except now, in my mid-thirties, recovery will take a lot longer.
I swing my feet out of bed and creep quietly toward the kitchen to figure out what’s going on. Pushing the door open just a crack, I spot a figure that looks a lot like Maggie. Her back is turned to me as she stands at the stove, finishing up a pan of bacon and eggs. A pot of freshly brewed coffee and a bowl of sliced strawberries sits nearby.
I cross my arms over my chest, leaning against the doorframe, watching as she moves with a comfortable familiarity about my home. Her hips sway gently, still dressed in her scrubs from last night’s shift, humming softly to herself a tune that sounds a lot like a NSYNC song.
Is she even old enough to know who NSYNC is?
I watch with amusement as she moves around effortlessly. It’s impossible to ignore how much she’s grown since I last saw her. She’s changed from the awkward girl who used to babysit my nieces and nephews—still stuck in that in-between phase of childhood—into someone with quiet confidence.
Back then, she was all sweet smiles and kindness, her warmthradiating from her even through her clumsy tween years. I know that she’d always enjoyed my visits when she babysat the kids. I used to toss them—and her—into the pool, just to hear them squeal with laughter. But back then, she was just a kid—the sweet-as-pie daughter of the fire chief. She’d show up to town events glued to his side like a shadow, smiling quietly but never saying much.
Now, I’m struggling to reconcile those memories with the woman who is standing in front of me.
Her once-awkward frame has filled out into soft curves, her long hair is styled in some sort of twisted updo, and her features have matured, softened with age, lips fuller like everything else on her body.
She’s starting to look a lot like her mother had in her twenties—a woman that I remember very well. She’d passed away when Maggie was only five years old, and I was twenty. I still remember watching that scared little girl clutching her dad’s hand as they approached the casket to say their final goodbyes. Her mother had been a close friend of my older brother’s; we all grew up together. It was a devastating loss for the community, but what stuck with me was the sadness behind little Maggie’s confused eyes—too young to fully understand yet weighed down by the grief around her. I wondered how she’d feel once she fully understood that the woman she looked up to was gone. I could relate to her in that way.
I rub my jawline as I watch her, wondering how she’s gotten in and why she’s here this morning. Maggie’s always taking care of everyone, so in a way, it isn’t all that surprising that she’s broken into my home and is cooking me breakfast. Still, it’s caught me off guard, and I hate how much I like seeing her move so effortlessly around my space—like shebelongshere.
I rub at a sore spot in my chest -I’m sure that’s from the fight yesterday and not because I like watching her in my apartment -and try to remind myself that she’s my boss’s daughter, and waytoo damn young for me to be leering at her like a creep in the doorway.
I stand up straighter causing her to finally notice me. She spins around, the words of the song she was humming still on her lips as she catches me.
“Oh, good morning, Clay,” she chirps with a wide smile as she sets a plate piled high with food on my island counter. “Thought you might be in too much pain to make yourself breakfast, so I stopped by.”
I raise a brow as I slide into one of the seats across from her. “Why would you do that?”
She giggles and I decide the sound of it is one of my new favorite things. “You’re not going to ask how I got in your apartment?”
I shrug, cutting off a big piece of pancake and popping it into my mouth. “Your dad’s the chief of the fire department. I’m guessing he’s taught you some breaking and entering tips for how to get into locked homes and save lives.”
