“I’m, uh, sorry,” I start.
“Are you, though?”
I lift my shoulder because she knows me too well. “If it weren’t you standing in this room, then no. Not at all. I’m the kind of guy who brings the heat. I figured the guys would be in here with a team representative ready to give us a stern scolding about our behavior, so I wanted to cool things off.”
The words I speak, ordinarily met with an eager smile from the women I woo, are stale in my mouth. Out of place. Lyrics to a song that has grown old. Yet I said them anyway. I have to keep up my persona, right? But Maggie is different. She’s not some random chick. She’s My Mags.
“Is that really the first impression you wanted to make?” she asks.
“My first impression, and I’ll never forget the first day we met, you were wearing a white cotton tank top with yellow flowers. Your hair was loose and kind of tangled in a pair of hoop earrings. You wore cut-off shorts and sandals.” I glance down at her feet. “And you had a toe ring on.”
“We first met in Mr. Sanderson’s global history class and you asked me about being a California girl.”
Even though distance has separated us, I’ve never forgotten Maggie’s bright and sunny smile. “We officially met when he partnered us for that project. But we unofficially met the day before. You were walking toward Riverdale Dorm and I was coming from touring the dining hall.”
The space between her eyebrows pinches as if she’s trying to remember.
“We were walking toward each other. You were carrying a large ceramic garden gnome. Someone’s dog was loose with its leash trailing behind as it bounded toward you. I made a daring save Coach Hammer would be proud of and got ahold of the leash before it crashed into you and knocked the gnome out of your hands.”
Recognition brightens her eyes. “I remember that gnome.”
I press my hand to my chest. “That’s what you got from that story and not my daring rescue?”
“Thank you for keeping the dog from knocking me over and saving Bagwick Wiggletop,” Maggie says, lips quirking.
“Who?”
“The gnome. I traded him to a nice elderly woman in St. Augustine for a chocolate cake recipe that I made into cupcakes.”
“That’s weird. Should I be worried?”
“No, he has a good home. Coincidentally, she had a gnome named Brassy Bunnyhop.”
I burst into laughter and bright sunshine fills my mind. I can’t help but think Maggie and I have been on a collision course and now, reunited, I’m home after a long time away.
Her eyes flick to mine for a moment and her cheeks turn pink. Then she presses her lips to a thin line. “What did you say before? You bring the heat? Then you doused me with water?” Her voice sounds faintly like an echo.
I’ve never seen such a beautiful face crumble so fully, so sadly, so terribly, or so quickly. Maggie has always had a sweet innocence, a girl-next-door quality, and I feel like the biggest jerk on earth for trampling all over it with my cocky behavior.
Then again, I didn’t expect to find my best friend in Concordia. “I maintain my innocence. I didn’t realize you’d be here. You texted about a job, but not where.”
“Yet here I am...and here you are.” It’s almost like she wants to say more, but hides the words behind her back like a kid with a cookie from the cookie jar.
“And there I thought you’d be happy to see me.”
“I wasn’t expecting to see you and I am happy to see you now, but—” She pinches her damp skirt and pulls its cling from her curves.
I wince. “I’m sorry.” Then, without hesitating, once more I pull her into my arms, not caring that I’ll too be damp from my water gun spree.
My thoughts land on how good it feels to have Maggie in my arms. To hold onto something, someone, who is a constant in my ever-changing life.
She doesn’t hug back this time. “Not funny, Declan.”
I let her go. “At least it wasn’t a sports drink. That would’ve left you super sticky.”
Maggie lets out a little growl. Admittedly, it’s cute.
“If you want to dump a bucket of water over my head in revenge, you have full permission.”
