One afternoon, Declan finally goes to pay his respects to Keefe’s mother. I take the rare moment alone to Facetime Etta Jo in Florida.
Before I’m able to ask her about her new studio, with a startle, Etta Jo says, “Maggie, that smile. What is that smile? You look like the cat who got the cream.”
“Well, the food here is phenomenal. Whoever made up the rumor that food across the pond leaves something to be desired hasn’t dined in Dublin lately.”
“No, I mean, you look tickled pink. Like you’re floating on blissy, swoony clouds.”
I tilt my head, looking at myself in the little square on my phone’s screen. “We went boating the other day. Maybe I got a bit more sun than I thought.”
“You goofball. I mean, you’re smiling like a girl who has her first crush, or should I say, kiss?”
My cheeks blaze.
“Does that smile and that rosy glow have anything to do with player number forty-four, wide receiver for the Bruisers?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“I think you do,” Etta Jo singsongs.
I’m not ready to confess that we kissed and that I might have feelings for Declan. Scratch that, I do have feelings for him. Bigones. Yards and yards of a football field, a ball sailing through the uprights, and into a fathomless night sky-sized feelings.
I change the subject, directing the conversation away from guys, but my rosy glow doesn’t fade. That may be because I can’t stop thinking about Declan. Sure, he’s been spoiling me, but his attention is enough. More than enough. It means everything to me. But I’m afraid to tell him why.
Etta Jo manages to shift the conversation back to Declan and me. Before we get off FaceTime, I tell her about how he’s been so thoughtful. Not even realizing it was my birthday, he made up Official Maggie Day and got up early to bake me a cake. My favorite kind of cake. Shenanigans aside, he’s also fun to be around. It’s like we built upon our friendship, getting closer, going deeper.
He has a hidden, secret sweet spot hidden under his tough, tattooed exterior—one I only caught glimmers of before. On top of that, he’s a man of faith, something deeply important to me.
The truth is—and it’s something I can hardly admit to myself, never mind confess to him—I love Declan Printz. That I keep to myself.
Just then, a door slams, footsteps stomp up the stairs, and then another door slams. He’s back from his visit to Keefe’s mother. Perhaps it didn’t go so well.
My stomach jitters and not from Cinderella’s bluebirds.
The sun is setting over the harbor when I get to the kitchen. Most nights, we’ve eaten dinner out after visiting Aunt Maureen, but recalling what he said about a home-cooked meal, I rifle through the pantry until I locate all the ingredients for my favorite comfort food.
As the water boils and the sauce comes together for mashed potatoes with melty cheese, my phone jingles with an incoming call. I must’ve left it in the hallway. Declan appears, expression knotted with emotion and hands it to me.
I stare at the name on the screen.Mom.
It rings again.
“Going to answer that?” Declan asks.
“Yeah,” I say. Turning to face the windows and hoping to be anchored by the boats in the harbor, I say a tentative, “Hello.” My voice sounds small, weak.
In contrast, my mother blares through the earpiece. “Happy birthday, Lefty.” My father’s voice echoes the sentiment in the background.
“Uh, thanks? Do you mean official Maggie Day?” I almost feel silly asking, but how could they know about that?
Before my mother can reply, Declan is behind me. He squeezes my shoulders and then laces his arms around me in a reverse hug. My back presses against his chest and his heartbeat steadies me.
However, I don’t want him to hear any part of the conversation. Yet, his presence does what the boats cannot. He holds me here, giving me the support and grounding I need to get through what amounts to a stormy phone call with my parents. Declan anchors me so I’m not carried away by a tide of tears.
“Mom, my name is Maggie, not Lefty.”
“Come on, you were always Lefty to us.”
Yeah, left alone.
