I startle when a buzz jolts my hand. The vibration pulses through my fingers before I even register the name on the screen.Sabrina.
Maisie’s breath hitches. Her gaze snaps to mine.
My stomach turns when I see the name. Of course it’s her. Of course she couldn’t just leave it alone.
Without breaking eye contact, I press the red button, declining the call. Another second, and I power the whole thing off.
“She’s not part of my life anymore,” I tell her, voice strong, sure. “You are.”
Her tears keep falling, but she doesn’t look away.
My belly grumbles—loud enough to break whatever fragile silence was holding us together. I blush, unprepared for the noise, then squirm. “Apparently, my digestive system has a terrible sense of timing.”
Maisie’s eyes scan down to the bag beside me, and some of the tension eases from her face.
“That’s from Pen. Leftover cinnamon rolls. I thought I would surprise you this morning.”
“And you got an even bigger surprise.” I comment gently
“I’d like to stuff that surprise into this brown bag and pummel it.” She huffs and crosses her arms, but she continues. “You’ll never guess what Pen said to me, though.”
I lean in close. “Tell me.”
This time she doesn’t shrink from my nearness. “You know that look she reserves for people she already knows the truth about?”
“Do I ever!” I can’t help the smirk that pulls at my mouth. “That look’s been aimed at me more times than I can count, and it always means trouble.”
“Well, she had that look plastered on her face like an immovable mask as she whispered to me.”
I inch closer to her ear and speak softly, heart pounding. “And what did she whisper?”
“She said, ‘You two don’t have to keep pretending anymore, you know,’” Maisie answered, her tone low and soft as well.
I clear my throat and shake my head, chuckling. “It’s not exactly a secret anymore, is it?”
Taking a risk start to share an idea, “Hey. Um, Maze?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m starting to feel silly and a bit exposed out here in my pj’s. Want to come up to the house with me and have some coffee while I change?”
“Beau,” she hangs her head. “I really wish I could say ‘yes,’ but my heart needs some time to recover and well...you know...”
“Uh huh...process...you women and your processing.” I brush my thumb over her face tenderly.
“I’ll come back in a bit though. I promise.”
Every fiber in me aches to believe her. My chest squeezes with the need to trust her words, to hold on to them like they’re oxygen. Because if she doesn’t come back... I don’t know how I’ll put myself back together.
The time has shifted into afternoon, barely after lunch, and not quite time for an ordinary person to take a midday nap. But I’m not ordinary right now, and this moment is too full of everything Maisie and I have shared to even think about something as every-day as a pick-me-up-snooze.
My poor phone must be exhausted, though. I’ve been pushing its buttons every few seconds since Maisie left this morning to check for a text.
Disappointingly, I’ve heard nothing.
Nor have I seen anything, and I’ve been anchored at the front window since changing out of my pajamas, shifting from one foot to the other, palms slick and stomach unsettled,watching the road as if staring hard enough might summon her.
Finally, I hear the soft rhythm of footsteps on gravel. She’s still far enough down the drive that I know she hasn’t seen me. But I see her.
