The space is totally her. It has a romantic feel, with lots of white bookcases along the walls. Instead of art on the walls, she has photos arranged on the shelves with all of her favorite books, and she has one bookcase of just her books. She’s also added a huge bouquet of flowers, white marble accents, and various statues of naked bodies to the shelves in front of her books.
It’s classy and sexy.
Just like her.
I stop in front of one photo of her and her four sisters. All the Welch daughters look very similar, with blond hair and blue eyes, little carbon copies of their parents. But to me, Maggie stands out. Not only is she stunning, but she looks like she has a secret that, if you ask nicely enough, she may tell you.
I want to know everything and then some.
I tell myself this is about my Hippocratic oath, about duty and responsibility. But the truth is simpler and far more selfish. I’m here because it lets me be near her, and I don’t have to put myself out there to ask for that.
Which is pathetic.
Start living again. Put yourself out there.
Ugh, if my sister’s concern could fuck off, that’d be great.
“So, not all your sisters live in town?”
Maggie looks up from the couch where she’s lying with Kip across her lap. Damn dog went straight for her when we got here. She washed her hair, but instead of wearing it down, she has the peachy-pink waves back in a loose braid over her shoulder. Strands fall along her temple, making her look as if she belongs on a lily pad in a fairy garden rather than on her bright-white sectional with my dog insisting on cuddles.
My lucky-ass dog sighs deeply as she runs her fingers along his head. “Nope, Opal is a traveling nurse since she doesn’t want to be here. Her ex lives here,” she says, whispering the last part. “And Blake runs my dad’s fundraisers, so she travels all over to make sure each one is up to snuff, doing what they’re supposed to, and meeting people to solicit donations. She could do her job here, but she doesn’t like to come home much. She stays in Nashville a lot since the home base is there. Sadie just moved here from Nashville to basically become the next mayor, but she’s more my dad’s event planner right now. You know, nepotism at its finest.”
I chuckle at that. “Is she qualified?”
Maggie shrugs. “I mean, she’s a hell of an event planner. So, maybe?” My lips quirk as she asks, “Do you have family here?”
“My sister,” I answer with a nod as I glide my fingers along her books. She has all kinds, some of my favorite thrillers, some suspense, and, to my surprise, a lot of hockey memoirs. “Bothmy parents passed, my mom when I was ten and my dad about fifteen years ago.”
“I’m sorry,” she says softly. “I bet you and your sister are close, then.”
“We’re getting there,” I answer. “I moved out when I was eighteen, and he passed a couple days after that. Tessa, that’s my sister’s name, her mom was a real piece of work and kept her from me. We reconnected about six years ago, and I moved here to be closer to her.”
Well, shit. Look at me go. Tessa would be really proud of me.
“Oh wow. Lots to process with a concussion.”
I close my eyes, leaning into the shelves. Yeah, dumbass. Way to unload. She doesn’t give a shit about your life.
“But I’m here for it, and I love that for you. Showing her you mean business and moving here to be closer. I like that a lot.”
I swallow before looking back at her. Her eyes are trained on me, her position open and welcoming. She is always smiling, and I know everyone in town adores her. It’s not because of her celebrity status either. It’s because she’s a genuinely nice person. I want to push Kip out of the way and cuddle in her lap. Instead, I nod. “She thought the same, and now we’re on good terms. We talk daily, but I got really busy during the holidays and kind of pulled away. She is now insisting we have weekly dinners, which I don’t mind.”
“Yeah, when I’m writing, I’m focused on only my characters. My family understands, but the guilt is still there.”
“I’m sure,” I say, moving toward where her books are. Her best-selling series, which is what Netflix has picked up, is about a group of elite bodyguards who are hired all over the world. Each guy ends up with some kind of girl and falls madly for them. They’re funny, witty, and so fucking sexy. “It has to be cool, though, living in the worlds you create.”
“It is,” she answers with reverence in her voice. “Are you a reader?”
“I am.” I turn to face her. “I read about two books a week.”
Her eyes light up, and fuck, if I don’t love that look. “That’s so awesome! What’s your favorite genre?”
I swallow nervously. “Romance.”
“No shit!” she squeals. “Have you read me?”
I glance to the side, my face burning to the point of pain. Am I really going to admit that? Before I can decide, my gaze lands on a wedding photo. It’s of Maggie, without her peachy-pink hair, looking as beautiful as the day is long and wearing all white. Her veil is over her face, but the way the sun shines through the fabric makes her look ethereal. She’s holding the arm of someone who I assume is the groom.
