Dermot: The small-town hockey romance series, duh.
Maggie: How dare I be so uneducated. I’m sorry.
Maggie: Question, though. For someone who doesn’t watch hockey, you read it?
Dermot: I have no clue how to play or even what happens, but I love a good romance.
Maggie: I should take you to a game.
Dermot: I’d go.
eight
. . .
Maggie
“What isit going to take for this guy to ask me out!”
Willa looks up from where she’s kneading the sourdough with my mom. Sadie glances over at me from the counter, her blond hair falling in front of her as she snips her ends into the trash. She’s such a badass, because guess what I’m not doing? Cutting my own damn hair. The boys and Dad are in the den, playing PlayStation as we work on the bread, and it’s the perfect afternoon in the Welch household.
I love being in the home I grew up in. While Nashville holds a lot of the good memories, Holiday Ridge is the vacation home we always went to, and then it became our forever home. I was in middle school when we moved here, and nothing has changed. All the photos are still of us at young ages. Mom refuses to refurnish the house, keeping the ’90s feel that is so out-of-date but that she loves so much.
Guys, the den is wood paneling. The kind that sticks to the wall, and she will not take it down. Nope, my mom just keeps adding Gorilla Glue to spots that fall.
It’s weird.
“Mags, it’s been a few days,” Mom reminds me, and I blow out an exasperated breath.
“But I’m a damn good time!”
“Didn’t he sleep over?” Sadie asks, snipping her hair.
“There was no sleeping,” I say, waggling my brows. Then I point around the room. “All you people have dirty minds. We stayed up talking the whole night. It was awesome. It was everything, and it felt so easy. I like him. A lot,” I admit softly. “And we talk all the time, like, text every single chance, yet he hasn’t asked me out. I’ve even given him openings, but nothing.”
“Maybe he’s not into you,” Sadie says, and I give her a dark look.
“Don’t put that negative into the world.”
“Yeah, Sadie. Be kind,” Mom chides, but Sadie just smirks.
She’s a bit of an asshole.
Willa blows a strand of her blond waves out of her eyes and gives me a look. “He’s shy, Mags. You’re gonna have to just straight up ask him out.”
I bite my lip. “I don’t think he’s shy. I think he’s hesitant, and I don’t know why. We really haven’t talked about his past relationships. Maybe he’s been burned.”
“So, ask,” Willa suggests.
Like I hadn’t thought of that. “Maybe I will. I did say I was going to bring him a loaf of bread.”
“You told him you were coming here?” Willa asks, raising a brow at me.
“Yes. I’m not kidding when I say we talk constantly.”
“Does he talk about his family?” Mom asks, and I lean on my elbows.
“Yeah, he has a sister. Both his parents have passed.”
