“Was your dad around then?” I ask.
Maggie shakes her head. “Hardly. They both have radical personalities, so it was like being raised by two squirrels. And instead of one sticking around while the other was out foraging, they’d sporadically pop in and out of our lives, showing up for months at a time, disappearing for days or even weeks. Sometimes together, mostly apart. My mom asserts that people should be free and that parenthood shouldn’t hold one captive.”
I cringe. “Captive?”
“Yep. I hear she actually enjoyed motherhood for the first few years with Kirsten. But that didn’t last. And by the time I came around…let’s just say that if it wasn’t for Kirsten, I don’t know where I’d be.”
Her story scratches at a haunting worry in my brain. One I keep attempting to bury. “I’m sorry you guys had to deal with that.”
She glances up at me. “And I’m sorry that you lost your brother, Blaine. Sounds like he was ambitious and kind.”
“He was,” I assure. “We used to have this thing we’d do. Ionce asked him what the termsky’s the limitmeans. And he told me it described something that had potential without end. From that point on, when he or I felt like the statement fit, we’d ask,‘what does sky’s the limit mean?’The other would say, ‘potential without end.’ Then, we’d look at each other and say it in unison, loud and proud. ‘Sky’s the limit, baby!’”
Maggie sniffs. “I love that.”
“Sometimes,” I add, “if I’m having a moment I know he’d appreciate too, like making it to the top peak of a good hike, I’ll find myself dying to say it, but I don’t. Without someone else there to complete it, it doesn’t feel right.”
She’s grinning and wiping tears from her eyes at the same time. Tears that show just how compassionate she is. Even though she was hurt. Even though she had to form layers of protection over her heart, Maggie still feels things deeply. I like that.
“I wish I could meet him,” she says.
I nod. “Me too. I like telling people about him. It sort of keeps him alive, in a way.”
Maggie holds my gaze, making my heart race and my belly warm. Her hazel eyes look unreal in this lighting. Stars of gold, amber, and green forming intricate patterns I could gaze at all day long. I could really fall for this woman, I realize. And for the first time in a very long time, the thought doesn’t scare me.
When I was young, I used to fall hard and fast. I loved being in love, or what I thought was love, anyway. But after Blaine died, it all felt too…risky. Combine that with the series of divorces in our family, and my desire to get serious with a woman all but diminished. I haven’t admitted it to myself until now, but Beau’s concern was justified. Idohave a guard up. Or at least, I did. Maggie, it seems, has found a key to that inaccessible place in my heart.
Before long, the popcorn is popped, the butter is melted, and the brown sugar and Karo syrup are melting into the mix. The smell is as heavenly as the chemistry surging between Maggie and me.
I whisk the mixture lazily before glancing up at her. “It’s starting to bubble.”
She grins. “Perfect. When did it say to add the baking soda?”
“After we take it off the heat and before we pour it over the kernels.” The caramel is really boiling now and rising closer to the rim of the pan.
I stir faster. “Oh, no, maybe you were right about using the bigger pot.”
She glances at the larger pan holding the popcorn before setting her gaze back on the caramel. “Hopefully, we’ll be good.”
We time the simmering action before turning off the heat and carefully moving the bubbling brew to the countertop. “Good thing we only have the baking soda and vanilla left,” she says, “nothing else would fit in that pot.”
“Seriously.” I measure the vanilla and add it while she stirs. “Now for a teaspoon of baking soda,” I say, plopping that into the caramel next.
She stirs the small portion of soda into the mixture, and suddenly, it transforms into a frothy, foamy life force. It rises higher and higher, up and over the edge like the head on afrothy mug of root beer, extending well beyond the rim and bloating even still. Lava-like chunks ooze off the edge and slide down the sides of the pan.
“Oh, no, it’s going crazy,” she says through a laugh.
“Quick…” I reach for the pot filled with popcorn. “I’ll put this one underneath it.”
She lifts the pan high, and I lift the container of popcorn so it’s just beneath.
“I don’t think this is how we were supposed to add it,” she says as the caramel continues to mound and spill in foamy chunks over the edge.
“Hey,” I say, “if it works, it works. Now start tipping it, and I’ll grab that spatula…where did we leave it?”
With both hands gripping the pot handles, she glances over her shoulder and nods. “Over there. By the stove.”
But since both of our pots are suspended, I can’t step away just yet.
