Eventually they ordered their food, nostalgic fish fry platters and steaming bowls of soup, and the table settled into easy, overlapping conversation that Maggie had really only ever dreamed of for her own family. It was such a pleasant night. The restaurant windows were open, letting in a summer breeze, her skin was still warm from her hours in the sun, and the pall and all they still had to do to dissipate it felt miles and miles away.
She was showing Simon how to fold his napkin into a fortune teller when Barry asked, “So, Maggie, you’ve been sharing an office with our Artie?” She nodded and Barry let out a low whistle. “Hope he’s treating you right. Rory knows how tricky he is to get along with in close quarters.”
Rory rolled his eyes, and Arthur let out a grumbled, “Dad.” Then he explained, “Rory and I shared a bedroom one summer when Dad was renovating the bungalow. It was a nightmare.”
“You snore,” Rory shouted.
“You smell!” It was clearly an argument they’d had for many, many years.
Barry laughed, a soft expression in his eyes as he watched his sons bicker. Arthur was saying something like, “I can’t believe we’re talking about thisnow,” when Barry turned back to Maggie.
“But has he? Treated you right?”
Maggie flushed, though she hoped Barry couldn’t see it in the dim light of the restaurant. Beside him, Lane watched her with a small smile on her face, and Maggie stumbled over herwords as she said, “He’s been wonderful. I’ll miss him when he goes back to the third floor.” She hadn’t meant anything by it, not really. It was the truth, after all. Her office would feel cavernous and quiet without him. But if she hadn’t meant anything by it, why did she suddenly feel like she was going to cry?
Finally, when they had cleared their plates and Maggie and Simon had finished their celebratory bowls of ice cream, Barry and Arthur fought over the check, but Arthur won by paying while Barry was in the bathroom.
As they walked back to their cars, Lane came up behind Maggie and put her hand on the younger woman’s shoulder. “I wanted to make sure I got a few words in before you left. These boys sure do love to talk.” It was a half-hearted sort of complaint, one she’d probably been making for all of their lives.
Maggie’s voice was conspiratorial as she said, “Arthur certainly does.”
Lane laughed lightly and then smiled at Maggie, tilting her head and considering her. “There’s been such a lightness to Arthur ever since you came into his life.” Maggie’s stomach twisted. What did she mean? “He’s had a hard time, these past few years.”
“I know,” Maggie said, her throat dry. A hard year that she was going to make harder. She felt shame curl in her gut. It didn’t matter how clear she had been when they started sleeping together, it was all muddy now. She may not have known when she kissed him in that tent how much he liked her, but she’d certainly realized it in the weeks since. It was in every touch, every time he whispered her name with reverence and awe.
Behind Lane, Rory and Arthur were swinging Simon backand forth, back and forth, between them, his little feet catching oyster shells with every swing until he was giggling.Oh gods, this was a mistake.She was going to break him, and the longer this went on, the worse it would be.
If Lane could see the panicked spiral of her thoughts, she didn’t show it. She just gave Maggie’s shoulder another squeeze. “Try not to break his heart too hard,” Lane finally said, walking over to Barry’s outstretched hand and getting into the car with one last glance back at Maggie.
Chapter Thirty-Two
For the first time in weeks, Maggie left her apartment early so she could spend Monday morning alone in her office. After dinner on Saturday, she had returned to Galloway by herself, leaving Arthur in Atlantia with his family. Alone, she could not stop thinking about what Lane had said. It ran through her mind on repeat, and with each repetition, she grew more and more anxious about what it meant. Either Arthur had told Lane about her, or her affection for him was so obvious that Lane suspected. Either possibility had Maggie on edge.
She never should have agreed to the baseball game, to dinner with his family. It was too intimate, the kind of thing you did with someone you were going to stay with, not for a relationship that had an expiration date. And her relationship with Arthur had to have an expiration date—didn’t it?
What if it didn’t? How could she fit Arthur into her life?Easily, her mind supplied, only too eager to spin out the fairy tale. Long days on campus that ended in dinner at Dot’s; the walk back to her apartment hand in hand; coffee at Bean There, Done That on Sunday mornings as they graded papers, followed by an afternoon sitting on the second floor of Willoughby’s. Simon’s baseball games in the summer, trips to the beach, andendless hours spent reading side by side. It ached to dream about, when she knew she wasn’t brave enough to risk it.
And, at some point, her fears stopped being just about whatshewould lose in an inevitable breakup. Arthur had just as much to lose as she did. Maybe they would date for six months or a year or two, until their happiness curdled. And then what would happen when they broke up after their lives were already braided together?
It was just as easy for her mind to spin this nightmare. Arthur was too kind, too good. If they broke up and couldn’t work side by side, he would leave Hawthorn. And what would he do then? He needed to be close to this precious family he had, the thing he had wanted for so long. She couldn’t take that away from him. Couldn’t take him away from Simon and Rory or Barry and Lane.
She looked over at his empty desk, at the photo of Arthur, Rory, and Simon. He had texted her that he was on his way, driving the winding roads from Atlantia. He had messaged that he couldn’t wait to see her and that he’d pick up a coffee at Bean There. All she wanted was to wrap him in her arms when he arrived, but she knew she couldn’t. She knew he would feel the tension radiating from her. She was never very good at hiding what was on her mind.
She dropped her head into her hands. She was exhausted. Her eyes were red-rimmed and aching, and her chest hurt. She had slept fitfully on Saturday and Sunday night, too caught up in her anxious spiral to rest, the screeches from banshees from deep in the Wilds reminding her of everything else that was at stake. What had she done?
A tapping knock on her office door startled her out of her misery. Dean Clearwater stood in the hall holding a file folder. He wore his summer attire—jeans and a Hawthorn Splinters shirt under a blazer—but his mouth was set in a hard line.
“Good morning. Is Dr. Taliesin here?” He was strangely stiff as he looked around her office, as if Arthur might be hiding in the space behind the open door or beneath her desk.
“No.” Her voice was scratchy, worn out from crying and little sleep. “He’s on his way, though. He should be here in half an hour. Should I tell him to come to Ferox Hall first?”
The deep wrinkle in his forehead grew deeper. “No, that’s fine. I’m sure he has a busy schedule today. This concerns you as much as him, anyway.” He placed the file folder on her desk, tapping it once and sliding it over to her. “Please let him know that the paperwork has been filed and approved by the board. His grant is fully funded.”
Maggie had never heard Arthur talk about a grant, and she had no idea what it would have to do with her. She opened the file folder, trying to understand. “What am I looking at?”
“Apparently, there was some kind of budgeting error. Were you aware?”
Maggie swallowed, her throat dry. Arthur had promised he wouldn’t talk to Dean Clearwater. Why would he break that promise? “I was,” she admitted.
