by Lizzie Shane
“Thank you for dinner tonight,” she murmured. “It was really nice.”
“I’m glad you came.”
“Are you?” she asked, then blushed at the blurted out question. “I mean, I know I’m not exactly a good influence.”
Ian’s brows pulled down over his eyes as he studied her. “Why would you say that?”
He was the one who’d wanted her to stay away from his kid. She shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m just kind of a train wreck.”
He met her gaze steadily, a frown turning down into his beard. “I don’t think you’re a train wreck.”
“Oh, no, I am,” she assured him.
“Even if you were, I’m glad you came.” He slid his hands into his pockets, rocking back. “It’s obvious Sadie’s crazy about you and, like you said, not everything in our lives has to be permanent to be good.”
She didn’t remember saying that, but it sounded good. She looked up at him, studying his face in the low light. “I would never do anything to hurt her. You know that, right?”
“I know.” He met her eyes, something serious entering his. “It’s not any intentional hurt I’m worried about.”
Maggie tried not to cringe. He knew her. Knew the swath of destruction a human wrecking ball could wreak on relationships.
“I won’t let it affect her,” she vowed. “The collateral damage from my life. I promise.”
His look said she couldn’t keep a promise like that, but he just nodded. “I know.” Ian cleared his throat roughly and turned back toward the path. “G’night, Maggie.”
“Good night, Ian.”
* * * * *
He refused to look back as he walked up the path into the darkness, not sure he’d keep walking if he did. Tonight had been strange, and entirely too real.
He kept trying to dismiss her as another fame-hungry climber, but he couldn’t seem to stop seeing the real woman beneath the shine of her Maggie persona. She was a good person. Beneath all the fame. But the fame never truly went away—it was a timely reminder.
What must it be like to go through life knowing that her very presence was something that could hurt people? Casualties of her infamy. No wonder she seemed so lonely.
He’d wanted to take her into his arms. To hold her. To kiss her. But didn’t everyone?
Of course she was irresistible. She was Maggie Freaking Tate. But she was also leaving soon, and he needed to remember that. Though maybe her being here for such a short time wasn’t a bad thing. It was nice having someone to talk to. He didn’t know why, but he trusted her with his secrets—maybe because he knew she had so many of her own, or maybe just because he’d known her since the day she jumped into that lake when they were eight.
He climbed the steps to his front door, his thoughts tracing back over the conversation with Maggie. When he stepped inside, his matchmaking elves had obviously been at work because the kitchen was spotless and the table on the deck had been cleared of everything that might blow off overnight. Instead of retreating to the master, he climbed the stairs and gently knocked on Sadie’s door, poking his head inside.
“Hey,” he murmured as she looked up from the hammock where she was curled with the Harry Potter book she was reading for what must have been the fifth time.
“Did Maggie go home?”
“She did. And don’t think we weren’t on to you and Grandma tonight. Maggie and I are just friends.”
Sadie’s dimples dug into her cheeks as she smiled. “But you like her, right? I mean, she’s nice.”
“She’s very nice. But you can put the dimples away. I’m immune, and she’s going back to LA, so don’t get any ideas.”
She made a face. “Is that why you came up here?”
“No.” He leaned a shoulder against the doorframe. “I just wanted to tell you how lucky I am to be your dad.”
Sadie rolled her eyes. “You are such a nerd.”
Ian grinned. “A lucky nerd.”
“Whatever, nerd.” He chuckled and started to close the door when a soft voice stopped him. “Dad?”
“Yeah, kiddo?”
“I’m lucky to be your kid too.”
His heart clutched in his chest and he pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Are you crying?” Sadie asked incredulously.
He sniffed. “Something in my eye. You gotta dust in here, kid. Place is a mess.”
“Ugh. Whatever. I love you too.”
He cleared his throat, trying to clear the moisture in his eyes. “G’night, baby. Don’t read too late.”
“Hey, Dad?” she called, right when he would have shut the door. “Does this mean I can go to the Mariners game next weekend?”
He groaned. “Horrible child. Playing on my vulnerability in my moment of weakness. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
“If I’m ashamed do I get to go?”
He shook his head at her audacity, but met her pleading eyes. Maybe his mom was right. Maybe she needed these moments, these memories, even if they weren’t the way he would have planned them. He couldn’t pick her friends. He could only hope he’d given her a good enough foundation to pick good ones.
“If Lincoln invites you, you can go and spend the night after with your grandma.”
“Really?” Sadie squealed, tumbling out of the hammock and racing across the room to fling herself into his arms. “Thank you, Daddy! You’re the best!”
Ian wrapped his arms around her, wishing he could wrap her in bubble wrap and protect her from the world. He wasn’t ready for her to start growing up on him, but she would. There was no stopping it. And in the mean time, all he could do was hold on tight and hope these moments could last.
Chapter Seventeen
Maggie’s phone rang just after noon on Monday as she was going through a box that appeared to be nothing but tax documents from the nineties. She’d spent Sunday starting on the boxes in the back of the walk-in closet—and looking for more letters.
She hadn’t found any, but she had found a box of Lolly’s old advice columns and had gotten distracted reading through each one until she’d looked up to find the sun was setting and Cecil was whining for his dinner. She’d fed Cecil and herself, heating up a box of macaroni and cheese—something she didn’t think she’d eaten since her starving artist days, before she had a nutritionist and a personal trainer cooperating to perfect her body. Then she’d fallen asleep watching Lolly’s VHS copy of His Girl Friday.
She hadn’t seen Sadie or Ian or Mrs. Summer since Saturday night, but she scrambled for the phone now, remembering Ian’s offer to come by and pick up the broken bits currently cluttering the living room and take them to the dump for her. She had started to refuse when Mrs. Summer had volunteered him, but then she’d remembered that her license was still expired. And she’d wanted to see Ian again.
When she snatched up the phone and saw Melanie’s name on the screen, it occurred to her that Ian probably didn’t have her phone number. She almost tossed the phone aside without answering it—but knowing Mel she would just keep calling until she got through, and possibly call the cops to come out and check that Maggie was still alive if she didn’t pick up.
Which would have been comforting, having someone looking out for her like that, if she hadn’t been reasonably certain that Mel only wanted to make sure the cash cow didn’t wander off.
Maggie sighed and connected the call before it could go to voice mail. “Hey.”
“Thank God. I was starting to think I was going to have to call the National Guard.”
Maggie smirked. “And here I thought you would go for the local cops.”
“Either way, it’s good to hear your voice. How’s Oregon?”
“Rainy.” It had started raining Sunday morning, a slow steady drizzle that had kept up off and on for the last thirty hours. Which, come to think of it, was probably why Ian hadn’t come by for the dump run. He was probably waiting for a dry day.
“S
ounds like Oregon. Are you about done? Can I send a plane for you? The Alien Adventuress negotiations are going well, but I know they’d go even better if you got out and showed your face, reminded them who they’re dealing with—”
“I’m not sure I want to do the Alien Adventuress movie.” The words were pure impulse, Maggie hadn’t been aware she was thinking them until she said them, but they felt incredibly right.
“What?” Melanie’s usually droll voice sharpened. “What are you talking about? This is your iconic role.”
“I know, but I was thinking...” Maggie glanced around Lolly’s chaotically overcrowded living room. “I thought I might stay here for a while. There’s a lot to do to fix up the house.”
And she liked it here. She liked the quiet. She liked the sense of purpose. Not to mention Ian, and Sadie, and Mrs. Summer, and Edgar.
Talking to Sadie the other day about her acting career, Maggie had started to wonder if it was still what she wanted. She’d fought for it. She’d been so hungry for success. But she’d always thought success would mean something. That some external thing—the millions, the fans, seeing her name in the paper or being wanted by the world’s most eligible bachelors—would flip some switch inside her and make the thing that felt empty inside her finally feel full. Make her feel good enough.
But it never had and lately her life just made her tired. Tired in a way that no amount of sleep had ever been able to dispel.
“Maggie,” Melanie said in that too-patient tone that grated on her nerves, as if she were a recalcitrant child. “We can hire people to take care of the house. People whose job it is to do stuff like that. You’re needed here.”
“Needed seems like a strong word.”
Mel made a frustrated noise in her throat. “I didn’t want to tell you this, but people are beginning to speculate. Your publicists are fielding a lot of questions we don’t want reporters to start asking.”
“I thought we always wanted them asking questions. Begging to know more about me. Isn’t that the game?”
“Not these questions. Is Maggie unstable? Is Maggie in rehab? Why haven’t we seen her? Who is she eloping with this time? Who is she cheating on this time? Where is she? Did she have a nervous breakdown? Is she still capable of working?” Mel hit the last question hard, finishing the list with ice in her voice. “That one came from the studio. They have concerns, Maggie. We don’t want them having concerns about whether or not you’re even insurable while we’re asking them to give you more money than any other female star has ever gotten for a single motion picture.”
Maggie perked up at the mention. “More than Sandy?”
“Blowing Cassandra Newton out of the water. But that only happens if they see you’re bankable. Come back to LA. We can get you on a couple of talk shows to show you aren’t bothered by Alec’s book—”
“I’m not done here yet.”
Mel huffed out an irritated sigh. “We can hire someone. You don’t need to do it yourself.”
“I think I do. I want to do this for Lolly.”
“Who’s Lolly?”
“My aunt. The one who left me the house.” It shouldn’t have surprised her that Mel didn’t know Lolly’s name. It wasn’t like Maggie ever talked about her family. No wonder Mel didn’t understand why she had to do this herself.
Gravel crunched in the driveway and Maggie looked out the kitchen window, spotting Ian’s truck pulling into the space in front of the house. Her heart flew into her throat.
“Melanie, I’ve gotta go. Something just came up.”
“Maggie!”
She cut off whatever protest Mel would have made with a stab of her finger and tossed the phone onto the chipped daisy table. Cecil lifted his head from the pile of blankets he’d claimed as a dog bed, but as soon as she opened the door and he heard the rain outside he lowered his head again with a sigh.
Ian’s driver side door was already opening when she burst onto the porch, a smile automatically curving her lips. “Hey.”
* * * * *
The sight of Maggie’s smile as she stepped out of the house made his heartrate quicken in a way it really shouldn’t have.
Ian was not an impulsive person. He never did things on a whim. He’d been scheduled to rebuild a deck today, but the rain had delayed the project and he had no other indoor jobs on his schedule to fill the time. He’d been driving through town on his way back from picking up some parts he’d need for the deck when he saw the old sign for Vinnie’s Sandwiches—and impulse had taken over.
Maggie had been addicted to them, once upon a time. Back when life had all been possibilities and dreams. Without thinking twice, he’d swung the truck into the parking space out front and run through the rain to the shop’s front doors, grabbing all of their old favorites in a fit of nostalgia.
It was habit, he told himself as he drove to Lolly’s place—as a teenager he’d conditioned himself to want to please her, to be willing to do anything to make her smile. It was Pavlovian now. Simple as that.
And when he saw her face light up as she rushed out of the house, he could blame Pavlov for the way his heart jumped. That was all it was. A conditioned response.
Ian grabbed the white paper sack off the passenger seat and ran toward the house, hunched over to protect his cargo. The steady, lazy rain had picked up over the last few minutes and it drummed against his shoulders. His hat was instantly soaked, water dripping down the collar of his shirt. He leapt onto the porch, ducking beneath the overhang, and straightened, holding up his prize for Maggie to see.
“It’s too wet to go to the dump, but I come bearing Vinnie’s.”
Maggie’s eyes flared wide as her gaze locked on the bag. “Oh my God, Vinnie’s. I was so addicted to their sandwiches.”
“I remember. You had a whole theory that they were sneaking crack into their secret sauce so we wouldn’t be able to kick the habit.”
She laughed. “It was a good theory.”
He wagged the bag at her. “Wanna see if it’s as good as you remember?”
“Oh wow.” She leaned back, almost as if the bag would bite her. “I shouldn’t. My nutritionist and personal trainer would have side-by-side heart attacks if they saw what I’ve been eating this week.“
“I take it meaty, cheesy carb-bombs don’t fit your diet.”
“Not quite.” Her grin was crooked as her gaze locked again on the bag. “Give me that.”
She made a swing for the bag and he held it away from her. “Maggie Tate, I am shocked at you.”
“Come on. I have weeks to get back into shape before I have to be in a bikini on camera.”
The mention of her in a bikini distracted him enough that she was able to snatch the bag out of his hands. She opened it without hesitation, sighing with delight at the scent that wafted out. “Oh, Vinnie.”
Ian nearly groaned at the reminder of exactly why he’d always been so eager to bring her Vinnie’s—so he could hear her make that sound, almost sexual in her appreciation.
She led the way into the house, hugging the bag and speaking over her shoulder. “I may regret this later when my trainer is punishing me with burpees, but right now I am having this sandwich. You didn’t actually expect me to resist it, did you?”
“Of course not. I just thought you’d pretend to hold out a little longer.”
She rolled her eyes and he couldn’t help his grin.
“I can’t believe Vinnie’s is still open.” She set the bag on the table and he bent to ruffle Cecil’s ears.
“It’s a local institution,” he commented as she unpacked her treasure.
Two sandwiches. Two bags of potato chips—salt and vinegar for her and barbecue for him, though he would end up stealing half of hers. A can of Mountain Dew for him and a Dr. Pepper for her. Ian flicked on the old radio on the counter, tuning it to the classic rock channel to complete the trip down memory lane, and sank down onto the chair opposite her. He tugged one of t
he sandwiches closer to himself as she doled out the rest of the loot.
She shook her head as she handed him the Mountain Dew. “You remembered everything.”
“It’s been a while.” He popped the top on the Mountain Dew. “I can’t remember the last time I had a soda.”
“Me either,” she admitted, opening her Dr. Pepper. “Not exactly my nutritionist’s favorite beverage.”
“My mom’s been on a health food kick since my dad passed,” Ian commented. “I understand where it’s coming from. She wants to keep all the people she loves healthy. But sometimes a man just wants to drink caffeinated sugar and eat processed food without feeling like he has to hide the evidence.”
“My personal trainer is probably sensing a disturbance in the Force in Los Angeles as we speak.”
Ian snorted a laugh—and the cell phone which Maggie had tossed on the table vibrated with a text alert. She flipped it over without looking and Ian arched an eyebrow in question.
“I hung up on my manager,” she explained. “She wants me to come back to LA.”
And there it was, reality dropping right into the middle of memory lane. Ian focused on unwrapping his sandwich, forcing his tone to stay light. “You do have a life there.”
“Do I?” she asked, then winced at the sarcasm. “Sorry. No one wants to listen to the movie star whine. I got everything I ever wanted. Poor me.”
“We don’t always know what we want. Especially when we’re sixteen.” He’d been so certain of what he wanted then, so determined—he’d known exactly where he was going, until life had thrown him a curveball.
Maggie’s turquoise eyes studied him, seeming to read his thoughts. “You wanted to be a musician,” she murmured.
“Exactly. What did I know?”
He felt her watching him and took a big bite of his sandwich. Yes, he’d had big dreams once upon a time and yes, he’d walked away from them, but he’d had a damn good reason and he wasn’t sorry. Not really. Life had thrown his ambitions in a blender and hit puree, but he refused to have regrets. Maggie had gotten her dreams and it didn’t seem like it had made her all that happy.