by LuAnn McLane
“You don’t have to be sure about anything, Maggie. Just get to know me better.”
“We’re neighbors.”
“An even better reason.”
“Um … no.”
“Why not?” He appeared bewildered.
How could bewildered be so cute? Resist. “Neighbors and coworkers shouldn’t … you know.” She blushed furiously. “Get too chummy,” she said, immediately wishing she’d used a different word. Chummy? Who says chummy?
“Because?”
“In case things go, you know, south.” She pointed in a direction she assumed was south. “It could get awkward.”
“I suppose.” Jimmy shrugged. “But you’re thinking way too far ahead. Hey, but I promise not to be that guy if we break up,” he added with a grin.
“Break up?” Her voice sounded like the squeak of a rubber duck. She wasn’t sure if her heart thudded wildly at the breakup part or the fact that Jimmy Heart had just implied they could be a couple. Her head began to swim. “I thought you just wanted to get Trixie under control.” There, at least her voice had returned to a normal octave.
Jimmy pointed to where Trixie was happily chewing on a nubby red rubber bone she’d found in one of her special hiding spots, not paying any attention to them. “Mission accomplished, I think. I hope.”
“You might get that song written yet,” Maggie said, and felt a stab of guilt.
“And it’s not just about the barking. I want Trixie to like me, especially after you let me know about her past. I mean, wow. There’s nothing worse than mean people and bullies.”
“Yeah.” Maggie felt as if he’d peeked past the dark curtains hiding her secret thoughts.
“But you?” He gave her another level look of understanding. “I think there’s still work to be done. Just give me a chance to get to know you better.”
“Yeah, but …” she began, but had nothing after that. She couldn’t tell him that she’d once practiced writing her name as “Maggie May Heart.” Or that she would blow a kiss at her Heartbeat poster every night, singling him out. And she didn’t want to explain that her father’s abandonment had left a gaping hole in her ability to commit, to trust. And then there was the childhood bullying thing.
“Yeah-but isn’t a word.” He grinned. “My mom used to tell me that. I was full of yeah-buts.”
“I know, but—” she started, and at that he shook his head and chuckled.
“Are you willing to at least give it some thought?” He gestured to Trixie. “Trixie really does seem to be okay with me now,” he pointed out, but at the mention of her name she looked at him suspiciously and then growled. “Well, she’s getting there.”
“I …” Maggie began, but she swallowed and looked away, desperately trying to come up with a reason not to get to know her handsome neighbor who seemed to be as nice as she’d dreamed he would be.
Damn, she had some issues.
And getting into a romantic relationship would make her face those issues and fears— things she wrote about, talked about, but wasn’t always so good at practicing herself. Um, no thank you. She wasn’t a risk taker, and so she needed to nip this thing in the bud, leave it at making small talk at the mailbox and waving across the balcony. Period. “Jimmy, I …” she began, as somewhere in the distance she heard the storm break loose.
And just like that, the lights went out.
CHAPTER THREE
THE THUNDER ROLLS
Trixie howled. Maggie shrieked. Jimmy would have chuckled if he hadn’t felt such terror fill the instantly pitch-black room. Trixie’s toenails clickity-clacked on the tiles and she whimpered, trying to find Maggie.
“I’m here, girl,” Maggie said, reaching out but finding Jimmy’s chest instead. “Oh, sorry.”
He wasn’t sorry. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m here too.” Jimmy pulled her closer when he felt her fingers trembling. “Wow, you really are afraid of storms,” he said gently. “Want to tell me why?” he asked, but he felt her shrug. Obviously, she wasn’t one to open up easily, although he’d expected more of her previously bold nature to surface given her work empowering young women—if only as bravado.
“I need to find my flashlight,” she said in a shaky voice. Trixie whimpered again and then found Maggie’s lap.
“Don’t worry.” Jimmy put his arm around her shoulders and gave her a gentle squeeze. “I’ll get it for you. On the counter, right?”
“In my emergency kit. Be careful.”
“Of what?” he asked in her ear. This softer side of his feisty neighbor was intriguing, as he’d somehow known it would be. Her light floral scent had him wanting to bury his nose in her hair but that would be weird, so he refrained.
“I don’t know? Running into something. Knocking over my wineglass?”
“I’ll feel my way around,” he said, unable to keep the amusement from his voice. He’d like to feel his way around her. “And I’ll bring your wine to you. I think you need it.”
“I can’t help it if I don’t like the dark! And here, by the ocean, it’s really dark after the sun goes down. Like, eerie, almost.”
“Don’t worry, city girl. I’ve got this,” Jimmy said, and pushed to his feet.
“If you say so.”
Thump. Jimmy rubbed his elbow. “Ouch!”
“You okay?”
“I didn’t think the counter was that close.” Maggie was right. This was can’t-see-your-hand-in-front-of-you dark. “Wait, I have my phone in my pocket. What was I thinking?” He used the flashlight app and located the big plastic box of Maggie’s storm supplies, wondering what was in there. He also found the glass of wine. “You wouldn’t happen to have a beer in the fridge, would you?”
“If you like Murphy’s Irish Stout.”
“Wow. That was unexpected, but I think there’s a lot about you that’s unexpected. Am I right?”
“I’m Irish. None of that light-beer stuff for me. Although Murphy’s is the sweetest and lightest of the big three.”
Jimmy opened the door to the fridge. “The big three?” Using his flashlight to search the beer, he spotted a can of Murphy’s and snagged it.
“Guinness, Beamish, and Murphy’s.”
“Ah. You know your Irish beer. I’m impressed.”
“My last name isn’t Murphy for nothing.”
“Got it,” he said, but when he was about to crack open the can, she stopped him.
“Wait! You have to pour it into a glass so you get the caramel-flavored head on top.” She scrambled to her feet, tucking Trixie under one arm. “Let me do it. You light the candles,” she said firmly, as if he were only capable of the simpler task.
“Okay, bossy pants.” Jimmy grinned, glad she had her sass back. He stood close and kept the can in place since she still held Trixie.
“I just want you to have the best-tasting experience possible.”
“It’s not my first beer.”
Maggie chuckled. “You need a glass.”
While he lit several of the fat votive candles, he watched her rise on tiptoe to reach up into the cabinet.
“Need help? I’d take Trixie, but I’m not sure that would be a smart move.”
“I’ve got it.”
Jimmy stood close and was surprised by how aware he was of her. The flickering candlelight made the atmosphere feel romantic, intimate. If she hadn’t had her little dog cradled beneath her chest, he might have pulled her into his arms. Jimmy told himself to slow his roll, but he’d been thinking about her for weeks, catching only a glimpse here and there. Sometimes, when she came out onto the balcony, he’d hear her talking on the phone, laughing, or playing with Trixie. Hearing the slight lilt in her voice made him smile.
“Start with a tulip pint glass.” She set it down onto the counter with a flourish. “And none of that forty-five-degree-angle stuff. There’s a ball in the can called a widget. It has nitrogen in it to create the draft flow effect when the cans are opened.” She flipped the can all the way over, turning it completely
upside down. When he reached for it, she put her hand over his. “Wait while the head rises and the beer becomes dark and clear.”
“Okay.” He grinned. “Now?” In truth, being a beer lover, he was familiar with the widget, but he was enjoying her display of knowledge too much to tell her.
Maggie watched the glass for a few more seconds and then nodded. “Yep.”
“Mmm.” Jimmy took a sip and licked the foam from his lips. “Good stuff.”
“I like it because it’s smooth with toffee and coffee undertones. And not bitter.”
Jimmy took another drink and nodded. “Creamy finish.”
“Right! I used it in the stew I made earlier.”
“I could smell the aroma over on my patio. And did you bake bread?”
“My grandmother taught me.”
“So, obviously Irish too.”
“Yes, she’s my dad’s mother, but after my parents split … well, make that after my dad split, as in did a disappearing act, she moved in to help my mother raise me.”
“Wow, that’s unusual,” Jimmy said, glad that she was opening up to him if only a little bit. “But cool.”
“I know, right? Modern family, I guess.” Maggie took a sip of wine and then shrugged. “My mother was a foster child, and she married my father when she was only eighteen. Funny, but she told me once that it was partly for the security after she aged out.”
“What does that mean?”
“After you turn eighteen, you are just … removed from the system and tossed out into the world. Poof! My mom was dating my dad and he was all she had. And she said she loved him. I came along shortly after. My dad stayed for eight years and then …” Lowering her eyes, she shrugged, playing with the stem of her wineglass. The candlelight flickered, throwing warm golden highlights into her deep red hair. After putting Trixie down on the floor, she sat down on a tall stool at the breakfast bar and he joined her.
Jimmy took a swig of his beer. “So, your grandmother must be the strong Irish influence.”
“I’m named after her, but everyone calls her Mags. Yeah, it broke her heart when my father left, but Grandma Mags showered me and my mother with love, trying to make up for what my dad did.”
“Or maybe Mags just loved you both, period.”
Maggie tilted her head to the side. “I never thought of it that way, really.” She smiled softly, and it filled him with the same kind of deep emotion he felt when he wrote songs.
“So, did your father ever come back?” he asked, thinking of his own parents leaving, but not by choice. How deep would the pain be if a parent chose to abandon a wife and child? Immense. “I’m sorry. If I’m being intrusive, let me know.”
“It’s okay.” Maggie lifted one shoulder. “He never came back in the way that we wanted, but we did get answers.” Maggie took a sip of her wine, and even in the dim light he could see the pain in the depths of her green eyes. “For a long time, the only way we knew he was alive was that by law he had to send child support after my mother filed for divorce, citing abandonment. She didn’t do it for nearly two years, I think, hoping that he might someday walk through the door.” Maggie sighed. “For a long time, I did too, even though he wasn’t always a very loving father.”
“I’m sorry.” He reached over and put his hand on hers.
“He was a very unhappy man.”
“Depression is difficult to understand. But I’m sorry he left.”
“I remember my mother being so afraid and devastated at first. After all, he was all she had. But then, little by little, the light came back into her eyes. And fortunately for us, Granny Mags was the stabilizing factor we needed. My father finally wrote a long letter letting us know that he was sorry, and that he wished he had known what was wrong with him sooner. Years after he left us, he found out that he was clinically depressed and bipolar, and he finally got the help he needed.”
“Wow, how sad that he didn’t know what was wrong. But I know it happens all too often.”
“I know. He just thought he was unhappy with his life, with us. He didn’t understand either. But at least I could forgive him. And my mother no longer had to blame herself for not being able to make him happy.”
“But he never physically came back.”
“No.” She shook her head slowly. “And I think perhaps it was the right decision. My mom had moved on with her life.”
“But your grandmother …”
Maggie closed her eyes for a few seconds. “Yeah, I know. At first, she blamed herself for not knowing my dad had serious issues. My grandpa died young, and she always just thought that Dad was sad because of his passing. And my dad was smart, a good student. She had no way of knowing, really, that something was actually wrong—she just thought he was shy. I think my father was drawn to my mom because she’s so bubbly and happy, despite her tough childhood. Granny Mags said that she thought Dad tried to soak some of that sunshine up. And I think she was right.”
“Sad, but oddly, tragically beautiful, in a way.”
Maggie frowned slightly. “I never really thought of it that way either.” And then she smiled. “The songwriter in you sees the world through different eyes.”
“I think you might be right.”
“Awareness about mental illness is spreading, but even today, depression still goes undiagnosed, especially in children who are often told to just get over it when they simply can’t.”
“Are you speaking from experience?” Jimmy asked quietly. He took another swig of his beer, wondering if he was digging too deep, but he was fascinated by her, by this conversation.
“Not with clinical depression, no,” she said, but didn’t elaborate. She played with the stem of her glass again and sighed. “I talk a lot about depression in my work. I want young people to know that if they feel sad all the time, there is a reason, and it can be helped. And …” she said, but paused, as if not wanting to reveal more of herself to him. “It’s okay to be different.”
“The world would be boring if we were all the same.”
“No doubt.”
Jimmy took a drink of his beer. He didn’t want to push, but she intrigued him in ways that tugged at his emotions. In truth, he was rather relieved that the storm had interrupted their near kiss.
Jimmy had recognized the wariness in Maggie’s eyes, because he had the same fear when it came to falling in love.
Putting your heart on the line was scary as hell, especially when you were so often in the public eye. Grady and Oliver had overcome their fear of loving and losing, and were now happily in love with women they both adored. Jimmy didn’t know if he could ever get to that point in his life, but he knew that he sure as hell should.
“Keep going, I’m enjoying listening to you,” he said, returning back to the present moment. He knew that talking was keeping her mind off the storm.
Maggie inhaled a deep breath. “I’ll be honest. I find it much easier to speak in front of an audience than chatting one-on-one, at least when it comes to talking about myself. And somehow, you’ve got me doing it.”
“You write motivational books for young women, right?” Of course he knew the answer, but he didn’t want her to think he’d been cyber-stalking her. Even though he had been doing his research.
Pressing her lips together, she nodded, and something flickered in her eyes. “I do.”
“Where do you get your inspiration?”
“Well …” Maggie nibbled on the inside of her lip. “I looked like Little Orphan Annie as a child,” she said, as if that explained everything.
“What? Little Orphan Annie is cute.”
“Oh, puh-lease.” Maggie rolled her eyes. “I had a giant mop of reddish-orange hair that no product could even begin to tame—not that I had products to tame it with. And I ate my way through my grief over my dad leaving. I was”—she swallowed hard—“teased a lot. Bullied.”
Jimmy felt a flash of anger. “I don’t understand why that even happens.”
Maggie lifted one
shoulder slightly, and damn, if he didn’t want to pull her into his arms. “I’ve done tons of research, and the interesting thing is that there isn’t a real definitive profile of why kids bully. There are the obvious reasons—low self-esteem, learned behavior at home, learning difficulties that cause frustration and acting out. Jealousy.”
“Makes sense.”
“Yes.” Maggie inclined her head. “But the one reason I’ve always found the strongest is, oddly enough, the need for friends and popularity. The biggest bullies are sometimes the most popular kids, and so other kids join their ranks and they become cliques and, in more severe cases, gangs. There’s power in numbers.”
Jimmy nodded. “And of course, the kids being picked on are the ones who are most vulnerable.”
“All you have to do to be singled out is to be different. And now, with social media, cyber-bullying is also a huge problem. I’m sure you’ve heard some of the horrific stories in the news.”
“Truly horrifying.”
Maggie closed her eyes and swallowed hard. “I try to get the message out that no one has to be a victim. But the other problem is that the victim is sometimes made to feel as if they are the problem, that they should simply stand up for themselves and be more assertive, like they’re inviting the bullying. It’s not that simple. And I want to make it clear that everyone is unique and that kids don’t have to fit a certain mold.” She wagged a finger. “Parents often try to solve the issue by wanting their children to simply fit in …” She paused and shook her head. “Wow, I need to get off my soapbox. I’m sorry, but this is my passion.”
“I just don’t get why others don’t stand up when they see someone getting picked on. Doesn’t make any sense to me.”
“Popularity is seductive.”
When she fell silent, Jimmy wanted to reach over and take her hand, but he refrained. He needed to take this slow.
Maggie took another sip of her wine and then surprised him by continuing. “As a kid, I was a straight-A student: shy, self-conscious for obvious reasons.”