by Laurel Greer
Maggie gripped Jackson’s leash as she passed the bakery, where a line was starting to form of locals and tourists looking to dig into one of Nancy Rafferty’s double-decker sandwiches for lunch. A few more storefronts, and she’d be at the library. But Emma wasn’t going to sign off willingly until Maggie gave her something as equally delicious as the Sweets and Treats chocolate eclair.
“I still have whisker burn,” she threw out.
“Where?”
“Aaaand would you look at that. I’ve arrived.” The library’s automatic door slid open and she entered the foyer. The smells of books and pine-planked walls washed over her. The place was a far cry from when she’d holed up in an old leather armchair in the back corner, burying her nose in a book instead of facing how she felt about her parents unceremoniously dumping her and Lachlan on Gramps and Grams each summer. Or coming with Stella and using one of the computers to research unplanned pregnancies without their grandparents noticing. But all those nooks were long gone—the library had received an airy face-lift years ago. Even so, Maggie imagined it was still a refuge for some.
“Maggie Reid, do not escape into that library!” Emma ordered. “I need details.”
“Sign says, ‘Quiet,’ Emma. Obvs,” she whispered.
“Then go back outside!”
“I have a date,” she said, still keeping her volume low, hovering in the front foyer by the community announcement board so that she wouldn’t disturb anyone.
“I knooooow. And I need to know what it is about this guy that’s making you go back for more. I mean, I’m all over you going for it. Brava, madam. But he has ropes, not strings attached—”
“Well aware.” Maggie took a deep breath to calm the rush of panic that rose at Emma’s pronouncement. “When I figure it out, you’ll be the first to know, okay?”
Signing off, she put her phone in her purse.
Asher’s coworker was behind the circulation desk. Mrs. Brooks was back, tapping away on one of the computers again, this time accompanied by Gertie Rafferty. And the sound of an acoustic guitar providing musical guidance to an off-key group of people singing “Baa, Baa, Black Sheep” filtered around the corner from the children’s section.
The guitar switched to a classical Spanish riff, transitioning into a lullaby. That had to be Asher playing. A thrill ran down her limbs. What was it about a man who knew his way around an instrument that was so dang sexy? Trying to look casual, she tightened Jackson’s lead and waved at Asher’s coworker.
“Hi, Becca,” she greeted.
Jackson turned to the librarian and emitted a soft warble, as if he knew he was supposed to be quiet but couldn’t help himself.
“I’m going to try a little support training with him,” Maggie explained.
“Asher said.” The woman grinned. “You can take Jacks over to the baby group if you like. Asher’s entertaining them with his guitar.”
Aha, it was Asher coaxing out magic with six, measly strings. Sure, it was nursery rhyme magic. But the little trills and flair he added to “You Are My Sunshine” spoke to a rich skill. Good grief, that was enthralling.
She led the dog past the conversation pits to the children’s area. Primary colored foam seating, arranged in a horseshoe inside the wall-mounted shelves, created an intimate, cheerful retreat. Asher sat at the crown of a semicircle of parents and their babies. He had their rapt attention.
Especially when his face split in a grin and he launched into lilting, Irish strumming, singing: “I wandered today to the hills, Maggie...to watch the scene below. And something, something, something, Maggie...” He trailed off, finishing in a flourish of strings. “Sorry, I don’t know all the words.”
Heat washed up her face, a mix of embarrassment and pleasure. That was a whole lot more public than she’d thought him comfortable with. But it was so dang flattering. And adorable. His shy smile warmed her belly.
A dozen curious gazes landed on her, knowing parents, many of whose animals were her patients. And one of whom was her sister-in-law-to-be with her darling niece. Marisol bounced Laura in her lap and studied Maggie with her usual academic intensity.
Her stomach bottomed. Lachlan marrying a psychology expert was usually awesome, but not today. Maggie would have some explaining to do. Nodding at Marisol, she glanced back at Asher.
The interest lighting his eyes almost made her stumble back a step. He had a pair of light green glasses on—so freaking hot. And the casual noodling on the instrument, as if he was playing without even realizing it. Strong, nimble fingers caressed the neck of the instrument.
Much like they did me.
She bit her lip to keep the memory from showing on her face, but the warmth in her cheeks didn’t dissipate. She smiled sheepishly at Asher before sitting down in the horseshoe and focusing on getting Jackson to sit. Thankfully, he seemed chill with the music, patiently waiting while the group sang a goodbye song, and then tolerating the probing hands of a couple of kids Maggie would guess were around one year old.
“Gentle,” she cautioned. But that was more for manners than safety—a baby could poke Jackson full on in the eye, and he’d just sigh and turn his head.
She was looking forward to talking about a new training schedule over lunch.
No, you’re looking forward to finding a private place to cozy up with Asher.
Well, yeah. That, too. She waited for the parents to clear out. Which was taking forever, considering Jackson had had three children using him like a jungle gym. Ever the submissive, he flopped on his side and sighed. After a minute, the parents peeled their kids off the dog and headed out, but he stayed put.
Marisol made her way over, now wearing Laura in the same carrier Maggie had borrowed when she babysat two weeks ago. Panic struck Maggie. One grilling was enough for the day, and Marisol had “I have serious questions” written all over her face. But Asher was talking to one of the parents, letting a toddler strum the guitar—oh wow, cutest thing ever—so Maggie couldn’t avoid Lachlan’s fiancée.
She smiled up at Marisol, struck by the usual pang of envy. Had Maggie wanted to have a baby, she’d have hoped to look as effortless at it as Marisol. She wore the kind of loose bun Maggie was terrible at re-creating, hence her own chin-length haircut. And those comfy leggings and long T-shirt would look like pajamas on Maggie, not runway attire. But Marisol was too darn nice to resent. Lachlan probably spent the majority of his day thanking his lucky stars he’d found a woman whose appearance matched the beauty of her heart.
Maggie’d spent her adult life working to build up her own self esteem after her parents had done their best to strip her of it throughout her childhood. Criticizing her appearance. Breaking promises. Using her affection as a weapon in their animosity-filled marriage. She knew they were wrong, that she had worth. But the patterns were really hard to break sometimes. And she’d never managed to walk through life effortlessly like Marisol did.
Dropping her almost suitcase-size baby bag next to one of the bookshelves, Marisol knelt close to Maggie. “You are not the person I expected to see at Songs and Rhymes.”
“I’m not exactly here for the programming,” Maggie said. What was the point in lying? Heck, what was even the point of salvage mode? It was obvious she’d come to see Asher.
“Oh, I figured that out the minute you got a serenade,” Marisol said with a laugh. “That was hot. If your brother had more time for new hobbies, I’d convince him to learn how to play.”
“Lachlan’s tone-deaf,” Maggie said.
“I know.” Marisol smiled softly, and Maggie’s chest cramped. How did Marisol and Lachlan manage? Being so good with Laura, so good with each other...
They took a risk.
They took a risk, and now were happy. And maybe, given Lachlan had seemed not to internalize their parents’ issues like Maggie had, they might even make it work.
And maybe if you actually pu
t some effort into getting over those internalized issues, you could make love work, too.
Ignoring the overly true smackdown from her conscience, Maggie gave her niece’s silky hair a quick stroke. “She’s going to end up with a head of curls like you and me.”
Marisol frowned, ignoring the observation. “What was with the serenade?”
“Ask Asher.” Heat flared up her neck. “Cancel that, don’t. I’ll call you later. Just don’t tell Lachlan. Or—” she shook her head “—tell him, whatever, I’m not going to ask you to keep secrets from each other. But I don’t know what’s going on.”
“It’s okay not to know.” Marisol wrapped her arms around Maggie.
Maggie flinched. There weren’t that many people in her life who doled out affection, no questions asked.
Marisol immediately drew back. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“No.” Maggie returned the other woman’s hug, careful not to squish the baby. “It’s fine. I... I like it. And I’ll call you later.”
“Do that.”
A pair of casual gray pants materialized next to them, hems crisp over pristine Adidas sneakers. They looked like they might be vintage. Man, Asher’s shoe collection was impressive.
“Am I interrupting?” he asked.
“Not at all.” Marisol rose and grabbed her bag. “I’m heading out. And I’m holding you to that phone call, Maggie.”
She left with a wave and a thank-you to Asher for the class.
Asher settled next to Maggie on the end of the foam horseshoe. He braced his hands on his knees, and his Pearl Jam T-shirt stretched on his shoulders. And now that she knew what he looked like with that shirt off... Actually, it was pretty awesome seeing him fully dressed, too. Naked was lovely, but so was the anticipation of knowing she’d have to wait.
He leaned in close so he wasn’t towering over her quite so much. “What about you? Did you enjoy Songs and Rhymes?”
“I’m just glad you didn’t sing ‘Maggie May.’ Rod Stewart does not have a high opinion of that particular Maggie, and I don’t need the reminder of how my dad used to quote parts of it—”
Ack, TMI.
Asher’s mouth turned down at the corners. “No, not particularly flattering lyrics. Nor do they have anything to do with a father and daughter. Why would he sing that?”
“Oh, who knows with my dad. He thought it was funny.” Nor had he realized that she worried that he actually meant it when he sang about wishing he’d never seen her face. Before a lump could form in her throat, she shot to her feet, startling the dog. “Where do you want to go for lunch?”
“Anywhere good, but...” A rare moment when she was taller than him, as he didn’t stand. He peered around the library before crooking a finger. “No one’s looking.” Cupping her cheek, he pulled her in for a kiss. Quick, but it made her knees jelly.
“I can think of a hundred songs that would apply to you,” he said.
“What, are you going to make me a playlist?”
“I should.” A slow smile spread on his face and he stood, taking Jackson’s leash from her. “I will.”
“You don’t have to.”
One of his dark eyebrows arched above his glasses. “You don’t want any old-fashioned courting. That answers that.”
“I—” Marisol’s sappy expression floated back into her mind. As did Asher’s steadiness. “Actually, that’s exactly what I want. But we have to figure out a couple of things first.”
She intended on waiting until they were squirreled away in the corner of the poke restaurant down the street before laying out her thoughts.
Asher had other ideas, though, pinning her with his dilemma the minute they exited the library door into the early October sun, led by the dog. “I feel like I should be guiltier about being willing to find love—or being open to it, I guess would be more accurate. But that was one thing about the months of Alex’s health failing—we had a lot of time to grieve together. He downright told me to move on, which helped. When he died... I didn’t want that, obviously, but I wanted him to be free of suffering. And he didn’t want me to be ruled by grief indefinitely. Plus, it’s a cultural thing, so my mom’s nudged me in that direction.”
“You’re too young to be alone for the rest of your life,” she replied.
He stopped walking, pulling her toward the window of the bakery and out of the way of the foot traffic. He told Jackson to sit, and the Dane plopped to the ground. “Are you listening to yourself right now?”
“What, you don’t think I’m right?”
“No, I do think you’re right. And I don’t understand why you have completely different rules for yourself than for everyone else. If I shouldn’t spend the rest of my life without a romantic partner, why should you?”
“I...” How was she supposed to answer that properly? Honestly?
“Maggie.” Dropping Jackson’s lead and slipping his hands into her hair, he took her mouth in a kiss that made applause ring in her ears.
Oh, wait, no. Applause was ringing in her ears, because the pair of up-to-no-good senior citizens heading into the bakery were clapping like they were starring in an overzealous internet meme.
Asher tipped an imaginary hat at Mrs. Rafferty and Mrs. Brooks as he picked up the discarded leash. “Ladies.”
“Don’t stop on our account, dear. News of this will keep the queue at the bakery long all day. Excellent for my daughter’s bottom line,” Mrs. Rafferty said.
Maggie groaned, and shot the older women a weak smile. “Keep it to a dull roar, okay, Mrs. Rafferty? We have Asher’s kid to consider, here.”
Asher’s abashed smile faded, and he refocused on Maggie as the door swung shut behind the gray-haired duo. “You’re right. We need to talk about Ruth.”
“I know.” She waved a hand at the people inside the bakery pretending not to watch the relationship drama unfolding in front of them. “And this isn’t the place for that discussion. You’re too citified. You underestimate the number of ears on alert.”
He put a hand between her shoulder blades, keeping it there as they started walking again. “You think Brooklyn’s any less a fishbowl?”
“New York is huge.”
“But the deli a few blocks over from our brownstone wasn’t. And don’t get me started on the playground by the preschool Ruth used to attend. I see your fishbowl and raise you a rabid shark tank.”
She laughed. “Point taken.” Hearing about his life back in Brooklyn was lovely, and a good transition into more pressing matters. “I’m starting to see that I’m not being realistic about being alone. And pushing myself out of my comfort zone might be a good thing.”
“Okay...” He stared at a point somewhere down the block for a good thirty seconds, far beyond the coffee shop and ski apparel stores they were passing. He came to a halt in front of the poke restaurant and told Jackson to stay, scratching him between the ears. They were planning to eat outside on the heated patio so they could have the dog next to them, tied to the railing.
“Look,” he continued. “I know you’re not sure about a relationship. And when it comes to my feelings, I’m a grown man. I can take it. But—” He blew out a breath. “I can’t believe I have to say this, given it’s crazy early. Then again, I’ve never dated as a father.” His serious brown gaze delved deep, past her inhibitions and fears. “If we test the waters for a while, and decide to make some sort of commitment to each other, is there room in your life for Ruth? I know you don’t want kids. The fact I have one—is that a nonstarter?”
“Well...” Was it? She’d never wanted a baby. But a ten-year-old who was already articulate and interesting and her own person... That was entirely different. “I don’t think so. But it’s also something I need to think on. Is that okay?”
He nodded. “Of course.”
“I could ask you the same question, you know. A
s someone who has a child, would you theoretically be okay not having more?”
Another nod, this time making a strand of near-black hair fall across his glasses. He pushed it back. “I don’t need to think on that—I’ve only ever seen myself having one child.”
“Okay, then.” Her chest felt oddly light. “Good talk. I can honestly say this was a new one for me. Can we, uh, not be serious for the rest of our lunch? I feel we’ve hit our quota for, like, a month.”
“You got it. And, Maggie? Take your time. We don’t need to be in a hurry. I’m not going anywhere.”
And if she could convince herself that was true, it might make moving forward actually possible. But digging out from under a lifetime of doubt and pain wasn’t going to be possible in a day. What if she pushed herself and he wasn’t able to be there in the end because Ruth wasn’t ready to see him with someone who wasn’t Alex? What if he started dating someone Maggie and then realized she couldn’t live up to his late husband?
Cross out one doubt at a time, Maggie. Just have lunch with the guy.
She inhaled, trying to settle her stomach. Finally, some good advice from the recesses of her brain. Lunch wasn’t everything, and she definitely couldn’t make any guarantees yet, but it seemed like a good place to start.
* * *
Asher spent most of the next week and a half stealing as many private moments with Maggie as he could. He had Ruth with him whenever he worked on the barn, which meant platonic encounters, but nothing like what he and Maggie had shared the one shift he’d managed to be alone. She’d come to the library to have lunch with him a couple of times, but that didn’t allow anything close to their one night of pleasure. And he was aching to make love to her again. But figuring out when to make that happen was tricky, given they weren’t being open with anyone about seeing each other, and he couldn’t leave Ruth to fend for herself while he snuck off with his girlfriend.
Girlfriend. Was Maggie his girlfriend? Who knew?
At least cabinet building gave him a ton of time to ponder it. And to realize that he sure as hell wanted to call her that. The conversation they’d had about parenting had given him hope. Dropping that on her had been necessary—and more than a bit awkward—but she hadn’t turned on a heel and walked away. For someone seemingly petrified of being vulnerable, she seemed to understand his unique position.