Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Maggie
M y watch buzzes with an incoming message as I pull the last of the cinnamon rolls out of the oven and place them on the counter to prep for icing. It’s four in the morning, and without looking, I know who’s texting me.
I twist my wrist to activate the screen’s preview window.
Jax: So? Zip-lining?
With a frustrated sigh, I fling the oven mitts to the counter, then snag my phone from my back pocket. He’s been pestering me for weeks to sign up, and knowing him like I do, he’s not going to give up. Obstinate man.
Maggie: Stubborn much? I don’t know if I can.
It’ll take him three seconds. Three… two… one.
My phone rings.
“What’s to know?” he demands. “You’re in, or you’re chickenshit.”
“Well, good morning to you too. Why are you up at four in the morning, thinking about zip-lining?”
“Because I just got back from a call and am still hyped up. Come on, Maggie, I think this trip will be hella fun, and I have limited times I can go, so I want to get it booked before the best days sell out.”
He’s got a point. We missed this trip last fall because he couldn’t get tickets on a day we were both off work.
Between his rotating schedule at the fire department and my bakery schedule, our availability boils down to only a few days a month that we’re both off at the same time.
And as usual, he’s packing those days with his “adventures.”
“It sounds like fun, but…” I can just imagine wearing a stupid leg harness and my thick thighs bulging over the top, not to mention how it’ll basically make a shelf of my ass.
It’s taken years to come to terms with this body and to love it despite not being what society deems perfect.
I’m normally all for any adventure he throws my way, but for whatever fucked-up reason, the idea of zip-lining has always been a no-go, and not because of the actual activity. But because of the gear required.
“No buts. What’s your main concern?”
Like usual, he’s going to try to shoot holes in my fears. It’s frustrating how often he manages to sweet-talk me into doing his harebrained ideas, but we always have a good time, and so far, there’ve been no real injuries or regrets.
“It’s just not safe.” There’s no way in hell I’m telling him I’m concerned about the weight limit and whether I will be over the capacity. Or whether they’ll have a harness big enough to fit me.
“It absolutely is safe.” His tone is one of strained patience. Probably because we’ve also had this discussion before .
“It’s literally riding a wire from one place to another. Over open air. What happens if the wire pulls out of the anchor, or the wire-thingy fails or gets stuck over some hundred-foot ravine.”
Jackson has the undeniable need to experience life at race car speeds, filled with enough adrenaline to fuel an entire city. And for some fool reason, I’m on board with most of his plans.
The truth is, ever since we started really hanging out together, I’ve discovered I also share the rush for adventure, something my best friend—his little sister—would never understand.
And though he’s usually the instigator, I’m usually the one who has the most fun.
The number of times he’s talked me out of my resistance is astounding.
Probably because he is who he is, and I trust that he’d never put me in any real danger.
“It’s totally fine. Come on, Mags. Let’s do it.”
Ugh. He’s pulled out the nickname. The one I’m a sucker for.
The one that makes me feel all squishy inside.
I shouldn’t feel squishy about Jackson in any way.
He’s my friend. That’s it. I came to terms with that fact a long time ago and let go of any hope that there might ever be something between us.
Plus, I don’t normally have squishy feelings in general and avoid them at all costs. Having feelings only leads to heartache. Been there once, got the broken heart. No thanks. I’ll settle for an adventure buddy any day. The fact that he’s extremely easy to look at is just a bonus.
But an adventure buddy would be smart to lay out all the scenarios, fears, and concerns and then find a solution. The realization that I’m going to have to admit this fear, say it out loud, is almost as humiliating as the reason behind it .
Dammit. I thought I’d come so far with accepting and loving my body, but clearly there’s still some work to be done.
Swallowing my pride, I take a deep breath. “I’m worried I’m over the weight limit. I’m embarrassed admitting it, but that’s the problem.” There . The hard part is out in the open, and now it’s just as much his problem.
There’s a puff of air through the phone, like he blew out a breath, and then the blare of an alarm, which is what he calls “tones dropping.”
“Shit. I gotta go. When I get back, we’ll talk about this more, because there’s no way you weigh more than I do. But just for shits and giggles, I’ll look up the info and confirm. And if it says three hundred or more, I’m booking it.”
See? I knew he would do this. Jackson is nothing if not stubborn when it comes to chasing a high. It’s not that I don’t want to go on his thrill ride, but it’s more his thing than mine. Still, he’s been a champ and done every one of my bucket list trips, so I owe him to at least try it.
“Deal. Now go be a hero.” I hang up on him before this can morph into something more, like a zip line to river rafting trip involving overnight camping somewhere.
Putting thoughts of him aside, I return to my morning baking, mentally checking off my to-do list.
Aside from the trail, my bakery is my happy place.
The fun ’80s vibe, the eclectic playlists I run through, and my rotating specials menu all keep me chill.
It’s a far cry from the stilted corporate-attorney vibe of my parents and sister, but I learned from an early age that life’s too short not to chase your dreams.
It would be nice if they were as thrilled for me for being an entrepreneur as they’d been for my sister. We both graduated at the top of our class, only mine wasn’t into the career they’d chosen for me.
But I’m successful despite their lack of support. Now my goal is to keep my menu fresh, my playlist wide, and the opportunity for growth on the table without compromising the brand I’ve worked so hard to build.
It’s while adjusting a tray in the display case that I catch a whiff of my armpits and grimace. I definitely need a five-minute refresher before I keep sticking my gross arms across people’s food.
Slipping into my tiny office, where I keep a constant supply of body wipes and fresh T-shirts, I hit the essentials, reapply deodorant, and then try to tame the wildness of my hair.
Blatantly ignoring the fancy card-stock invitation for the upcoming class reunion pinned to my bulletin board, I inspect the branded T-shirt that reads I’m Hot to make sure I’ve grabbed the clean one and not a stained one.
Then I turn on the sound system and pull up my Saturday playlist. Today is all about ’80s rock, which is normally a hit with most of my clients if the way they sing along is any indication.
By the time I’m ready to flip the open sign, the display cases are full and the bakery smells like heaven. Today’s specialties are cinnamon rolls and cranberry-orange scones to complement the daily variety of muffins, minus one of each that I set aside for Jackson in case he stops by.
Once everything is prepped, it’s time to switch gears from my favorite part of my job to my least favorite.
The part that actually makes me money and requires me selling myself and my goods.
Normally, I’d have help for this part of the job, but since Jasmine graduated from high school and left for college, I’ve been handling everything alone.
And it’s freaking exhausting. I really need to get in touch with the high school and see if they have another student in their work-study program who needs a job.
There’s movement on the sidewalk outside. Jules, my across-the-street neighbor, is bustling over, armed with the carafe of coffee we pass back and forth. Her new coffee shop is an outstanding success.
“Morning,” I call to her, holding the door open so she can scurry inside.
“Here you go. Today’s special is the Columbian dark roast,” she replies as she places the silver monstrosity in its designated spot.
“Okay, I’ve got your tray ready, let me just grab it.”
A minute later, she darts back across the street with a tray of my pastries. Later, there’ll be time to slow down and visit with my friend, but right now it’s time to hustle. Within minutes, my front bell tinkles, and I plaster on a fake-it-till-you-make-it smile as the morning rush begins.
By midmorning, I’m well on my way to being sold out of most of everything, and the fake smile has finally morphed into something easier. Something that doesn’t feel like I’m gritting my teeth.
My phone rings with a video call from Alice, and I hit accept.
“Hey girl, hey,” she says before I say hello. Her perky face fills my screen, and my lips stretch wide with genuine joy.
“I only have a minute. You doing okay?”
“Hey, Maggie,” Stella, Alice’s roommate, calls from somewhere on the other end of the line .
“Okay, no big deal,” Alice cuts in before I can greet Stella. “I just wanted to let you know I sent you something exciting. Make sure you check your emails.”
We ring off with a promise to catch up soon, and I resume my morning mad dash.
“Morning,” Jackson calls from the back of the shop, sending a familiar, forbidden thrill through me at the sound of his voice.