Chapter 32
MAGGIE
Sloane cuts off a corner of the tortilla with her fork, puts it in her mouth, and her eyes close. She makes a sound — low, in the back of her throat — and her shoulders drop a fraction as she chews.
"Oh my god, Maggie."
"Good?"
"It's so good." She opens her eyes. "The potato is soft but it's not mushy. And there's the chili but it doesn't take over. And the egg is delicious."
"You've probably never eaten eggs this fresh before."
"Right." She takes another forkful. "Of course."
I sip my beer, needing distraction from the way she eats. It's so sensual to look at it's becoming an issue.
"Mmm…" Sloane tries a forkful of salad. "This is Michelin compared to the diner."
"Yeah, we can agree on that. I don't actually eat at the diner, ever. Mostly because I'm a vegetarian, but even if I weren't — I'm not really into beige food."
"You're a vegetarian." She squints at me. "Of course you're a vegetarian. You run an animal sanctuary. I should have realized but it didn't click, even with those delicious vegetarian lunches you make."
"I'm no chef," I say. "I just make simple food with fresh ingredients. Mom is much better."
She pushes some salad around her plate. "I don't think I'll be in a hurry to eat pork ever again after working here. Dolly is so sweet and Gerald has started letting me scratch under his chin. I've been having fried fish at the diner lately. The chicken reminds me of… well… the chickens."
"Gerald lets you scratch his chin?"
"This morning. I was kneeling next to him filling up the water and he leaned in and pushed his head against my hand."
"Gerald isn't too keen on people, you should be honored."
Sloane smiles and she looks gorgeous in the light of the low sun. "You're doing really good work here," she says.
"Thank you."
"No. I mean really. I didn't understand it when I got here. Assumed it was some weird hobby." She winces. "That was stupid. If it weren't for you, those animals wouldn't be alive or they would have never seen daylight."
I get up and light the citronella candle on the porch railing because the mosquitoes get serious at this time of day. When I sit back down, Sloane is on her second piece of tortilla.
"So," she says. "Vegetarian. Would you date someone who wasn't?"
"Sure. It's just how I choose to live. Doesn't mean I expect everyone else to do the same as long as they won't try to feed me a steak.
I grew up like this. Mom's a vegetarian, so I've never eaten meat but what others do is their business.
People go to church and they don't expect everyone else to go to church. "
"Apart from Ruthie."
I laugh. "Sure. Apart from Ruthie." I turn to her. "Can I ask you something personal?"
"Go ahead," she says.
"What's your type? The men you normally date."
Sloane rolls her eyes. "Honestly? The wrong type.
I've always dated bad boys and I've been cheated on so many times I'm almost starting to expect it.
They were all charming, tall, confident.
Successful in some way that impresses at a dinner party.
Selfish in ways you don't see at first and then can't unsee.
The kind of men whose mothers tell them they're special when they're four years old and then nobody tells them anything else for the next thirty years. "
"Sounds delightful."
She shrugs. "Can't say I've lost any sleep over them. Apart from Tom, my first boyfriend. He used to bring me hot chocolate in a Styrofoam cup before school and I thought it was the most romantic thing in the world."
"How old were you?"
"Sixteen. I haven't seen him since he moved to Canada with his parents. That's why we broke up back then. He's married now with two kids and a normal life. Good for him." She takes a sip of her beer. "And you? Ever had one true crazy love?"
I turn the bottle slowly in my hands. "There was a woman in college, Reese. We were together for three years. She broke up with me at the end of senior year and it took me almost two years to get over her."
"Reese," Sloane says. "Where was college?"
"UC Davis. I did animal science, then finished a master's in animal welfare online after I'd already taken over here. I was always going to come back. Mom needed me, so I was studying to be useful when I got home." I pause. "What did you study?"
"Art history," she says. "Two years at NYU. I dropped out, told my parents I wanted to focus on charity work. What I really wanted to focus on was a man called Antonio with a vintage Vespa."
I chuckle. "How did Antonio work out?"
"He went back to Milan and I went back to LA. Dad's still disappointed I dropped out. I've been useless ever since, living off his money."
"I'm sure you haven't been all useless."
Sloane stares into the candle. "No. I really have been wasting my life away." She says it without drama, and that makes it land harder than if she'd dressed it up. "Do you ever still think of Reese?" she asks, steering the conversation back to me.
"Not really. She was right to end it, I can see that now. She would have ended up here with me, and Reese was never destined for Duster."
"You can't know that for sure."
I shake my head and lean my elbows on the table. "Come on, Sloane. Don't tell me you'd move to this farm even if it was run by a rich, handsome prince."
"That depends," she says with a mischievous grin.
"On what?"
"Can I build a pool? And a helipad?"
I throw my head back and laugh. "Where would you put a helipad?"
"On the south side, left of the oak. There's space."
"You've thought about this."
"I'm thinking about it now. Princess Pigpen's Country Estate. Open to the public on Sundays." She lifts her beer. "Seriously though. I'm not actually that miserable anymore."
"No?"
"No. I'm not that miserable about being in Duster.
I've had a lot of time to think and I'm more angry with myself than anything.
I've spent so much of my life doing nothing.
" She glances up. "I've never held a job for longer than four months, even though those jobs were handed to me on a silver platter and didn't involve much more than networking.
I had endorsements and I made money from social media.
I called that a job but that's gone now, since the crash.
Nobody's going to pay me to wear their brand when I'm a punchline. "
She sighs. "I picked the worst men because they looked good in photos and they made my life feel important. I picked friends the same way and never asked myself if I actually liked any of them." She pauses. "The second I was in trouble, they all disappeared. Perhaps I would have done the same."
"I'm sorry about your friends," I say. "That must hurt."
She nods. "I think Dad was right when he said this would be good for me.
I was so angry with him — I'm still a little angry, because he could have at least let me have a coffee maker.
But he was right. I look at you and how hard you work, and the difference you make every day, and I admire that.
I don't think I've admired anyone in a long time. "
I don't know what to say to that. I'm genuinely without words, which is not something that happens to me often.
"You've been very kind to me too," she adds. "Considering everything."
"Honestly," I say. "It's been nice having you around."
She holds my gaze and then her eyes drop to my mouth again.
It's a half-second, no more. But I see it, and she knows I see it. She blushes and clears her throat.
"I should — I'd better go back and have a shower." She stands, picks up her plate and her empty bottle. "I'll help you clear up first."