11. Hayden #2
“Don’t even start,” Maeve warns me, hanging clothes back up and folding them and putting them away.
“What? I’m just making an observation.”
Maeve rolls her eyes, and I realize she thinks I was insulting her with that comment. I sigh. “Maeve, you’re a great baker and you clearly enjoy doing it. That’s what I meant.”
“Oh.” Maeve’s cheeks go a bit pink. She gives me a look out of the corner of her eye. “Stop being nice to me. It’s weird. I don’t like it.”
“All right, in that case, you are making us concerningly late for the flight.”
That’s not true, we chartered a jet, but Maeve glares at me, and it makes me feel like we’re back onto safer ground.
Maeve might not know what to do with me being nice to her, but I’m honestly not sure what to do with how protective I feel toward her.
Maeve and I snipe at each other constantly, this new territory feels… dangerous.
I take Maeve’s luggage, and Maeve coos goodbye to her herbs, reassuring them she’d be back soon and that Allison will take good care of them. I roll my eyes and make sure Maeve sees it.
“Oh, knock it off.” Maeve grabs a container from the fridge and then shoves past me to exit the apartment. I follow her.
“Of course you’re the type who talks to her plants.”
“Studies have shown that?—”
We bicker all the way down to the street, until Gerry pulls up from circling the block. When Maeve gets in, she hands him the container she grabbed from the fridge. It’s the lemon bars he loves, because of course that’s what the container is.
From the place she lives, it’s clear to me that Maeve has very little or no money to spare, and yet she’s spent all of December bringing in baked goods every day for the office, same as last year.
She made Gerry his favorite treat to thank him for driving us to the airport.
She drives me nuts sometimes with these kinds of stunts, but you can’t ever deny that Maeve is thoughtful and thinks of other people.
It baffles me that someone, even an arrogant, self-centered idiot like Liam, could fail to appreciate her. The guy’s stupider than I thought.
Gerry and Maeve make small talk as we get to JFK Airport, Maeve asking about his kids, clearly already knowing all about how his son is on the baseball team and they’re debating if he wants to continue it in college, and how his daughter loves horses.
“Her lessons are going great,” Gerry says proudly. “I don’t think she’ll ever compete but she’s starting to talk about going into veterinary medicine. The wife worries she’s going to end up on a farm somewhere in the middle of Montana and we’ll never see her.”
Maeve laughs. “I’m glad she’s able to afford lessons, did she get a scholarship?”
“Mr. Russo insisted on paying for them.”
I glare at Gerry, who pleasantly ignores it, as he does all my glares. Maeve glances over at me, eyes a bit wide. I clear my throat. “See, you don’t know everything about my life the way you think you do.”
After all, Maeve might own my calendar, but she doesn’t own my bank account.
Maeve rolls her eyes and goes back to talking to Gerry, but sometimes I catch her glancing my way like she’s trying to figure me out.
I’m not sure what there is to figure out, honestly.
I had the money so I helped an employee out.
I know what it’s like to have no money to spare.
And I especially know what it’s like to be a kid and not be able to do the things you want to do, be who you want to be.
I like to help kids out the way I wish someone had helped me out, back when it was my turn to struggle.
We get to the airport and the car is escorted through onto the tarmac, where Gabriel and Ford wait on the jet.
“I’m so sorry,” Maeve says the moment we board. “It’s my fault we’re late.”
“We’re not late,” Gabriel says smoothly, always ready to soothe nerves and make people feel at ease. “This is our commissioned jet, we can leave whenever we want, petite oiseau doux .”
“Stop calling me that,” Maeve groans as she sits down. Her gaze darts around the space, and although she covers it well, she looks a bit intimidated as she takes in the large comfy chairs, the luxurious interior, and the fact that it’s just us on board.
The flight attendant comes out to speak with us and give us the safety talk, which is a little different given that we’re the only passengers on board.
She points out where the flotation devices are in case of a water landing, reminds us to put our oxygen masks on for ourselves first before putting one on someone else’s, and to exit calmly through the doors if necessary.
Maeve listens to it all attentively, then thanks her when she’s finished.
Fucking hell, sometimes I can’t believe how sweet and thoughtful this woman is.
It seems almost impossible to me that people like Maeve actually exist. I almost snark at her, Can’t you be cranky like the rest of us?
I keep it to myself, though. Ford will give me hell if I start shit right now.
As the pilot starts the final checks before we take off, the flight attendant steps up to take our orders so she can get the food from the chef.
Maeve’s eyes widen as she’s handed the menu. “This looks like a restaurant menu.”
“It is,” the flight attendant says, smiling. “We provide the chef with your order and he cooks it in the kitchen and delivers it to us before takeoff. We then keep it warm, so that when we reach ten thousand feet, we can serve it to you.”
Maeve looks back at the extensive menu. “Oh, wow,” she says softly.
Gabriel orders his usual, taking forever to pick a wine pairing, and I give him a little shit for being stereotypically French.
Ford decides on the filet mignon, which sounds good, but I get the steak with the mushroom sauce and side of mashed potatoes.
The mushroom sauce Chef Paul makes is truly to die for.
When the flight attendant circles back to Maeve, she still looks nervous. “There are just so many fun options,” she admits. “I’m not sure which to choose.”
“Just get one of everything,” I say, my patience gone.
Her head shoots up. “What?”
I take a pen from my jacket and hand it to her. “Mark everything you want.” I look at the flight attendant. “Tasting portions of each. Cost is not a factor.” I peel several large bills from my money clip, handing half to her and indicating that the rest is for the chef. “For the trouble.”
Maeve is blushing furiously again. “You really didn’t have to do that,” she hisses.
“Of course I did,” I say, settling back into my seat and meeting her wide, startled eyes. “How else were we going to get off the ground?”
Maybe that’s not the only reason I did it. But it’s the only reason I’m willing to admit to.