Chapter Fourteen
Maggie is impatient to reunite with Piper, and while she waits she changes into black corduroy pants and a black cashmere
turtleneck for the welcome dinner. Then she heads downstairs for a glass of wine.
Bucks Tavern has a warm, intimate vibe. Rustic wooden tables are set with handmade pottery. There are thick timber beams overhead
and windows looking out to the river. The crowd seems to be a mix of locals and out-of-towners. There’s a lot of flannel and
all-weather footwear.
The horseshoe-shaped bar is dark wood with an inner bank of shelves displaying glass bottles filled with aged whiskey and
gin and colorful liqueurs. Two bartenders buzz around shaking cocktail mixers.
Maggie’s lucky to find an empty seat in the center facing the river. It’s a lovely spot, one she should enjoy. But she hears
her mother’s voice in her head, saying: A lady never drinks alone. It makes absolutely no sense on any level, but every time Maggie sits alone at a bar or at a table for one, she feels like
a failure. And considering her track record with men, that’s fairly often.
But tonight, men are the last thing on her mind.
She’s hurt over how readily Piper keeps choosing to spend time apart this weekend.
Fine, she wanted to take crochet. But the class ended an hour ago, and Piper’s still hanging out with Hannah Elise; she texted her to say they were doing knitting videos for social media, that she’d meet her at dinner.
Maggie knows, on a practical level, she shouldn’t take it personally.
But she can’t help feeling rejected. And, she has to admit, also a little scared.
The conversation with Ethan yesterday has left her a bit unmoored. She doesn’t know if he’s going to heed her advice and wait
to propose or if he’s going to ignore her. These next few years are Piper’s chance to establish a career that’s interesting
and rewarding. While Maggie’s grateful for the steady paycheck Elaine’s store has provided for her, she can’t help but want
something more for Piper. People in their twenties simply don’t realize how their decisions will reverberate for decades to
come.
And then there’s the other fear: the fear of what her life will look like without Piper in it. Oh, sure—Piper will always
be her daughter. But a marriage will change things. Maggie knew this day would come at some point. She just thought she’d
have a lot more time before it did.
The bartender, a cheerful guy with a man bun, appears for her drink order, and she has a better idea than wine. With the crackling
fireplace and the earthy aroma of hearty stew and something sweet and caramelized, she wants something autumnal.
“I’ll have a coffee with Baileys, please,” she says.
The man beside her turns to her. “I haven’t heard anyone order that in a long time.” And then he tries to pretend he didn’t
say it. Because they recognize each other.
It’s the guy from the bachelor party. The one who stood up and apologized to her. He’s very attractive, with dark auburn hair
and eyes to match. She glances at the table where he’d been sitting just a few hours earlier. The table where she yelled at
him.
“Um, I think I owe you an apology,” she says. “That wasn’t me at lunch. I mean, it was me, but I think I was just upset about something else and took it out on your group. So, sorry about that.”
“Aidan Danby,” he says, holding out his hand. “And no apologies necessary. Nothing more stressful than a relaxing vacation,
right?” he says.
“I’m Maggie Hodges,” she says, shaking his hand. She notices the firmness of his grip and looks up to meet his direct gaze.
His eyes are remarkably the same colors as the autumn leaves, and the shared glance gives her a little shiver. Surprised by
the feeling, she pulls her hand back.
“You’re with the knitting ladies?” he says.
“Well, yes. But when you say it like that, it makes me sound like I should be in a rocking chair with a cat on my lap and
wearing spectacles.” She hates to admit that’s kinda the way she envisions herself in the future. And she’s just fine with
that.
“Not at all. Clearly, you are a very youthful and, might I say, feisty, knitter.”
“Your group seems very feisty—if I may say.”
He laughs. “You just caught us at a bad moment. I’m mostly along for the ride to spend time with my son. He’s not the one
who mouthed off to you, by the way.”
“Thanks for clarifying,” she says. She reflexively glances at his left ring finger. Bare. These days, that doesn’t necessarily
mean anything. And really, his marital status is irrelevant. She’s not looking. “Well, I hope you’re having better luck spending
time with your son than I am with my daughter.”
Aidan looks pointedly at the empty seat next to him on the other side. “Apparently, I’m not. How old’s your daughter?”
“She just turned twenty-three. How ’bout your son?”
“Twenty-four.”
She has the impulse to make a little toast, to say something like, Well, here’s to getting ditched by our kids. But she’s afraid it will come off wrong, like a flirtation. So she says nothing, and neither does he, and they fall back
into a silence as if they’d never started talking in the first place.
“Well,” he finally says, “hopefully things will improve by the end of the night.”
“Bachelor party out on the town?” she says.
“More like bachelor party in the woods.”
The woods? “Oh. Right.” She remembers the banner draped across the entrance. “Bushcraft. So basically you’re doing overnight
camp for adults.”
“Overnight camp?” Aidan says. “I think you’re underestimating the challenge. It’s a lot harder than knitting, I can tell you
that.”
“Oh, really? I think you’re the one underestimating the challenge.” She frowns, mildly insulted.
“No offense. My point is that bushcraft is hard.”
“Like what? What are you guys doing tomorrow that’s so hard?”
Aidan consults his phone. “Okay, tomorrow we’re trout fishing in the morning. Afternoon, we’re foraging for campfire materials.
Then we have an axe-throwing competition.”
“None of those things are any more difficult than knitting a blanket. In fact, I’d say they’re easier.”
He laughs. “Every one of those things takes physical exertion and exposure to the elements. They only sound simple.”
“You’d be a lot more ‘exposed to the elements’ without the knitted sweater you’re wearing,” she says.
Aidan smiles appreciatively. “Point taken. Look, there’s no real debate here. It’s age-old, right?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, from the dawn of time, men are hunters and gatherers and women tend to the nest.”
“Wow. That’s not at all sexist,” she says sarcastically.
“Am I wrong?”
“I think you are, in fact, wrong. And what does that have to do with our respective weekends?”
“It means we’re both acting according to our natural strengths: Men build fire and shelter, and women darn socks.”
Maggie’s jaw drops. “You did not just say that. You know what? I bet you couldn’t last through a single knitting class. I bet you can’t even get the yarn
on the needle.”
“That’s a bet I’m willing to take. If you admit you wouldn’t last a day out in the wilderness. You couldn’t start your own
fire next to a tank of gasoline.” He’s grinning, and she knows he’s simply teasing her. But she’s a little offended because
he probably also believes it to some extent.
“I’ll admit no such thing. I raised my daughter in New York City alone. Self-sufficiency is my middle name.”
“New York City? Hailing a cab is not a survival skill.”
“I have plenty of survival skills.”
“Prove it.”
She shakes her head no. They fall back into silence. After a minute, Aidan turns to her.
“I’ve been thinking,” he says. “Cole, for some reason, isn’t getting along with his cousin. They got into a fight earlier—a
literal fight. And I can’t get through to him. At this point, I’ll try anything to salvage the weekend. So maybe you and your
daughter come along for one of our outings tomorrow.”
“Are you trying to set her up with your son? Because she’s got a serious boyfriend,” Maggie says.
“No! Absolutely not. I don’t meddle in my son’s personal life. That’s a line I cross at my own peril. But I’m thinking maybe
together, we can jolt Cole out of his funk. And have a friendly competition while we’re at it. What do you say?”
Is he joking? No. He seems absolutely serious.
“We’re here to take knitting workshops.”
“Nice excuse,” he says.
She shakes her head and smiles. “It’s true.”
“Also true: You can’t hack it out there in the wilderness.”
She laughs. “Right. And you couldn’t knit a simple potholder to save your life.”
He seems to consider this. “Well, put your money where your mouth is: I have fifty bucks that says I’d be a better novice
knitter than you’d be trying to survive an hour in the wilderness without a cup of coffee or your phone.”
He holds out his hand to shake on it. Is he flirting with her? She can’t tell. And she also can’t tell whether or not she
wants him to be.
“You’re on. I’ll be using your fifty dollars to buy more yarn.”
“So we’re doing this,” he says, smiling.
“I guess we are.”
He asks for her phone number. And she gives it to him.