Chapter 8
Owls hooted outside the closed restaurant as Maggie munched on a piece of freshly baked bread and home-churned butter.
The yeasty and salty notes hit all her tastebuds in the best ways as she ruminated over the long day she had.
Going to seek out the witch and the dryad pulled her away from the restaurant all day, but she spent the past few hours prepping for tomorrow, when it’ll be full steam ahead.
Danishes filled to the brim with sweetened cream cheese, raspberry compote, and an oaty crumble to top it off waited to be served warm and gooey in the morning.
Sweet dough chilled in the freezer, already portioned and scooped.
Muffins with all sorts of flavors just finished their rotations in the oven, and cooled off on the counter like rows in a sweet army.
If there was one thing she was looking forward to, it was for everyone to try it all in the morning.
She’d get a good night’s sleep in and be ready to work the day away, until she had to go out on another adventure to collect the next ingredient for their spell.
Finishing up her small snack, Maggie brushed the stray crumbs off her apron before jumping down from her tall barstool.
The brownies were ready to begin cleaning her floury mess, and all she was doing was stalling them.
A part of her simply didn’t want to leave the kitchen, finding its warmth comforting.
“Magpie!”
Peter burst through the front doors of the restaurant and jogged back into the kitchen. The swinging doors whipped out behind him as he strode closer to Maggie, a wide and excited smile stretched across his face.
“Look at you,” he murmured, his eyes clinging to a spot beside her chin. He reached without hesitation, without warning, dragging his thumb along her jawline until the last dusty patches of flour had been brushed away. “There. All clean.”
Maggie was caught in a daze immediately. His hand didn’t move, despite the mess being gone. His thumb continuously moved along her skin, and each swipe pulled another sharp gasp out from between her lips. She blinked rapidly a few times before the appropriate words fell out her mouth.
“What’s got you so excited?” she asked quietly.
Peter blinked a few times, his brow furrowing together.
It seemed like the interaction managed to stunt him as well, and the excitement and eagerness he once had no longer grasped him.
Peter pressed his lips together and thought until it came back to him and the joy appeared once more, his hands grasping onto her own instantly.
Before he even managed to speak, Maggie was laughing.
No matter how old Peter Pan really was, his heart remained forever young.
Adventure always lied around the corner and the possibilities were always endless.
There was never a moment where excitement didn’t have them on the edge of their seats, or that she was being swept off her feet.
Magic was waiting to happen, and Peter was no stranger to jumping blindly into it.
“What’s so funny?” Peter asked, his grin so wide that she was sure it hurt.
“Nothing,” she cooed, staring up at him like a lovesick dog. “Nothing at all.”
Peter was already pulling her outside. She wrestled with her apron, just managing to throw it over her shoulder before he hoisted her into his arms and leapt out the front doors of the restaurant.
He started flying within an instant, the rush of wind knocking the words right out of Maggie’s mouth.
She wanted to ask where he was planning on taking her, why they had to leave in such a rush when she knew there were still stains of her baking across all her clothes.
But that was the thing with Peter Pan, and all of Neverland.
Things happened in a flurry, in a whirlwind, in a rush, and the only way to survive it was to greet it like an old friend.
Maggie held on tightly to Peter as he began to descend on the other side of town.
The closer they came, the more a sudden chill started to grab a hold of her.
A pale white cloud rested just above a wide lake, where there was already a slurry of people having fun.
Snow cascaded down silently from the cloud, trickling across the grassy shore before turning the lake into a long strip of ice.
Fairies wore sterling silver ice skates and slid around the lake, expertly dancing and weaving around each other.
It was an incredible sight to see, even if Maggie wasn’t entirely dressed for the occasion.
The moment Peter’s feet touched the ground, and he rested Maggie down beside him, a fairy came by to present them both with a pair of ice skates.
Guided to a fallen log, Maggie watched Peter as he pulled the skates on before following suit.
They fit snuggly on her feet, though the sensation of the single blade on the bottom was an odd one to get used to.
She never had the chance to go ice skating in the human world, and her natural lack of balance sort of kept her away from it, anyway.
But she was hardly about to disappoint Peter when his excitement was the most infectious thing she ever experienced.
He gleefully helped her to her feet, raising her into the air to delicately guide her toward the icy surface of the frozen lake. Peter grasped onto her hands the moment they landed on the ice, her feet already beginning to slide in every direction.
“Peter –” Maggie sharply snapped, her fear already grasping her.
There were so many eyes around, so many people having fun, and she was one of the oldest of them all, entirely incapable of holding her balance long enough to skate.
The spiral began in an instant, her insecurity swelling to the point of tears welling in her eyes.
But the King of Neverland never once dared to let go of her hand.
“Eyes on me, Magpie,” he said, his voice a strong rope within the hazy anxiety. “Eyes on me.”
She met his gaze. “What if I fall?”
Peter pulled her close, his grasp on her tight and unyielding. “I won’t let you.”
And the next thing Maggie knew, she was skating around the frozen lake.
Peter remained at her hip the entire time, his hold over her hands keeping her afloat, one step at a time.
He twirled her every time she began to slip, the motion pulling a startled laugh out of her.
The fear became simply fun, and the idea of falling was a faraway thought.
The night carried on with a splendour Maggie hadn’t known for quite some time.
Age carried on in the human world, much different than how it did on Neverland, and Maggie couldn’t help but feel her own in that moment.
She was full of aches and pains, but could hardly let a frown touch her face.
The townspeople were skating all around her, offering waves and asking questions about what was next on her restaurant’s menu.
Was this not the life she always wanted?
What was it that she had wished for that one night, when the shooting stare graced her?
Maggie clung to Peter as he spun her through the middle of the frozen lake, dipping around the other couples that passed them by.
Their speed slowed as they faced one another, still drifting in a small circle, arms curled entirely around the other.
Maggie felt as though her heart was bound to Peter in ways she could never understand, ways that would tie her to the island for as long as she lived.
He was leaning toward her, eyes holding onto her with a sincerity that spoke a thousand words.
She could practically hear his voice in her head: don’t leave. Stay in Neverland. Stay with me.
Stay for me.
The world drifted away. There was only them, and the ice beneath their feet. Peter’s lips were only a hair away from her own, his warm breath fanning her and sending chills down her spine. They were an inch away from embracing when –
“Have I finally gone blind, or has Neverland finally found its Queen?”
Maggie jerked away from Peter within an instant, almost losing her footing.
In front of them, a little old lady from town alongside a dutiful granddaughter approached with a waggling finger.
Though the moment was stifled, Maggie blushed as Peter’s arm snaked around her waist, keeping her firmly at his side.
“Grandmother!” the young girl scolded. “Don’t you see? They were going to kiss!”
The old woman waved her hand dismissively. “Don’t say such inappropriate things, child! You’ll embarrass the King of Neverland!”
Laughter ensued and polite chatter followed until Peter whisked Maggie away once more.
They were dancing as they skated, following a symphony only they could hear.
Peter spent every possible second peppering Maggie with a slurry of questions, diving deep into her past. He questioned where she lived, who she stayed with, how she came across Sunny and what drove her to be serving soup in that wench’s battered tavern.
Maggie met each question with an answer.
No one ever dove that deep into her memories, no one had ever been that intent on truly knowing her before.
In return, Maggie was quick to ask her own questions. “Who were you, before Neverland, before the crown, before Peter Pan?”
And he unfolded like a storybook, telling a tale that kept her enraptured for as long as he wished.
She could have listened to him anywhere, whether it was beside a roasting fire or on a long trek beside the seashore.
She simply wished to know more, to know everything he was willing to give.
The more he told her, the more she wanted to give him, the more she wanted to be bound together.
They skated and talked, forgetting about the world around them, even when the crowds grew.
Overhead, a loud burst of color exploded through the sky.
Fairies could be seen darting across the sky as they let their magic fly, creating a spectacular light show for all who watched.
The crowd applauded and cheered, their attention on the sky.
Maggie felt inclined to watch along with them, that is, until Peter charmingly tucked his hands on either side of her face, guiding her gaze back toward him.
Before anyone else could dare to interrupt them, Peter pressed a delicate kiss against Maggie’s lips.
She sank against his touch almost instantly as a shiver rolled down her spine.
Happiness, a burst of it, rushed through her system.
It almost felt wrong to have been so happy in one single moment, but Maggie didn’t care.
She only wrapped herself further around Peter’s neck, deepening their kiss as much as she could.
And yet, wherever there was joy, sadness lingered.
Maggie remembered everything that had been left behind.
Her life, her dreams, the fight she had given, the sacrifices she had already made.
Was it all for nothing? Was it all so that she could be whisked away to a magical land where everything was simply handed over to her?
Life meant struggle, life meant strife. It did not mean taking the easiest route or forgetting what the point always was.
What was in front of her was a break from reality. It was a gift.
She leaned against Peter’s chest as the light show danced over their heads.
Maggie wasn’t in the habit of wasting gifts.