Chapter 13
thirteen
What the hell had possessed her to say yes to this?
Maggie clutched the plastic grocery store cookie container and stared at Nessie’s cabin door like it might bite.
Five minutes now she’d been standing here, listening to the laughter inside, fighting the urge to turn around and bolt back to her cabin.
The women were already settled, already comfortable, already a unit.
And here she was, an outsider with sad store-bought cookies, trying to crash their circle.
And, God, why had she brought these stale cookies? Why hadn’t she made something? Anything but these pathetic store-bought chocolate chip cookies that she’d picked up days ago on her way to Valor Ridge. They screamed, “I didn’t care enough to try.” Especially since Nessie owned a bakery.
She should leave.
One quick text to Lila—headache, exhausted, whatever—and she could escape. Lila would understand. She’d invited Maggie so nicely that morning while checking on the kittens, and Maggie had said yes before her brain caught up with her mouth.
She tugged at her flannel, second-guessing her outfit for the hundredth time. She’d changed three times before coming over. What exactly did one wear to meet their pen pal’s found family?
The door swung open.
Maggie froze, caught with her hand halfway to her hair.
Nessie stood framed in warm light, dark waves of hair tumbling around her shoulders, the scent of vanilla and cinnamon wafting around her. Her smile was immediate and genuine.
“Finally! I thought I heard someone out here.” Before Maggie could respond, Nessie pulled her into a hug. “I’ve been waiting to properly meet the woman who’s been making Anson crazy.”
She stiffened, caught off guard by both the embrace and the comment. She’d met Nessie briefly that first day in town, stopping at the bakery for directions to Valor Ridge, but she hadn’t expected to be welcomed like an old friend.
And “making Anson crazy” could mean so many things. None seemed particularly promising, given their rocky start.
Nessie stepped back, still smiling. “Sorry. I’m a hugger. If you don’t like hugs, just tell me, and I’ll abstain. Oh! Come in before you freeze! You’ll need a better coat for the winters here.” She frowned. “Wait, is that River’s hoodie?”
“Um, yeah. He loaned it to me.” She glanced down at the oversized sweatshirt beneath her flannel. “I was freezing. I didn’t pack for Montana weather.”
“That’s on brand for River. He’d give away his own skin if someone looked cold. He’s a good man. Annoying, sometimes. But a good man.” Nessie laughed and reached for the cookie container. “What’s this?”
“Oh, just some store-bought cookies. Nothing special.” Heat crept up her neck. “I should have brought something better. Especially to a baker’s house.”
“Are you kidding? Cookies I don’t have to bake are my favorite.
” Nessie took the container and ushered her inside with a hand on her back.
“Come in, come in. Jax took Oliver and Echo for boys’ night at the bunkhouse.
Even though Echo’s a girl, Oliver declared she doesn’t count as a real girl because she’s a dog, so she gets to join the boys’ night. ”
Was Anson at the bunkhouse for boys’ night, too?
She hadn’t seen him since their almost-kiss in the barn yesterday. Since the letters they’d exchanged. Since Bramble had delivered her response. Anson hadn’t come to her door as she’d hoped, and she’d spent all day wondering if she’d pushed too far, said too much.
The cabin opened into a single room with a small kitchen tucked in one corner.
Mismatched furniture crowded the space—a worn blue couch with faded cushions, armchairs that didn’t match, a coffee table cluttered with books and toys.
The walls were covered with photos and drawings clearly done by a child.
The kind of clutter that said people actually lived here, not the staged perfection of homes on her TV show.
Four women looked up as she entered.
“Everyone, this is Maggie,” Nessie announced, leading her toward the group. “Maggie, you already know Lila—”
Lila waved from an overstuffed armchair, wine glass in hand. “We’ve met, but now you get wine drunk me.”
“And that’s Greta in the corner.”
Greta didn’t get up from her perch on the window seat, but her nod was friendly enough.
She wore her strawberry blonde hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, along with cargo pants and a faded tee that read SEARCH AND RESCUE.
Freckles dotted the bridge of her nose, which crinkled adorably when she smiled. “Good to see you again.”
Right. Greta had been at the bakery, too, when Maggie stopped for directions. Had listened to her awkward conversation with Nessie with barely concealed amusement.
“Uh, thanks. You, too.”
“And this is Naomi Lefthand,” Nessie continued. “Our future sheriff.”
“We met a couple days ago,” Naomi said. “Hi again, Maggie.”
She hadn’t noticed it in the dim light of the Hub, but Naomi was a strikingly beautiful woman with the kind of high cheekbones that other women paid a fortune for, and pin-straight black hair that fell nearly to her tailbone.
Maggie felt frumpy next to her, even though they were dressed practically the same way in leggings and an oversized hoodie. “Hi.”
“And I’m Mariah,” called a voice from the kitchen. A woman with auburn hair came around the counter, carrying what looked like a professionally arranged charcuterie board. “Sorry I was hiding back there. Finishing this masterpiece.”
Her Southern accent was warm and thick, reminding Maggie of slow, hot summer afternoons.
If Naomi made Maggie feel frumpy, she was downright grungy next to Mariah.
The woman looked like she’d stepped out of a magazine spread, red hair gleaming in the warm light, reminding Maggie of autumn leaves.
Her makeup was perfect, and even her casual outfit—silky blouse under a long cardigan and jeans—was effortlessly elegant.
She set the charcuterie board on the coffee table, then turned and offered a sun-bright smile before also pulling Maggie into a hug. “Welcome, honey. I’ve heard so much about you.”
So much hugging around here.
For a girl who grew up in the foster system, all this freely given love and casual touching was both novel and unnerving.
“I’m still so sorry about the cookies,” she blurted when Mariah released her, earning confused looks from everyone.
“What’s wrong with the cookies?” Nessie asked, already opening the container.
“They’re... store-bought and probably stale. I got them days ago, before I arrived. I should have made something.”
Mariah laughed. “Honey, if we all had to bake to get through the door, Greta would never be allowed inside.”
“Hey!” Greta protested, but her mouth quirked up at one corner. “Fair, but still. Hey.”
Some of the tension leaked from Maggie’s shoulders. “Well, that’s good to know because I’m not much of a baker either.”
Nessie pressed a glass of red wine into her hand and gestured toward the couch. “Sit. We’re just getting started.”
Maggie perched on the edge of the sofa, hand too tight around her wine glass. She took a sip to calm her nerves, the rich flavor filling her mouth.
“So,” Lila leaned forward, “tell us about your show. Is it as fun to film as it looks?”
Maggie immediately shifted into her media personality, the one that gave interviews and charmed contractors.
“Oh, it’s amazing. Getting to transform spaces and help people reimagine their homes—it’s a dream job.
The network gives us a lot of creative freedom, and my co-executive producer Taryn is fantastic about—”
She caught herself, hearing the rehearsed quality of her own words. These women didn’t want the scripted version. “Sorry. That’s my stock answer.”
“Give us the real version,” Naomi said, refilling her own glass. “The one that doesn’t go in the press kit.”
“It’s... complicated.” She sighed and took another sip of wine. “I love the work, but TV adds layers. Some days are sixteen hours of reshooting the same reveal reaction until the lighting’s perfect.”
“Sounds like Joy Roberts’ Instagram aesthetic,” Lila said.
They all groaned, clearly familiar with the story.
“That woman was a bridezilla,” Mariah said with an eye roll. “She kept saying, ‘It has to be perfect for my brand.’ Her ‘brand’ was twelve followers, and I bet half of them were her mother. Bless her heart.”
Laughter erupted, and Maggie smiled politely, reminded again that she was the newcomer. She didn’t know their inside jokes, their shared history.
Mariah caught her expression. “Small-town flower shop drama. Joy made me redo her wedding arrangements three times for increasingly nonsensical reasons, then tried to pay me in ‘exposure’ to her non-existent followers.”
“What did you do?” Maggie asked.
“Charged her triple and donated it to Naomi’s MMIW fund. Revenge through charity.”
This time, Maggie’s laugh was genuine. A heavy weight landed suddenly in her lap, and she startled, wine sloshing dangerously close to the rim of her glass. A black cat with white paws had materialized from nowhere and was now making himself comfortable, kneading her thighs with needle-sharp claws.
“Socks has spoken,” Nessie declared with a grin. “You’re officially approved.”
Maggie laughed, louder than she intended, and let herself sink back into the couch cushions instead of perching on the edge. The cat continued kneading, purring so loudly she could feel the vibration through his whole body.
“Well, hello there,” she said, scratching behind his ears. “Aren’t you forward?”
“That’s Socks’ entire personality. Zero boundaries and complete confidence that everyone exists to worship him.” A timer dinged, and Nessie jumped up. “That’s my focaccia. Time to eat!”