2. Chapter 2 Eli #2
Not polished, high-maintenance pretty. Nothing about her looked carefully constructed.
Her reddish brown hair had escaped whatever clip she’d attempted earlier, and there was still a faint crease on one sleeve from being folded inside a suitcase.
But her face became animated when she talked, especially about books or libraries or apparently the emotional significance of proper grilled cheese sandwiches.
Sophie had informed her mine were “elite level.”
Maggie pressed one hand dramatically against her chest. “A man who understands cheese-to-bread ratios is carrying an incredible civic responsibility.”
I should not have found that funny.
I definitely should not have noticed how the purple glasses made her brown eyes look warmer in the lamp light.
Temporary, I reminded myself immediately.
Women who described entire lives as temporary assignments did not stay.
I already learned what happens when somebody decides small-town life is too limiting and family routines start feeling like obligations instead of choices.
Sophie reached for another paperback. “What’s your favorite book?”
Maggie gasped softly. “Sophie Turner, that is impossible.”
“No, it’s not.”
“It absolutely is. That’s like asking someone to pick a favorite cinnamon roll.”
“You can have favorite cinnamon rolls?”
“Obviously.”
Sophie considered this carefully. “Maple frosting.”
“Strong choice.”
I leaned against the kitchenette counter watching them talk while the old inn creaked softly around us. Rain tapped against the windows. Somewhere downstairs, Wren laughed at something Luke said.
The whole place felt warm in a way that made me uneasy.
Not because anything was wrong.
Because Sophie already looked comfortable.
And comfortable could become attached faster than either of us could afford.
By the next morning, thankfully a Saturday, Sophie has apparently decided Maggie belongs to us now.
Not permanently.
Hopefully.
But enough that she trails after her through the inn lobby while Maggie searches cabinets for plates like they’ve been roommates for years instead of approximately twelve hours.
“You organize cereal boxes alphabetically?” Sophie asks from the kitchenette table.
Maggie pauses mid-reach toward the cabinet. “Only if they’ve done something to earn it.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“Exactly. That’s how you know it’s a personality flaw.”
Sophie giggles into her orange juice.
I stand near the counter assembling what passes for breakfast under temporary housing conditions: yogurt cups, fruit, and the last two cinnamon rolls Wren left covered with foil beside a handwritten note that reads:
SORRY ABOUT THE FLOOD. LOVE, MANAGEMENT
I still don’t understand how this town functions.
Maggie finally locates the plates and turns triumphantly. She’s wearing jeans and an oversized cream sweater with the sleeves pushed to her elbows, and she looks entirely too comfortable inside our shared temporary chaos.
Which is exactly the problem.
Sophie should not be getting attached this fast.
Kids don’t understand the difference between temporary kindness and permanent presence. They just know who shows up. Who listens. Who remembers things they say.
And Maggie remembers everything.
Last night Sophie mentioned liking frogs “from a respectful distance.”
This morning Maggie slid a tiny origami frog beside Sophie’s plate without explanation.
Now Sophie carries it around like sacred treasure.
Dangerous.
“Do librarians learn origami in school?” Sophie asks.
“Obviously,” Maggie says. “There’s a whole final exam.”
I open the refrigerator. “That feels made up.”
“Wow. You really came for the integrity of the library profession before eight a.m.”
“I believe in truth.”
“I believe in whimsy.”
Sophie points between us with a grin. “You sound like enemies in a movie.”
I nearly choke on absolutely nothing.
Maggie presses one hand dramatically against her chest. “Sophie Turner, that is incredibly specific.”
“She watches old movies with Earl and Dottie sometimes,” I explain.
“That explains so much.”
Sophie happily sips her juice while Maggie settles into the chair across from her like this has always been normal.
That’s the thing I can’t quite figure out.
Nothing about Maggie feels forced.
She isn’t trying too hard with Sophie. She doesn’t talk to her like a child-shaped audience. She listens to her the same way she listens to adults, like whatever Sophie says deserves actual consideration.
And Sophie responds to that immediately.
“You know what Cedar Hollow has?” Maggie asks.
Sophie shakes her head eagerly.
“A tiny library garden.”
“There’s a garden?”
“Tiny tomatoes. Flowers. One extremely judgmental squirrel.”
Sophie gasps softly. “Really?”
“He threw an acorn at me yesterday.”
“That means he likes you.”
“See, that’s not what I got from the interaction.”
I rub one hand across the back of my neck and look toward the window before either of them notices I’m fighting a smile again.
Warmth settles around Maggie too easily. Sophie leans toward it like she’s been cold longer than I realized.
And maybe that’s on me.
Maybe routines and schedules and carefully managed stability aren’t the same thing as joy.
The thought sits heavily in my chest before I shove it aside.
Temporary.
That word matters.
Maggie takes another sip of her smoothie before glancing toward Sophie. “What’s on the schedule today?”
“Soccer practice after lunch,” Sophie says immediately. “Coach says if I stop daydreaming during drills, I could maybe play midfield.”
“That feels promising.”
“My dad says daydreaming while people kick things near your face is a tactical error.”
Maggie nods thoughtfully. “Also fair.”
Sophie hesitates for half a second before blurting, “Will you come to my soccer game tomorrow?”
The question lands directly in the middle of the kitchenette.
Maggie stills.
I feel my shoulders tighten instantly.
Sophie’s face changes the moment she realizes she asked too quickly. Hope flashes there first, followed immediately by caution, like she’s already preparing herself to pretend it doesn’t matter if the answer is no. And that, more than anything, is what twists something hard in my chest.
Maggie smiles and responds sweetly, "Thank you for the invite, I can't tomorrow, but I'd love to come on another day soon."
Sophie smiles back and the crisis is diverted.