34. Sunday
CHAPTER 34
SUNDAY
I t was the comforter that tipped him off. He, a normal person, didn’t sleep under a comforter in the thick heat of a North Carolina summer (no matter how “breathable” his favorite podcast hosts insisted one might be). But Maggie McArthur did. Half awake, he reached out to pull her sleeping form into his, glad that the breeze from the ceiling fan kept the room cool enough to make the warmth of another body appealing. When his arm found only air, he blinked open his eyes. It took a moment to adjust to the sharply slanting sunlight before he could see how it highlighted the empty space beside him on the rumpled sheets.
Drowsily, Daniel sat up and ran a hand through his messy waves. This was uncharted territory, waking up in Maggie McArthur’s bed. He was rather pleased to be there, despite her absurd choice in bedding. But, as the haze of sleep lifted, it occurred to him that she might be less excited about it.
After he’d sicced two cabins-worth of campers on her at Field Day, and then she’d invited him back to the cottage and completely and utterly wrecked him, they’d huddled in the shower, making out under the hot spray for long enough that his fingers had pruned. She’d insisted on throwing his clothes in the washing machine with her own, even though just the dryer would have been fine. Really, he could have gone home right then in an outfit that was at least 50% his own, since she’d never returned his favorite blue crewneck. Instead, after he’d toweled off, she’d loaned him a pair of her threadbare UNC sweats. When he’d slipped into them, Maggie had bitten back a smile and told him the “slim fit” looked “very European.” He’d barely kept himself from joking that, if she mostly liked Europe for the aesthetic, he’d be happy to redecorate the cottage with IKEA furniture and start drinking wine with lunch.
They’d had beers in the kitchen while they waited for the washing machine cycle to end. And thank goodness they had, because it came to his attention that Maggie had never seen the iconic cultural touchstone that was The Food Network’s Chopped. Blessedly, it was available on streaming. Once their clothes were cheerfully tumble-drying, he pulled up an episode list while Maggie perpetrated a quick B&E on the Blue Harbor kitchen. She was back with leftover chocolate chip cookies just as he’d decided on the perfect introductory episode.
And then he’d fallen asleep in her bed with her laptop on his lap before the end of the dessert round. He remembered the half-awake feeling of her shutting the computer and setting it aside, of her curling into his chest and falling asleep. But they’d been there before, in darkness. Maggie had seemed to find the arrangement less cozy in the light of day.
Daniel rubbed the sleep from his eyes and padded over to the bathroom. He made as much noise as reasonably possible while finger-brushing his teeth so that Maggie would be warned that he was awake. He tried to brace himself for the look of mild horror on her face when she saw him. Instead, he just succeeded in making his chest ache, somewhere deep beneath his ribs.
Walking back into the bedroom, he scanned for his shirt before remembering that it was still in the dryer with the rest of their clothes. He considered digging it out, but he liked the way she looked at his bare chest when she thought he wasn’t paying attention, and the thought of that expression on her face cheered him. So, he wandered out into the living room naked but for the ratty UNC sweatpants.
“Look who’s up,” Maggie said from the kitchen table. She didn’t seem horrified or steeped in regret, sitting there with her laptop and a half-empty mug of coffee. Although it was hard to tell, since she hadn’t yet looked up from whatever she was typing. On the couch, Parton was still passed out, his front paws sticking out over the edge of the seat cushion, twitching intermittently.
“What time is it?” he asked, although the “what” came out as more of a croak.
“Sorry. I was just—” She closed her laptop with a satisfying click and turned her face toward him. “It’s six thirty.”
“How’d you sleep?” Why did he still sound like he’d spent forty days in the desert?
“Fine.”
Fine was…not good, probably. Daniel considered turning right back around, making himself half decent, and getting the hell out of Dodge. As much as he wanted to be there, the idea of making Maggie uncomfortable made his skin crawl. But then she pushed her mug across the table toward what he thought of as his seat. Did she…want him to join?
“How’d you sleep?” She raised her eyebrows expectantly at the empty chair, so he went to sit. She stood almost simultaneously, like a counterweight, crossing to the coffee maker where she poured herself a fresh mug and then started to brew another pot.
“Uh, good.” He figured it was safer to undersell it, but he felt notably well-rested. “You know it’s absurd to have a comforter in July, right?”
“Tomorrow’s August.”
“Well, in that case…” he said, trailing off in a way that conveyed casual sarcasm when he was really thinking, “Well, in that case, I am fucked.” He’d known for a while that it would hurt when Maggie left. The specter of her absence had become a dull and persistent ache in his chest. But if the mere mention of August stabbed like a dull knife… He was in trouble.
When the coffee maker started to hum, Maggie dropped back into her seat.
“So, I don’t know if you recall, but Blue Harbor’s finances are — and this is a technical consulting term, so you may not understand the nuances — extremely fucked.”
Of course he remembered. All summer, he’d been doing his very best impression of a person who wasn’t worrying about it at least once a day. “Not sure it’s risen to the level of ‘extreme’…”
“Yes, well, if you have two economists you have three opinions, but …” Maggie opened the laptop she’d left in the center of the table, spun it so that Daniel could read the screen, and pushed it toward him.
He read the heading aloud, “No Rhyme or Season: The Blue Harbor All-Weather Glampstravangaza.”
“My brother will not be in charge of branding,” she said dryly.
“Did he…?” Daniel zoomed in and scrolled slowly across the drawing, taking in what appeared to be a plan for Blue Harbor infrastructure improvements.
“I know. I was surprised, too. Anyway, that’s the plan. Financing has been playing hard to get, but I think it’s under control. Teddy’s going to oversee it, and I’m in the process of talking Jordan— you know Jordan, my head of mountaineering?” Daniel grunted an acknowledgment. “I’m trying to convince them to take over as Camp Director. And then I just need to hire an Events Coordinator to oversee the...” Maggie grimaced, “‘glampstravanganza’ side.”
Daniel looked up from the plans. “You don’t want to do it?”
“People keep asking me that.”
That wasn’t a no. Daniel felt a glimmer of something a little bit like hope, a little bit like longing. “Do you know the answer?”
“I…” Maggie hesitated. And the hesitation felt to him like possibility. “I wouldn’t have wanted to do it. If you’d asked me six weeks ago.”
“And now?” He prompted as gently as he could. This uncertain version of Maggie was a wild rabbit he didn’t want to startle.
She looked down into her mug like maybe she’d find the answer there. “And now I…don’t know.”
Daniel wanted to make her a pros and cons list that was only pros. He wanted to run whatever kind of qualitative data analysis would spit out a yes. But, even more than that, he wanted her to have space to think. To know when she decided that she was certain. So he asked an easier question. “What exactly is the glampstravanganza?”
She met his gaze and smiled ruefully, her shoulders visibly relaxing now that she was back on surer footing.
“Oh, corporate retreats, bachelorette weekends, small weddings. Chef Chuck agreed to cater. If the reality TV thing goes well, we can bill him as a minor celebrity.”
“I don’t think he’ll appreciate ‘minor.’”
“No, you’re right. Full Celebrity Chef.”
“This is…really smart. And creative.”
“This is what I’m good at,” she said before downing the last of her fresh mug of coffee. “Alright, Becker, drink up.” She leaned forward and pressed the laptop shut again. “We’ve got a rematch this morning and I want to beat you fair and square.”
Daniel stretched his arms over his head and leaned back precariously in his chair. “What if we take a morning off? I feel like we should get extra credit for yesterday. That was definitely cross-training.”
Maggie quirked a brow. “Is that what they’re calling it?”
It took Daniel a second to catch on. The caffeine hadn’t hit his bloodstream yet. “I meant Field Day! But if you wanted to swap in nude wrestling, in Ancient Greece they used to?—”
Maggie stood, rolling her eyes to hide a smile. “Get your clothes out of the dryer, Becker, or I’m going to win by forfeit, and that isn’t nearly as satisfying.”
The post-run endorphins (or maybe the post-run orgasm) had evidently gone to his head. Because if he had been thinking clearly, Daniel would never have allowed himself to end up in this waking nightmare. And yet, here he was, standing in line at the Chuck Wagon while the woman responsible for most of his worst ideas regaled the woman responsible for the aforementioned orgasm with stories about what an absolute, grade-A, certified dork he had been in college.
They’d been having such a nice morning, too. But he’d clearly gotten overconfident, flown too close to the sun, and now Drew was telling Maggie one of her favorite stories, the one about the time she’d dragged Daniel out to a bar after he was dumped their senior year. She’d convinced him that he should at least try to flirt with someone, as practice, to get back out there. So he had…Only to discover that what he’d thought had been pretty respectable flirting had actually been very successful wingmaning. Because when he’d gone to get them all another round of drinks, Drew had headed to the bathroom, closely followed by the woman they’d been talking to. Drew still swore that she had no idea that had been him trying to flirt.
On the bright side, the line for the Wagon was notably shorter than usual. Probably because it was the kind of muggy day that leads people to wonder whether reaching 100% humidity means that the mugginess will somehow condense directly into ambient rain. The sun was beating down hard, and Daniel had already sweated through his clean shirt.
Jake was waiting when they reached the service window, with Penny cheerfully manning the grill behind him.
“Well, now, which one of y’all made a friend?”
“Jake, this is Maggie. Maggie, Jake.”
“Maggie from Blue Harbor?” He stuck out a hand, and, when Maggie took it, he shook hers vigorously. “Good to finally meet you.”
“You, too. Chuck’s somehow told me both so much and almost nothing about you.”
Jake laughed and blushed and busied himself tidying the order tickets he’d already lined up on the counter. “Nothing much to tell, really.” He glanced toward Daniel and Drew. “You two want your usual?”
Daniel nodded as Drew said, “Why mess with perfection?”
“And how about you?” Jake directed the question back at Maggie.
“Dealer’s choice.”
“One brisket and egg sandwich on a biscuit with an extra-large glass of water it is.” He winked.
Maggie snorted a laugh. “You have heard about me.”
Daniel wasn’t sure which part of that was an inside joke and found that he didn’t love that Jake knew something about Maggie that he didn’t.
“How’re you feeling by the way? Chuck said you were down with something a few weeks back. He was pretty worried.”
“Oh,” Maggie sounded a little startled, but her smile was genuine. “Much better. Thanks.”
Drew insisted on paying, and the three of them retreated to one of the empty picnic benches to wait for their food. Daniel was relieved to find that the conversation had moved on from the highlight reel of his most embarrassing moments to Drew’s aspirations of opening a brewery.
When Penny called their number, Maggie jumped up to grab their orders, leaving Daniel alone with Drew.
“I didn’t realize it had gotten this bad,” she said, turning to face him on their shared bench.
“What?”
“You like her,” Drew said, like the diagnosis was terminal.
“I think that’s public knowledge.”
“You like her like her. Jesus, look at your dumb goofy face.”
“Hey, what have we talked about? If you don’t have anything nice to say…” Daniel really didn’t want to have this conversation at all, but especially not right now. He glanced in what he hoped was a subtle but meaningful way toward Maggie, who was now heading toward them carrying a tray with three red and white paper containers squeezed in tight next to matching checkered cups.
“Fine,” Drew said, following his gaze. “But when you take over my couch for your post-breakup-misery hibernation, do you think you’re going to want Sour Cream and Onion chips, or will it be a full on jar of pickles situation? I’m on a budget, so I’d like to buy in bulk.”
Maggie set their brunch down on the table between them, saving him the indignity of answering.
Daniel demolished his sandwich while the women traded stories about collegiate athletics (Drew had been a kayaker, Maggie a middle-distance runner) and speculated wildly about what might be going on between Maggie’s brother and Nurse April (even Daniel agreed that it felt like something was going on, but no one had any concrete evidence of it). He couldn’t decide whether he was pleased or concerned that the two women seemed to be getting along so well.