Chapter 8 Declan #2
“The locals were nice enough. Unlike Wolf, Chase, and Grey, I’d heard about Concordia.
Probably helps that it isn’t all that far from Ireland.
But I’ve never been here. From time to time, while growing up, I’d encounter a Concordian—they speak English but with a distinct accent that sounds like a split between British English and French.
Though it was never clear to me why they’d leave their home country.
It’s among the wealthiest on the planet, even though it’s one of the smallest and most obscure.
It has a timeless yet old-world feel. I instantly fell in love and thought of you—the two of us exploring the shops and cafes as we did in Boston so long ago.
Too bad our trip here isn’t under different circumstances. ”
“Nice try, Declan. Trying to kiss up to the teacher? Not going to work.”
That wasn’t my intent, though I admit that my stream-of-consciousness comment does sound a bit romantic. “Oh, so you play hardball? Conveniently, that’s my specialty.”
“Ha ha.” She steps closer, but I don’t see laughter on her face. “Listen, I need this job. I can’t have you trying to sabotage me on my first day.”
I give my head a little shake. “Hold up. Let’s catch up.”
“Remember our text exchange the other day—?”
“Yeah. But you didn’t mention working as an etiquette coach.
I’m just putting two and two together. When I imagined arriving at the Blancbourg Academy d’Etiquette in Concordia, I came up with a plan.
” I wink. “Once my teammates were thoroughly saturated with my smoking water guns, the teachers would parade in and formally introduce themselves. I was just told to show up at eleven. I thought it would be funny—”
Wincing, she smooths her hair away from her face and opens her mouth to say more, but again, I interrupt. A viral video I saw on the flight flicks through my mind. “Wait, Maggie, were you—?”
She dips her head, almost like she steps into her own shadow.
It’s as if she knows and dreads what I’m about to ask.
Unlike the water gun thing, the woman dressed as Cinderella falling into the fountain with some creepy kid wasn’t funny.
The way he looked at the poor girl made me want to throw Cinderella’s glass slipper at him, but I lock down my questions, suspicions, and anger because she seems uncomfortable and likely still upset. I’ll address it later.
I change course, “How about we get you some dry clothes?” I unbutton my custom-tailored suit jacket. I may show up with water guns, but I’m no slouch. At least not when it comes to dressing properly. As soon as I was able to shrug off my uniform of hoodies and jeans, I invested in quality threads.
I loosen the top button of my pressed shirt, prepared to give it to Maggie. Looking up from the contents of the file—presumably a folder containing the misbehavior that landed me here—I start to unbutton my shirt.
Maggie waves her hands to stop me as her eyes widen. “My room is upstairs. I can go change.”
“Listen, I’m really sorry. I feel terrible. I truly thought—” Feeling awful, considering My Maggie-ee was quite likely the victim of the Cinderella Spill, I drape my suit jacket over her shoulders.
With an arched eyebrow, she says, “Apparently, you also thought the rookie player on the Boston Bruisers would be the only person walking into the room when you and the other guys on your team decided to moon him.”
“So, you’re playing bad cop? That was usually my role.”
“Someone has to keep you in line.”
“And that’s going to be you?” I ask with a smile and an air of disbelief.
Stepping closer, I can’t help but smirk because her eyes finally take on some light, glowing slightly as if she remembers the fun we used to have.
“Declan, I need this job and if I’m not mistaken, you’d like to remain on the football team. You have to be on your best behavior and let me be your etiquette coach, not your Maggie-whatever.”
“In my defense—wait.” Once more, she gives me pause. “You read the article where we explained what had actually happened?”
Various news outlets reported that we’d intentionally mooned the commissioner. Ordinarily, I don’t object because, as far as I’m concerned, any press is good press. But in this instance, I’d prefer the truth and not end up on probation at a finishing school.
“What’s the real story?” she asks.
“We were just having fun with Brandon Campos, our newest player.”
“Of course you were.”
“You believe me?”
She shrugs. “Why would you intentionally jeopardize your job?” Water traces a path along the line of her jaw.
Letting out a breath, I step forward to wipe it off, but she shuffles back as though afraid that her boss might come in.
“Where did you fly here from?” I ask.
“Florida.” Her tone has a sharp form of punctuation at the end, like she doesn’t want me to ask if she was the princess in the video or for any other personal information. The two of us excelled at compartmentalizing the past back in the day. Probably why we became such good friends so quickly.
Though these days, I have no problem talking about myself—though the past remains there, buried deep down and far away. Although a lot closer here in Concordia than across the ocean in Boston.
“Funny that we both ended up here. Almost like fate wasn’t pleased we hadn’t seen each other in so long.” I speak fondly, trying to stitch up my rude arrival, dodge the Cinderella incident, and resume our easy rapport.
Usually, Maggie has a great sense of humor, but I never pranked her directly.
She was my partner in crime. She’s also smart, honest, independent, and has a natural beauty that.
..I give my head a hard shake. That sounds like girlfriend material.
Haven’t done that in a very long time. A crackling inside finishes the thought for me. Maggie looks at me for a moment.
The crackling fills my ears.
This is new.
Different.
Unexpected.
So many of the women I encounter these days are overly flirty, fawn over me, and are only interested in doing things other than talking and genuinely laughing.
Maggie isn’t like that at all. However, right now, she seems tight-lipped and closed-off.
Logic suggests it’s because she’s my coach and wants to be professional, but my Maggie radar suggests something else is going on.
Guilt skates toward me because I haven’t been a great friend.
“Do you want to go dry off?” I suggest.
She squares her shoulders and opens the folder. I glimpse a photo of myself looking like a thug. The edges of the contents are damp. “No, I’m fine, but this is one step down from a mug shot. Care to explain? Should I be concerned?”
“In the hustle to retain our dignity after we realized it wasn’t only Brandon who walked into the room, Chase accidentally elbowed me in the nose. I took it like a man.” I bring my fingers to the bridge, still slightly sore and scabbed over.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. I forgot to turn the sound back on after the flight. The message is from a girl I went out with the weekend before. I ignore it and return to the ray of soggy sunshine in front of me.
Planting my hands on Maggie’s shoulders, I say, “How about we start over? As you said, we don’t have to mention to anyone that we know each other.
I don’t want the headmistress to replace you with a shrew.
” I wriggle at the thought of being with an uptight school marm who wants nothing more than to slap my knuckles with a ruler.
“That way, there aren’t any problems on your first day at work. It’s a win-win, right?”
She bites her lower lip as if debating whether to fib or not. “That’s probably the smartest course of action.”
I reach to grip the lapels of my suit jacket, but it’s over her shoulders. My insides crackle again at the sight of her wearing it, reminding me of the times she’d borrow one of my hoodies and it would come back smelling like sweet rosewater.
Yep, it’s time to start over.