Chapter 28
DECLAN
Downstairs, I wanted to smother Maggie with kisses, show her how special she is, and bring her dreams to life.
But she’s resistant, clouded by something that I can’t put my finger on.
Like one of the onions in the stew I made, there are layers of her past that she’s keeping to herself that I fear might make her cry, so I don’t want to press.
But she’s more like a flower I want to see bloom than an onion.
My mind churns all night, starting with the visit to see Aunt Maureen. She taught me to celebrate the passing from life to death—so long as the person had lived long and well.
My thoughts jump to dinner with Maggie. I already burned one person I loved and was subsequently kicked out of all kitchens, leaving Siobhan disgraced and me depressed. I hardly trust myself in the kitchen and definitely not with love.
The very fact that I broke the ban on me in kitchens is nothing short of a miracle.
Aunt Maureen tried to ease me in front of the stove and made sure I left her care knowing how to make stew, even if only verbally.
I never tied on an apron and tried it on my own.
Truth is, I’d do anything for Maggie, even face my deepest inner fears.
Aunt Maureen and Jesus put me back together. But I still carry shame, guilt, and can’t imagine forgiving myself. It’s no surprise that Keefe hadn’t been able to do so either.
That leads me to think about my oldest friend—if I could call him that. Maggie is a true friend. Despite not telling me the entirety of the voicemail, she’s proved that many times over.
As for Keefe, I suppose his troubled soul is finally at peace.
Can I ever find peace and forgiveness? I doubt it, and Maggie can never know what happened. I don’t want her to glimpse that part of my past.
This brings me back to Maggie—I’m always returning to her, whether anticipating a text after a game, a photo on a random Tuesday afternoon, or reminiscing.
It’s wild that we’re back in each other’s lives.
I feel strongly for her in a way that I didn’t when we were in high school and that I haven’t since Siobhan.
It’s been years since the beating thing in my chest felt alive other than during a football game—and that is only because I’m running so hard.
Siobhan was my first love, at least that’s what I thought at the time. But we were young, foolish, and I didn’t fully understand what it means to want what’s best for someone else. Back then, it was all about me.
What would it mean to let Maggie into my heart? Is there room for her amidst all the baggage from the past?
I toss and turn all night. At dawn, despite the hearty stew, my growling stomach keeps me awake.
When I was a lad in Dublin, so many nights, I went to bed hungry.
Starving. For food, warmth, and love. Is my hunger just a reflex of being back in Ireland?
A vestige of the kid I was the last time I was in the country?
Certainly, I was plenty warm in the luxury townhome. As for love...?
Maggie’s image with her summer blonde hair, hazel eyes, and lovely curves springs to mind. My lips heated when I brought them to her forehead with a gentle kiss last night. I want to kiss her again, but I have a problem.
A big one.
I think I’m in love with my best friend. Her smile is the kind that can light up a room, a city, and the world, but most importantly, she’s illuminated the darkest parts of my heart.
But the problem is the best friend part.
Also, I don’t think Maggie realizes how amazing she is. She’s Mag-mazing. I want to show her what she means to me. A plan forms in my mind. Thankfully, the pantry is fully stocked.
I search for the best carrot cake recipe on the internet. Even though it’s early morning, I mix and stir the ingredients, trying to be quiet so I don’t wake Maggie up.
At last, the cake comes out of the oven, filling the air with the scent of butter, cinnamon, and spices.
Next, I put together the cream cheese icing.
Nothing about carrot cake makes sense. I’d put carrots in the stew, after all.
Then again, nothing about Maggie and me makes sense either.
Yet somehow, I feel like maybe we’re meant to be together.
When she appears, still wearing the Bruisers sweatshirt, it’s like the sun rises all over again. “Morning. It smells like...” Her eyes widen and her mouth drops open like she might just drool. Still fuzzy from sleep, she looks adorably disheveled.
“It smells like carrot cake,” I announce, gesturing to it on the table. I just managed to get it frosted and topped with a sprinkling of toasted walnuts before she appeared.
“What’s the occasion?” she asks. “It’s not the official carrot cake day. That’s in February.”
I chuckle inwardly. Of course, she’d know that. “I figured we could have it for breakfast.”
“We can’t eat cake for breakfast.”
“My house. My rules.” I wink. “Plus, it’s the Official Maggie Day.”
“What?” A crease forms between her eyes like she’s confused.
“Yep. It’s on the Irish Register of official days.”
“Really?”
I smirk. “Is now.”
The concern on her face blooms into a smile.
It’s funny how seeing her smile recharges me like sunshine after days of rain. “Since it’s the official Maggie day, I give you the day off.”
“I don’t think Cateline would allow that.”
My thoughts jump to Wolf mentioning that Cateline, the headmistress and his coach, is hot but bossy. Then again, he probably likes that about her.
Maggie continues, “I have a month-long contract with you. We’re barely two weeks in. Afterward, I’ll get some time off and we can celebrate Maggie Day or something,” she says the last part like it’s silly, but I’m taking this seriously. Very seriously.
“My house. My rules,” I repeat, arms crossed and unyielding.
She eyes the cake. “How about an hour? I can take an hour off.”
I waggle my eyebrows. “We can start there, but we’ll see about any further negotiations.”
“By the way, I gave you a stellar report yesterday and not because I was feeling guilty about lying. At least you didn’t fire me for not telling you everything from the voicemail. You were the picture of kindness and compassion—especially with your aunt.”
“I figured it wouldn’t go over well if I walked in and squirted her with water guns.”
Maggie laughs.
“Ah, so am I forgiven for my grand entrance?” I ask, smirking.
“I suppose so.”
“How about for ignoring you at my birthday party?”
“That was years ago.”
“So it’s forgiven?”
“You did send me tickets, gifts, all kinds of stuff.”
“I wasn’t trying to buy your love, but I was caught up in the moment. I’m sorry.”
“True, you can’t buy my love, but you can make up for it by baking.” She smirks.
“Is the way to your heart with carrot cake?”
“And laughter.”
I jump up from the chair and search the kitchen cabinets and drawers, searching for a birthday candle until I find one. “I owe you an Official Maggie Day wish,” I say before breaking into the happy birthday song, but replacing the happy birthday part with Maggie Day and serenading her.
After she makes a wish, I dig into the cake and offer her a bite.
She giggles and smiles, her cheeks growing rosy. I’m not sure what came over me, but I can’t sit still. Nor can I let her go.
Drawing Maggie to her feet, I lift our arms in a formal dancing position and we sashay across the tile floor. Her palm pressed against mine provides me with an anchor I never before had when in Ireland.
Her smile brings me joy, along with her laughter. Her eyes sparkle as we spin around the room. I’m like a man in a musical, only this is real life and I can’t imagine wanting to give Maggie anything other than the happiest Maggie Day.
I pull her in so we’re standing face to face. The crackling charge rushing through me turns into a rumble. It’s as though an electrical force draws us closer until the space separating us is narrow enough for little more than a whisper to pass through.
“You have a bit of frosting on your lip,” I say.
Her mouth parts.
I lick my lip.
Maggie’s eyes meet mine.
It’s like being in the tunnel at a stadium before a game when all I can hear is the thunder of the crowd and feel the crush of energy and anticipation.
“Can I do something about that?” I ask.
She gives a little nod. I close the space between us, our mouths meeting.
She’s sweet and tentative but gives back as the kiss stretches longer and longer. It’s like neither one of us plans to stop, to let go.
My heart races as though it’s expanding, growing, and making more room for Maggie, when before it had been a small, closed thing, protecting what precious love I’d once had.
I walk her backward until she’s perched on the edge of the farm table.
She circles her arms around me, but we don’t break contact as the kiss continues.
My palms skim her silky hair before gripping her jaw in both hands as I deepen the kiss.
She curls into me, cementing the intensity between us.
My pulse goes mad as it throbs with a simple truth.
I love Maggie Byrne.
At last, we part, and she whispers, “I don’t need a Maggie Day wish. I got what I wanted.”
I smile a real smile for the first time since arriving in Ireland, maybe for the first time here ever.
We share a slice of cake.
“This has to be the happiest Maggie Day I’ve ever had. Much better than any birthday.”
“But there’s more. It’s only just begun,” I say.
“I took an hour off work. I don’t think I should take any more time.”
“That’s okay. I have to go on a shopping spree because my coach packed light. You’ll have to help me. I’m looking for clothes that are—” My gaze trails the length of Minnie Maggie, sizing her up. “Well, your size.”
“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
My shrug is pure innocence.
She cocks an eyebrow, “So you’re saying that you have a pet llama who wears my size clothing?”
I bend over with a laugh. “I like this playful side of you.”
With a giggle, she says, “It’s Official Maggie Day. I’m trying to let my hair down. But you can’t take me on a shopping spree.”
“I can,” I say with a wink. “Go on, get ready. I’ll have the car pick us up in thirty minutes.”
Her sigh in reply suggests she thinks that’s as appealing as falling in a fountain while dressed as Cinderella and having it captured on film. But she disappears to the adjacent flat nonetheless.
A half-hour later, I sweep Maggie into a day in Dublin. But first, we stroll through Howth along the harbor. Like the moon the night before, the sun sparkles on the water in the harbor.
When we reach the car, I say, “I’ve always liked it here. I’ll have to show you around later. It doesn’t seem like a whole lot has changed.”
“Why don’t we do that now instead of shopping?”
“But it’s Maggie Day.”
“I don’t need anything,” she counters.
“I came from the humblest beginnings and I want to spoil you.”
Her expression flickers like a candle guttering in an ill wind.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Yeah.” She gazes out the car window.
“Let me treat you. It makes me happy.”
She still doesn’t turn back to face me.
I lace my fingers around hers, drawing her away from whatever dimmed her light, and toward me.
At last, Maggie says, “It’s just that receiving this kind of attention isn’t easy for me. Birthdays are especially hard. In fact, I stopped telling people when mine was a long time ago.”
“But I knew,” I say, recollecting our phone passwords. “Does that mean you trust me?”
She bites her lip and nods.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Her shoulder lifts and lowers. “I just enjoy spending time together.”
Time together? That’s all I want.
I lean in and give her a quick kiss with all the love in my heart. I just hope it’s enough.