7. Chapter Two #3
“Consider it forgotten,” I say, the corner of my mouth lifting.
She's disarmed me completely. My brain chases for the next thing to ask but can't seem to land on anything.
So, I reach for the laminated sheet, hoping that returning to something I prepared will help me find my footing.
“I do have a few more questions, though, ones we're asking everyone. Shouldn't take too long.”
Maeve sits up slightly, the sheepish smile still lingering. “Yeah, go for it.”
Twenty-five minutes pass. I stopped asking questions a long time ago, the conversation between us flowing easily.
I offer a few responses here and there, but it’s mostly Maeve speaking.
At some point I stopped taking notes and stopped treating this like an interview.
I just listened to her stories, the way she pitches her best traits followed by some sarcastic comment about herself straight after.
At one point, she pauses mid-sentence and says, “wait, am I talking too much?”
I realise that I’ve rested my chin in my hand, completely absorbed in what she’s saying. “No at all,” I say.
She gives me a look like she doesn’t quite believe me, then carries on anyway.
I can't help but notice the way her eyes light up when she talks about something she's passionate about. She speaks about her work history with clear pride, laying out skills that even Wade couldn't argue with. Talking to her is easy. A little too easy.
I already can picture spending long days at Meadow Bell Ranch with her.
“…and that's how I came to apply,” Maeve finishes, leaning back slightly. “Late-night existential crisis doomscroll.” She shrugs.
There's a beat of silence before we both go to speak.
“Sorry—” we say simultaneously.
“No, go ahead. I've spoken enough.” Maeve stares at me with her kind eyes. Despite the shitty connection, I can still see how vibrant they are in contrast to her long lashes.
“Mind if I ask something personal?” The question spills out before I've decided to ask it.
“You can definitely tell me to do one if you want,” I add.
Hoping I don't come across too forward. Too much.
Because that's how I've been described before.
It's why I have no one around me. People leave because I’m too much.
Yet, Maeve seems so unbothered by the request as she tells me to go for it.
“What makes you hate London so much? Isn’t it most people’s dream place to live in?”
She pauses. Just for a beat, but it's enough to catch it.
“London's never felt like home,” she says, her voice quieter now.
“Home is supposed to feel safe, isn't it? Somewhere you belong.” She picks at her sleeve.
“I've just... never really had that. No family to speak of.
Barely any friends besides my best mate, Iris.
I'm just tired, I guess. Tired of settling for whatever scraps of happiness I can get. I want something that feels real. Something that makes me smile without me having to fake it.”
The ache in her words hits harder than I expect. I tap my pen against the desk, once, twice, then set it down.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “I get that.”
And I mean it. Maybe in a different sense, but the feelings are the same.
She looks at me for a second, like she’s trying to figure out if I mean it. Then her face softens again, “Yeah? It sucks, doesn’t it?”
“It sure does,” I respond, low and quiet.
I clear my throat and glance down at the papers in front of me, mostly to give myself something to do. Back to the interview, Colt. “So,” I say, “practically speaking, if you got the position, how long would you need to make the move?”
She drops her gaze for a second, her voice softer when she replies.
“Honestly? I don't really have the money for flights right now.” She lets out a small breath.
“I know that probably sounds bad. I just... things were a bit all over the place when I applied, and I kind of just went for it without really thinking it through.” She looks back up.
“But if I got the job, I'd sort it out. A couple of weeks, maybe. And other than that,” she shrugs lightly, “there's nothing keeping me here.”
She's so honest that I don't really know what to do with her. Especially when you've spent your life surrounded by people who find lying easier than breathing.
“Well, from everything you've told me today, you seem pretty resourceful,” I say. “I reckon you'd figure it out.” I pause. “I'll be in touch with the decision soon. Thank you for your time.”
It comes out more formal than I meant it to. Like the last thirty-odd minutes didn't just happen. Like I'm not sitting here, more intrigued by her than ever. More than I've been intrigued by anyone in a long time.
She smiles, small but real. “Thanks, Colt. I appreciate the opportunity.” She says it warmly but formally, the professional mask sliding back into place now that it's over.
The call ends. The screen goes dark, and suddenly the room feels very quiet. I sit there longer than I should, replaying the conversation in my head. She needs to come here. I don't fully understand why I feel it so strongly, but I do. Maeve Callaghan is coming to Meadow Bell Ranch.
I log onto my emails and cancel the five remaining interviews without hesitation.