Halfway to You(13)

“You know I’m not one to judge,” he says, his voice smooth as syrup. He offers a quick sorry to Maggie before bounding down to the delivery van parked on the street; the decal on the door matches the logo on his shirt. A bakery.

Without Matt standing in her way, Maggie walks up the path to Ann’s porch, offering a sheepish smile. “He thought I was loitering.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time he scared someone away.”

“Pastry delivery and part-time security?”

“Something like that.”

Matt returns with a big white box, taking Ann’s porch steps two at a time. “Apologies again for the rude introduction.”

Maggie waves her hand. “It’s fine.”

Ann leans forward, grasping the box and kissing Matt’s cheek in the process. “Thank you, Mattie.”

He smiles, dimples puckering, then jogs back down the path to the van.

“Do people really come to your house to pry?”

Ann ushers her into the house. “I really only ever get fan mail, but after the news dropped about my story collection, a man came to my house and wouldn’t leave. It frightened me. I called Matt, he scared the guy away, and now Matt is a little . . . overcautious.”

“It’s nice of him to look out for you.”

Ann shrugs, setting the big white box on the coffee table. “The bakery is the closest thing to real French patisserie I’ve found out here on the island. Matt’s father owned it, and, well, I eat a lot of pastries, so Matt gives me the special treatment.”

Maggie sinks to the couch, allowing her purse to slide off her shoulder and onto the floor. There must be more to that story, but she doesn’t ask. Instead, she texts Grant one last update while Ann pours their coffee from a thermal carafe. She also notices a reply from Barbara: Way back when, we were all friends. But that was a long time ago. A vague nonanswer, with wistfulness written between the lines.

“Something important?”

Maggie shakes her head, flicking the vibrate button on her phone. “My boss.”

“Do they know about our agreement?”

“He’s hopeful you’ll change your mind about recording the interview,” she answers, adding, “as am I.”

“My apologies for disappointing you.” She has a peculiar look on her face: a half-creased, curious expression that Maggie can’t read. Ann gestures at the plate of pastries. “Please, help yourself.”

Maggie selects a plain croissant, using her coffee cup’s saucer to catch any errant crumbs. Ann stirs some cream into her mug, then selects her own pastry: a chocolate croissant. She lifts it to her lips and takes an indulgent bite.

She chews, then says, “Don’t be shy, there’s no graceful way to eat these.”

Maggie takes a messy, crumbly bite of her own. A butter-rich interior meets her taste buds. “Yum,” she says. “Thank you.”

It’s a simple thing—eating pastries—and yet Maggie finds herself forgetting about Grant, the accidental recording, even Barbara. Because she’s having breakfast with her favorite author. Because her inner fangirl is swooning. The excitement wipes her mind clean, and she’s just there, in the moment, sitting on Ann’s couch, trying to savor every crumb she can.

Ann stares out at the ocean beyond the windows, a gray-green silk sheet. The sky is pillowy as a duvet. Her expression grows nostalgic, melancholy, her eyes glassy and her mouth drawn down. “I believe in my story I had just met Todd.”





ANN


Venice, Italy

September 1984

I instantly loved the name. “Todd,” I said, trying it out. “Todd.”

“Will it do?” he asked with a chuckle.

“Ha, yes, sorry. I’m being weird.” I balled my fists in my lap.

“No, no, you’re perfectly pleasant.”

“It reminds me of that kids’ movie that came out a few years ago,” I said. “The Fox and the Hound. I think the fox’s name was Tod.”

His mouth twisted, and I knew I’d made things weirder. A children’s movie? What was I thinking? Either the reference was lost on him, or he thought I was childish for bringing it up.

Time stretched; then he burst out, “Copper—that was the hound’s name! I was trying to remember. Copper like your hair.”

I glanced down at my red-brown tresses.

He laughed. “God, I bawled my eyes out at that movie.”

“You did?”

“It’s so sad, don’t you remember? Two friends who shouldn’t be friends?”

“I always found it sweet,” I said. “I wish I had a friend like that.”

He glanced away—yep, too weird—but then gestured to the vaporetto, which was struggling against the choppy waves with a new crowd of passengers. “I was thinking about exploring Murano this afternoon. Care to join me? If you have nowhere to be, that is.”

His invitation surprised me. Maybe he liked weird.

“No pressure,” he went on. “It’s just nice to have company, you know?”

“I’d love to,” I said. “There’s a glass museum there that I haven’t seen yet.”

“Then it’s decided.” He leaned back as his pizza was set down. When the waiter was gone, Todd appraised the uncut circle of dough and whispered conspiratorially, “Does everyone here eat with a knife and fork, instead of slices?”