Maggie Moves On(51)

“So you’re leaving now?” Maggie asked.

Michelle grinned. “It’s about damn time I start living the life I want, right?”

“Never too late,” Maggie agreed.

“Anyway, I wanted to thank you. I got a job in Denver. An apartment that I can almost afford. And I’m finally excited about something, you know? I feel like my life is really starting.”

“I think the credit belongs to you,” Maggie insisted.

“I might have gotten there eventually, but Sy and I always got back together. You took him out of the equation. At least long enough for me to start looking past what I tried to talk myself into wanting. So thank you.”

“Then I guess you’re welcome. And good luck with everything. New beginnings are exciting.”

“Thanks!” Michelle chirped, sliding her sunglasses back on. “Listen, even if you’re fighting now, give the guy a chance. He’s the best. He deserves the best. And the best is definitely not my cousin Arabella.”

Maggie didn’t know what to say. So she nodded instead.

“Okay. Well, here I go,” Michelle said.

“It was nice meeting you,” Maggie said.

“You, too. Maybe I’ll see you around when I come back for Christmas,” Michelle said, with an eyebrow wiggle.



“What took you so long?” Dean demanded when he flung open his door. “You get lost and try to cook the food yourself?”

His room at the inn was a suite with a small sitting area that overlooked rolling green lawn and forest.

“Ha. I had to wait for your dumb gluten-free breadsticks,” Maggie said, pushing the bags into his hands and slipping off her flip-flops. “And before that, Sy’s ex-girlfriend dropped by to say thanks for making their breakup permanent.”

“Did she thank you with a boiled bunny casserole?” he asked, already digging through the bags of food.

“No. She was being serious. She’s using the opportunity to move out of state.”

“Did you tell her you guys aren’t even knocking boots because you’re too proud to beg?” he asked, leading the way to the striped roll-arm couch. Their YouTube channel was already cued up on the TV.

She picked up her own gigantic salad and followed. She flopped down and propped her foot up on the coffee table. “We’re not having sex because I don’t want to have sex with some possessive, egotistical, alpha hero.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Shut up.”

“Your toe looks slightly less disgusting,” he said, pointing at her foot with the remote.

She glanced down. The bruising had morphed from a dark purple to a nauseating greenish yellow. “Feels mostly better,” she said. She hated to admit it, but taking that one weekend off from physical labor had been…nice. She’d caught up on her budget updates, written two blogs, dug further into her research into Aaron Campbell and his wife, and gotten ahead on her social media scheduling.

And she’d actually dragged a lawn chair out onto the lawn for an hour both days and enjoyed the view…with her phone and laptop, of course.

“She wanted me to know that Silas is a good guy.”

“So you’re thinking he paid her off?” he teased.

She jabbed him playfully with her plastic fork. “No. I’m thinking what kind of guy gets that kind of loyalty from an ex?”

“Uh. Hello?” Dean said, raising his hand.

“We didn’t tell people we had been married,” she reminded him, scooping up zucchini and corn and tomato with her fork. “Not on the channel.”

“True. But you also never complain about your super-gay ex-husband. Because I’m awesome, and you recognize my awesomeness. Maybe ‘These Boots Were Made for Walking’ Michelle just wants to make sure you know how awesome Sly Sy is.”

“That’s the second boot reference in under three minutes. Where are they?”

He perked up. “There’s this disgustingly adorable shoe store at the end of town. Do you think I can pull off cowboy boots?”

She glanced down at his avocado-and-toast socks, pretended to ponder. “I’d need to see them on you,” she decided. “Wanna go Saturday?”

He dropped his fork in his salad and sat up with ramrod posture. “Did you just ask me to take you shopping?”

“What? We shop together all the time.”

“We used to. I’m personally responsible for every cute item in your wardrobe that you left behind in Seattle.”

She wanted to argue, but there wasn’t a point in fighting the truth. “I could use a few basics,” she said. “Plus, I really want to see these cowboy boots.”

“Drinks before or after?” he asked, shifting into planning mode.

“During. You have an easier time talking me into things when I’ve had alcohol.”

“Then we’re definitely hitting up this place I saw yesterday. They make all their drinks with their own rye whiskey. Maybe we can get a pitcher of mint juleps and then go buy hats,” he mused.

Maggie laughed.

“I do think you should sleep with Sy,” he said, picking up his iced tea.

“Why?”

“First of all, it would be a waste not to. He’s great. He’s smart. He works hard. He looks like he stepped off the September page in a calendar of hot guys with rescue dogs. He’s nice to his crew. He’s not intimidated by your success.”