Catch of the Day (Gideon's Cove #1)(67)

“Thanks again. Bye.” I scurry up the gangplank to solid ground and walk home.

There are four messages waiting for me—Christy, Jonah, Chantal and Father Tim. They all want the same thing—to know how I’m doing, if I want company. But for tonight, I think I want to be alone. The sadness I feel over the loss of my pet is tempered with Malone’s surprising sweetness, and I want a night to indulge in both of those feelings. I put a frozen pizza in the oven and then pack up Colonel’s things in a box, letting myself have a vigorous cry as I do. Someday I’ll get another dog, but there will never be a friend like Colonel. But I do have a new friend—Malone. When I needed it most, he really came through.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

IN A SHOCKING NEW DEVELOPMENT to our relationship, Malone actually picks up the phone and calls me a couple of days after our date, just when I’m starting to grow irritated. Jonah had mentioned that Malone had to go down to Bar Harbor for a part, so I had granted him a grace period, but his time was running out. And I miss him, I realize with a bit of a shock.

When the phone finally rings around five on Thursday night, I am washing my kitchen floor, wondering how it gets so dirty when I am the only one who lives here. I actually expect it to be Father Tim, wanting to hit me up for the upcoming bake sale.

“Maggie,” comes the gruff voice.

“Malone! My God! You’re using a phone!” I can’t help the smile that has burst over my face.

“Very funny,” he says. There’s a pause, then, “How are you?”

“Fine. How are you?”

“Fine. So. Are you busy tonight?”

“You cut right to the chase, don’t you, Malone?” I grin.

“Answer the question,” he growls.

“Sorry, pal. I’m busy. I’m babysitting my niece tonight.”

“That right?”

“Yup.”

He sighs. “All right, then. What about tomorrow?”

My grin fades a bit. “Well, actually, tomorrow I’m supposed to have dinner with, um, a friend. With Father Tim. A bunch of us, actually. Church people. You know.” It’s an appreciation dinner Father Tim hosts for the five or six of us who do everything he asks. “How about Saturday?”

He doesn’t answer for a minute. “Sure. Saturday’s fine. Seven?”

“Seven o’clock. Um, do you want me to cook you dinner?”

“No, Maggie,” he says, his voice dropping to a scraping bottom note. “Don’t cook for me.” My body reacts as if he’d said he’d like to just rip off my clothes and take me on the floor.

“Okay,” I answer in a strangled whisper, suddenly needing to sag against the counter. “No cooking.”

CHRISTY IS ALL DRESSED UP in a long, pretty skirt and filmy blouse, and Will looks preppy and handsome as always, blue blazer and Dockers.

“Bye, Snooky,” my sister says, smothering Violet in kisses and a cloud of Eternity. “Mommy loves you! Yes she does! Mommy loves Violet! Aaaah…bwah!” She simulates the noise Violet makes when kissing someone.

“Okay, that’s enough,” I say, prying my niece out of Christy’s arms. “Get out, you clearly need a strong drink. Bye, Will.”

“Bye, Mags. Thanks, as always.”

“Thank you, actually. Violet, honey, it’s Auntie time!”

Violet grabs chunks of my hair and pulls with glee.

For the next hour, we play Farmyard Animals—at least, I do, crawling around on the floor, mooing, oinking, quacking—while Violet chortles and throws plastic toys for me to fetch.

“Mooo,” I say, retrieving the yellow ring.

“Oooo,” she echoes.

“You’re a genius,” I tell her. “Smart baby. Violet is a very smart baby.”

“Banuck,” she agrees.

As I hover over her crib, watching her sleep a little while later, I indulge, very briefly, in a domestic fantasy. Just trying it on for size, I tell myself, blushing. Me, watching the baby sleep. Malone, standing in the doorway. The baby has black hair like her daddy, gray eyes like me.

Then, embarrassed with my private stupidity, I go into the kitchen to see what Christy’s left me to eat. She may not pay me to babysit, but she does feed me well. Ooh. Tuna casserole, our mutual favorite and something our mom refuses to cook, and chocolate chip cookies. Good sissy.

I’m watching TV when they come back, flushed and cheery. “My God, you guys,” I comment, dragging my gaze away from Donald Trump’s latest victim, “were you doing it in the car?”

“That’s really uncanny,” Will says. “The whole twin thing—creepy.”

“I know,” I tell him. “The fact that your pants are unzipped was just confirmation.”

Will grins, zips and flies upstairs to look in on his precious while Christy flops down on the couch next to me.

“What did you do with Violet?” she asks.

“Oh, the usual. We lit matches and I gave her a few sips of vodka, which she really seemed to like, and then we went up on the widow’s walk, and I let her stand on the railing. It was fun.”

Christy hits me with a throw pillow. “So are you doing okay?” she asks. “About Colonel and all?”

I nod. “I’m okay. It’s weird, though. I’ve never been without him, really. Not as an adult.” My eyes grow misty, but I smile.