More Than I Could (10)

Me? I date cautiously. The goal isn’t … well, there isn’t one besides a good time. The concept of forever and ever, amen makes me itch. My eye twitches, and I feel like I’m going to throw up. A clock starts ticking as soon as I get attached, and I’ve never found the pain of the loss to be worth the experience. I bow out before things get too serious.

“Anyway, there’s no dinner and no hookup because I have to travel to Albuquerque tonight,” she says, growling the words. “I’ve been traveling for our department for the past three months, and that bastard promised me he would give me a break so I could try to have a normal life.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too. LAX is going to be a nightmare. But,” she says, her voice brightening, “because I was running on fury and adrenaline last night after I got my travel notification, I spent a couple of hours online.”

I know where this is going. “Calista. No.”

Gravel crunches beneath my car tires as I turn onto a country road. Strands of corn sway in the breeze on either side. What is it with cornfields? I hit the gas a little harder.

“Chase Marshall won an award last year for Lineman of the Year,” she says. “I told you that last night. Anyway, there was a picture in the paper. The resolution online was surprisingly terrible, considering we aren’t in the Stone Age anymore, but I liked what I saw.”

I sigh. Oh, friend. Don’t start shipping us already.

“I’m trying to arm you with information,” she says.

“You aren’t arming me with information by saying you think he might be good-looking.”

“That was a side benefit. I didn’t pull it up to see if he was hot. I was searching for red flags. But, again, I have a vested interest in you not dying.”

“Again, I’m not going to die. And if I wanted to know what he looked like, I could’ve asked my mom. Or Maggie. Or I could’ve looked at Maggie’s social account because she posts pictures of her kids. She’s a very grandma-y type, you know?”

The cornstalks give way to a farmhouse in the middle of an extensive lawn. The siding is white, and a porch wraps around the corner by the driveway. Plants hang from hooks in the rafters, and the landscaping is tidy. Very pretty.

A bubble of excitement mixed with equal amounts of nerves fills my stomach. Although I brush Calista’s fears off—and despite knowing that the Marshalls are great people—a thread of uncertainty about working for a man I haven’t met in person exists.

“Calista, I gotta go,” I say, my heart beating faster as I pull into the driveway. “I’m here.”

“Okay. Be safe. If there are bad vibes, leave. You can break a promise once in your life.”

“It’s not my promise—it’s my mom’s. My guilt would be much less because of that.”

“See?”

I laugh. “Love you. Bye.”

“Call me—”

I hang up. She’d go on about this forever.

I park my car next to a small burgundy SUV and turn off the engine. Sun filters through the trees that pepper the property, making it look like a postcard.

As I climb out of the car, Maggie comes rushing down the front steps with a giant smile on her sweet, familiar face. There are a few more lines around her eyes, and her hair has a bit more silver than the last time I saw her—which, come to think of it, was probably ten years ago. Otherwise, she’s the same Maggie.

That’s such a relief.

“There you are,” she says, arms extended. “I’m so glad you made it.”

I let her pull me into a hug and enjoy the warmth of a motherly embrace. “It’s good to see you.”

“You have no idea how good it is to see you, honey.” She releases me. “You look as fit as a fiddle. Look at you. You are as pretty as a peach, Megan Dawn.”

I giggle. “Keep talking like that, and I might not leave.”

She hugs me quickly once more. “Oh, it’s so good to see you. Thank you for coming. We’re relieved that Kennedy will be in your competent hands.”

I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face if I tried. “Well, I’m happy to be here. I’m not sure how capable these hands are, but I’ll give it my best shot.”

“Just keep her from sneaking out and borrowing her daddy’s truck”—Maggie makes a face—“and we’ll call it a success.”

“Ooh. Okay. I understand where the whole spirited thing comes from.”

Maggie rolls her eyes. “She hit fourteen, and her sensibilities have gone out the window. Don’t get me wrong. Kennedy’s a good kid. She’s just going through something, I guess.” She grins, shaking a finger at me. “And she better get through it before her daddy drags her through it with her grandma behind her with a broom.”

I laugh.

“This place is gorgeous,” I say, spinning in a circle and taking it all in. “It’s like a postcard from a quaint little bed-and-breakfast.”

She beams. “Let’s go in. I’ll show you around.”

We take a brick pathway to the steps. Solar lights line each side, leading us to the porch. A welcome wreath hangs beside the door.

“I’ve been cleaning all day,” Maggie says, waiting for me to go through the doorway first. “It’s not usually this organized.”