Ask Me Why

by Marie Force

  Someone turned on a radio, and in minutes, the potluck of dishes were set on the dining room table, wafting tempting scents through the room. Maggie stuck with the other bridesmaids, far from Nick. If she was lucky, Nick would forget whatever that had been back in the kitchen.

  Maggie had a chicken wing halfway to her mouth when Rachel and J.W. got to their feet. J.W. put two fingers in his mouth and whistled. The room trickled into silence.

  He turned to Rachel and took her hand, with so much love in his eyes, it hurt to look at them. “First off, we want to thank you all for coming out to the trial run. I wish it had been the real wedding because then I’d already be married to this amazing woman, and I wouldn’t have to wait another day to make her mine forever.”

  A collective awww went through the crowd. Rachel dabbed at her eyes, then gave J.W. a gentle slug. “You promised you wouldn’t make me cry today.”

  He pressed a quick kiss to her lips, whispered something that made her laugh, and turned back to his audience.

  Across the room, Nick was watching her, his expression indiscernible. Did he find the whole thing overdone? Too mushy to believe? Or was a part of him, like Maggie, wondering if it was possible to have a relationship that warm and sweet?

  For goodness’ sake, Maggie was clearly still caught in that fantasy they’d perpetuated this week. The truth was, some people were mushy and romantic and meant to fall in love, and some just . . . weren’t.

  “Anyway,” J.W. went on, “we aren’t just here to celebrate my last day as a bachelor—”

  The groomsmen booed. The bridesmaids whooped.

  “—but also to give another man a chance to prove how he feels. Nick.” J.W. flung out a hand in Maggie’s direction. “I do believe you told me you wanted a moment to say something important.”

  Oh God. Her stomach roiled, and her face flushed. She wanted to run, but the bridesmaids pinned her in, all eyes on her and Nick, no one seeing that it was all a façade, that it was a joke, a way to get out of the dare. And then, Nick was there, smiling, and she thought, Yes, we’ll tell everyone the truth now. Thank God.

  “You’re right, J.W.,” Nick said. “I do have something to say. Something I should have said a long time ago.”

  Good. He’d be the one to drop the bomb that it was all a big joke. Rachel and Maggie would share a laugh, she’d change out of this dress and this entire insanity would end.

  Nick took a step forward, and took one of her hands in his. He lowered himself to one knee, and looked up at her. “I have been in love with you since the day I met you, Maggie. And I wanted to ask you, here, in front of all the people who love you.” He took in a breath, let it out. “Will you marry me?”

  She was sure she was hearing things. That any second, he was going to say, Gotcha, it was a big joke, ha ha, until she saw the ring box in Nick’s other hand and the simple solitaire winking back at her.

  “You’re . . . serious?”

  “As a heart attack.” He held the box closer. “I’ve been carrying this around for days. Bought it when I said I was fishing, because I knew a long time ago that I wanted nothing more than to be with you. Marry me, Maggie.”

  She stared at him. At the ring. Her brain short-circuited. “Marry you?”

  The bridesmaids were cheering, the groomsmen were teasing Nick about settling down. Hattie came up and grabbed Maggie by the shoulders. “Say yes, dear.”

  “I . . .” The people seemed to close around her, like walls crushing the breath out of her chest. “I . . . can’t do this. I can’t.”

  “Maggie—”

  Then she spun away and ran from the room, bursting through the door and out into the fresh, clean air of Chatham Ridge. She wanted to get away, to leave, to just go back to Rescue Bay and back to a week ago, when everything made sense. This constant whirling dervish in her gut would be silenced and she could focus on her career, not her crazy, made-up love life.

  “What the hell was that?”

  She turned around and faced Nick. His ocean-colored eyes were muddled with hurt and anger.

  “What the hell was that?” She waved toward the house. “What were you thinking, bringing out a ring in front of everyone?”

  “I was thinking that I was going to propose to you.”

  “That would be the crowning touch on this whole façade, but you didn’t have to do that.”

  “I wasn’t doing it as part of an act, Maggie. I was asking you for real.”

  The sun had gone down, casting the wedding tableau in a soft purple light. The white chairs and white wood altar stood bright and happy against the dark background, full of hope for the day to come. It was all surreal, and so was this whole thing with Nick and the ring. It was as if an alien had been switched for the man she had known for two years. “For real? But . . . why?”

  He chuckled softly and closed the distance between them. “Because I love you, Maggie. I don’t want to spend another day without you.”

  He loved her? Since when? And why did those words make her want to run even faster and farther? “Why can’t we just go back to the way we were? Working together, sharing subs and chips at lunch—”

  “Because I want more.”

  She shook her head and backed up, putting up her hands to ward off his argument. “This was just a dare, Nick. It wasn’t supposed to be real, to turn into a real engagement. Rachel dared me to step out of my comfort zone and bring you as my date. That’s all. You collect a check, we go home and go back to work. Done.”

  Amusement quirked a grin up one side of his face. “You are terrified.”

  “What are you talking about? I’m not scared.”

  “Yes you are. You, Maggie McBride, the woman who has proven herself in a field where most men can’t even cut the mustard, the same woman who has never met a challenge she would back down from—is the same woman who is terrified of something as simple as love?”

  “Love comes with expectations, Nick. To fit into this little box of conformity.” She looked up at the house on the hill, with its bright lights in the windows and happy faces sitting around the table. It was like a Rockwell painting, and something she had never really been able to get a grasp on. She’d loved being there, yes, but never imagined she’d be the one hosting the gatherings, infusing the space with the warmth and love that Hattie did. “It means putting on a frilly little apron, baking chocolate chip cookies, and decorating dining rooms and all the things I don’t want to do. I want to get my contractor’s license and keep on restoring old houses. I don’t want to be the little wife.”

  “First of all, neither one of us is afraid of a little dirt, so we don’t need aprons. Second of all, I hear they have these great places called grocery stores where they bake the cookies for you, and third of all, I don’t give a shit what the dining room looks like as long as you’re part of the package. I want you to get your contractor’s license and I want to go on restoring old houses. With you.” He took two steps forward and cradled her jaw with his hand. “So there’s all your best arguments shot down. Now, are you going to tell me what you are really afraid of?”

  Falling in love with you. Realizing that the truth isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

  “Tell me, Maggie.” His voice was gentle, but firm. “Tell me.”

  “Nick, it doesn’t matter. This was all an act, let’s just leave it at that.”

  “I don’t believe you. I don’t believe that the woman who made love to me back there,” he thumbed toward the garage, “was just acting.”

  She didn’t tell him what was in her heart. Didn’t admit the fears that kept her rooted where she was. Instead, she shook her head and swallowed back the tears that threatened to undo her composure. “I’m sorry if this week gave you the wrong impression about us. But we’re just friends. Nothing more.”

  She turned around and faced the woods and waited until she heard the screen door slap. Nick was gone. And she was either relieved or heartbroken. It was kinda hard to tell, with this rock on her ch
est.

  Rachel found her a few minutes later, standing under the tree behind the altar, drawing in deep breaths. “Hey, you okay?” Rachel said.

  “No. No, I’m not,” Maggie said. She thought she was going to hyperventilate, right here on the lawn. How had this tide shifted so quickly without her noticing? “This was all going way too fast. Nick read it all wrong, and now he wants to marry me, when all I want to do is go back to the way things were so that I can concentrate on my job.”

  “There’s more to life than work, Mag.”

  “Work is what I have, Rach.” She shook her head. “You don’t understand.”

  “But you have Nick.” A soft smile filled Rachel’s face.

  Maggie blew her bangs off her forehead. “No, I don’t have Nick. I never did. And then we messed it all up by sleeping together, and he says he fell in love and . . . God, it’s a mess.”

  “Are you saying you don’t love him, too?”

  “I . . . I don’t know how I feel. I just want to concentrate on my job—”

  “And use that as an excuse to run away from love.” Rachel gave Maggie a smile. “Oh, honey, I know how you feel. I ran and ran, but J.W. always ran faster. My grandma says that true love is scary as hell because it’s precious as a new flower, and just as vulnerable. You can crush it without even knowing it, but if you water it and nurture it and take the time to love it up, it becomes as strong as an oak tree.” Rachel let out a little laugh. “I know it doesn’t make sense, heck, half the sayings I heard from my aunts and grandmas didn’t make an ounce of sense, but . . .”

  “In a weird way, they do.” Maggie hugged Rachel to her, wrapping herself in the comfort of a lifetime friendship built on shopping trips and chocolate chip cookies and late-night sleepover chats. It was good to know Rachel was in her corner, even if Rachel was firmly in the fall-in-love camp. “Thanks. Why don’t you go back and enjoy your rehearsal dinner?”

  “As long as you come with me. And talk to Nick.”

  But it turned out there wasn’t any reason to talk to Nick. He’d packed his bags, called a cab, and headed for the airport. Maggie had gone back to the house wanting answers. And that was what she got.

  NINE

  TWO WEEKS OF eighteen-hour workdays weren’t enough to exhaust Nick. Not enough to push Maggie, or her refusal of his proposal, from his mind. As soon as he’d gotten home, he’d taken every last dime he had, poured it into the Money Pit, and finished up the house in record time. During the days, he’d worked on projects for Mike, taking on ones that didn’t need Maggie as his right-hand person, and at night, he’d gone back to the Money Pit and worked until he could barely stand. But it was done, finally, and so was he. Tomorrow, he’d call his real estate agent and have it put on the market.

  He set the ring box on the kitchen counter. He should sell it or pawn it or something, but right now, he figured he’d let the ring sit until staring at it didn’t ache like a phantom limb.

  He hoisted a pile of scrap wood and trash into his arms and headed out the open front door to the Dumpster sitting on the side of the house. The sun blinded him as soon as he hit the driveway.

  “Hey! Be careful with that. I’d like to have children someday, you know.”

  Nick stuttered to a stop. His heart leapt in his chest, but the warning bells in his head shut down the hope before it could gain any traction. Two weeks. A hell of a long time for a man who was nursing his wounds. Two weeks of no word, no contact. Enough to build a wall between them. “Maggie. What are you doing here?”

  “Helping you.” She took the trash from him and tossed it into the bin, then dusted off her hands. She was back in her normal attire—shorts, a battered T-shirt and the familiar Timberland boots she’d had for years. To Nick, she looked incredible, as always. “Now are you going to show me the latest Money Pit or not?”

  So she was just here to see the house. For work. Not him. He told himself he wasn’t disappointed as hell. “I was just cleaning it up to get it ready for the real estate agent. I’m putting it on the market as soon as possible.”

  She shot him a confused look. “But I thought you wanted to hold on to this one.”

  “I did.” He glanced over at the roof, at the shingles he had laid himself, the porch he had rebuilt by hand, the paint color he had agonized over for a week. Two weeks ago, he’d thought he’d own this house forever. But he’d been wrong. “Yeah, well, plans change.”

  As in the woman you wanted to marry turned you down. Then showed up, looking beautiful and tempting and heartbreaking. He wanted to just get this business over with so he could retreat and forget the whole thing. Except he stood there in the driveway, with the long, ugly Dumpster blocking Maggie’s view of the house, making small talk, because he didn’t want to show her what he’d done to the house. Not until he could pretend it was all about making a profit, instead of making a life.

  “How was the wedding?” he asked.

  “Perfect. J.W. cried a little, which made Rachel cry. But they had a great time, and they looked insanely happy together.” She toed at the sawdust littering the driveway. “I took my contractor’s exam.”

  “Yeah? How’d it go?”

  She kept her head down, staring at the half-moon she’d drawn with her toe, and for a second his heart sank. Then she lifted her gaze and a wide grin took over her face. “You’re looking at Maggie McBride, general contractor.”

  He wanted to pick her up and swing her around and cheer from the rooftops. Instead, he clenched his hands at his sides, and said, “Congratulations. That’s awesome. I knew you’d do it.”

  “With your help, Nick. You were the study master.”

  He shrugged. “I didn’t do much.”

  “You did more than you know.” She brushed her bangs off her face. “I wanted to apologize for not returning to Rescue Bay right away. I stayed in Chatham Ridge and just kinda got my head on straight.”

  “Aw, you were fine the way you were, Maggie.”

  “No, I was a hot mess, Nick. A hell of a hot mess. I guess I have been for a long time, which is why I keep running away instead of staying put and dealing with stuff.” She ran a hand through her hair and let out a breath. “When I grew up, I never had the conventional family life. My parents were always at work, or reading, or talking about things they’d researched. It was like there was this family of two, and I was just a tenant, watching from afar. But when I went to Rachel’s house, it was like walking into a fairy tale. Her family sat around the table at dinner, they went to the soccer games and cheered like maniacs. They pulled pranks and told jokes and made me feel as included as they could.”

  “But it wasn’t the same.”

  She shook her head. “Close, but no cigar. I loved them, and they loved me, but it was like I was borrowing them when I was there. I was still an outsider, in a way. So I decided a long time ago to stand on my own. To not count on anyone else. And then you came along.”

  He moved closer. “And what did I do?”

  “You treated me like one of the guys.”

  “I’m sorry, Maggie. I thought—”

  “And that was exactly what I wanted.” Her voice began to crack. “To be part of the group, like everyone else. You helped me study and every day at lunch, you pretended to forget your chips—”

  “Actually, I never pretended. I’m a guy. I forget stuff.”

  She laughed and swiped at her eyes. “Damn it. I never cry.”

  “Sometimes you have to,” he said, taking another step forward, catching a tear hanging off her lashes. “Sometimes you have to,” he said again, softer.

  She shook her head and stepped away. As she did, she moved past the obstructing view of the Dumpster. “You painted the house blue, Nick.” Maggie turned and faced him. “Cornflower blue. With white trim and a white porch.”

  He shrugged. Like he hadn’t gone through three sample cans of paint and damned near driven the guy at the paint counter into a nervous breakdown trying to get the color just right. “Seem
ed like two colors that went together well.”

  “And there are window boxes. And flowers.”

  He shrugged again. Window boxes he’d built himself. Flowers he didn’t know the names of, but he’d chosen because they reminded him of someone he loved. “You said they would help the house sell.”

  He started to step through the door—there was a whole pile of leftover supplies he needed to get out of there so he could sweep the floors—but Maggie grabbed his arm and stopped him. Damn it. This whole thing was taking ten times longer than he wanted it to. Didn’t Maggie understand that seeing her here, of all places, made him want to chew off his own leg?

  “You . . . you hung up my swing,” she said. “Uh . . . a swing.”

  He could deny it. Lie and say there had been a swing here all the time, and all he’d done was paint it a pale lime color that blended with the blue and white. But lying to Maggie hadn’t gotten him anywhere. Neither had telling the truth, to be honest. “It’s not a swing. It’s your swing. And if you want it, you can have it.”

  She parked a fist on her hip. “What does that mean?”

  “I can take it down, install it at your place.” Burn it, throw it off the side of the road. Okay, so maybe he wasn’t taking her refusal so well.

  “Doesn’t it come with the house?”

  “It came with the house. Now . . . it doesn’t matter.”

  “Why the past tense?”

  “Because when I bought this house and started flipping it, I did it to show you that I had changed. That I was ready to settle down, to have more. To have us . . . here.” He hoisted another pile into his arms and moved past her. She’d seen the house, why didn’t she just leave and quit asking him questions? “But you’re right. The leopard doesn’t change his spots. So I’m just going to flip it. Move on to the next one.”

  She came up behind him with a pile of her own and stood on her tiptoes to let the trash shower down into a dusty pile in the Dumpster. “The next woman, too?”