by Darcy Burke
“That’s great. Keep me posted, okay? I’d love to come up and take a look some time.”
“Sure thing. We haven’t started construction on the restaurant yet, just finishing up the plans and waiting on permits now.”
“Sounds awesome. I can’t wait to see what you cook up.” He winked at Kyle. “Gotta get back to the kitchen. Don’t be a stranger. Maybe you can be my guest chef some night.”
Kyle smiled at his old friend, a little surprised at how satisfying it felt to see someone he hadn’t spoken to in years—Facebook notwithstanding. He’d done such a thorough job of closing off his life here when he’d gone to Florida that he’d all but forgotten the good things he’d left behind. “That’d be fun.”
“Pleasure to have met you, Maggie—see you later.” Andy retreated to the kitchen, and Kyle retook his seat.
“Nice guy. Seems like you were maybe close?” she asked as Kyle poured more wine.
“Once. Before I . . .” He shrugged. “Before.”
“Before the gambling became a problem.” She cocked her head to the side, drawing his gaze to her dark hair, which he was seeing down for the first time. It was long, reaching to just past her shoulders, and curly, which he loved. He had an urge to thread his fingers through the locks and relish the texture. “You can tell me to mind my own business, but is that why you left Oregon? The gambling?”
“Yeah. I’m surprised Alex didn’t tell you that.” Since he’d obviously known about Kyle’s gambling, which was news to Kyle.
“Most of what he said about you was quite complimentary. He never mentioned your gambling.”
Because no one knew about it, save Dad and Derek. Kyle yearned to ask for details but didn’t want to push, particularly given the ethics of it, and he knew she held her responsibility to her patients in high regard. He liked that, even if it had pissed him off at first. “Thanks for sharing that. Alex wrote each of us a letter, but we don’t get them until some predetermined time.”
Her eyes widened. “Really? That must be hard, having to wait.”
He shrugged. “I’m not as bothered by it as some, namely Tori.” Mom, Dad, Derek, and Sara had already received theirs. “I appreciate hearing that he had good things to say about me.”
“He had a lot of nice things to say about all of you. Okay, except one person.” She looked down at her plate and scooped a bite of quinoa. “Never mind.”
His curiosity was piqued, but he didn’t pursue the issue. Maybe she’d tell him in time. Did that mean he planned to see her again? He hoped so—regardless of how the drug investigation panned out. He liked her. She was smart, funny, and damn if she didn’t turn him on like crazy.
“You never actually answered my question,” she said. “About why you left.”
No, he hadn’t. And for once, he hadn’t intentionally deflected. He’d just gotten caught up in her talking about Alex. “Yes, that’s why I left.” He didn’t want to get into the specifics. He’d already shared far more than he ever had. “There was a . . . problem, and I thought it best if I was on my own for a while.”
Her eyes widened briefly. “A problem? Are you safe? I mean, you had a bookie and you left town . . .”
He laughed. “I wasn’t about to get whacked or anything.” The shit kicked out of him, sure, everything he owned seized by Shane’s boss, definitely. But then Derek had told Dad about the debt Kyle owed, and Dad had shown up and paid it.
The day had been saved, and Kyle had fulfilled everyone’s expectation that he’d be a complete fuckup. Dad had offered him a job to help him get on his feet, but Kyle hadn’t wanted a handout. He hadn’t even wanted Dad to bail him out with Shane’s boss. In fact, Kyle had planned to pay him back every dime, but he’d blown the savings he’d accumulated in Florida after Alex’s death, and now he had to start over. The familiar shame and anger swelled over him, darkening his mood.
“You’re doing it again,” she said, startling him from his lousy thoughts. The little worry lines she wore from time to time formed over the bridge of her nose. “When you feel like that—upset or overwhelmed—try breathing. Just focus on taking slow and steady breaths. Fill your lungs with air, expel it, do it again. Think of something calming. Something beautiful that makes you feel good.”
A vision of her smiling, those rich eyes of hers gleaming with pleasure, crowded his mind. He took a deep breath, let it out. Better. “Thanks,” he said. “Can I offer you a little advice in return?”
Her gaze turned skeptical. “Should I be afraid?”
He chuckled. “No. But I think you should laugh more. Ease those little creases.” He reached over and lightly touched the space between her eyebrows. “Here. You’re so pretty. I’d hate for them to stamp your face with permanent worry.”
“The old ‘don’t make that face or it’ll freeze like that’ wives’ tale?”
“Something like that. But I mean it. You’re gorgeous when you smile. You should do it more often.”
Swathes of pink highlighted her cheeks—also adorable. She looked down at her plate. “Thanks. I’ll do that.”
They ate for a few more minutes, discussing the preparation of the food. When they slowed down and had nearly emptied their wineglasses again, he remembered the laptop. “Do you mind looking at the rest of the names? When you’re done.”
She moved her plate over. “I’m finished. There’s a bite of scallop left if you want it.”
“Hit me.”
She scooped it up and held up the fork. He took the bite, keeping his gaze locked with hers. “So good,” he said around the food.
She blushed again, more lightly this time, but he caught it. This flirtation could be dangerous. He might not be angry with her or blame her for Alex’s death, but she was still that person, and he was still the guy who didn’t stick around.
She turned her attention to the laptop and scrolled through the rest of the list of contacts.
“Anything?” he asked, scooting his plate to the side.
She closed the lid. “No, sorry. I barely recognized any names—your family, some people he mentioned from work.”
“Like who?”
“Paula, Natalie, Jeff, Aaron.”
All people Alex knew well and had plenty of reason to interact with regularly. Kyle felt a stab of disappointment but reasoned that he wasn’t empty-handed. He had Shane, and he sure as hell meant to get to the bottom of that connection.
She took a sip of her wine. “So, what are you doing here now that you’re back? You’re working on the restaurant?”
“And filling in for Hayden while he’s doing an internship in France. He’s always wanted to make wine.”
“Wow, good for him. You’re working for Archer?” She sounded nearly as incredulous as his family. Alex had apparently told her plenty about him if she had that sort of skepticism. He wished she didn’t, that she wasn’t predisposed to think less of him.
“Yeah, it’s not exactly in my wheelhouse, but I’m learning. I don’t completely suck at it.”
“I’m sure you don’t.” She said that with enough conviction that he almost believed it—and had to reassess his earlier reaction. Maybe she hadn’t cast him in a predetermined role after all.
Whitney returned and poured out the rest of the wine, then picked up their plates. “Can I get you dessert? We have a delicious marionberry tart. Or maybe the lemon curd cheesecake?”
“I’m stuffed,” Maggie said. “Though the tart is tempting.”
Kyle looked up at the server. “I think we’re good. Thanks.”
Maggie sipped her wine. “What are you going to do next?”
“Try to find out why Alex had Shane’s number. I’ll look through his room at home and his office.”
“You haven’t done that before?”
“Not his office. And when I looked through his room, I wasn’t looking for anything specific—now I have a name to search for.” He slid the laptop back into its sleeve, and they finished their wine. Whitney brought the check, an
d the evening came to a close far more quickly than Kyle would have liked.
They left the restaurant and walked back to Kyle’s car. Once there, he offered to walk her the few blocks home.
“That’s okay,” she said. “It’s not far.”
“I don’t mind.” He wanted to, in fact.
“Really, it’s fine.” She resettled her purse strap on her shoulder. “I had a nice time tonight.”
“You sound surprised.”
She blinked at him. “Aren’t you?”
He laughed softly. “Okay, yes. I might even like to do it again.”
She exhaled. “That’s not a good idea. I mean, unless it’s about finding the drug dealer. I’m on board with that. Totally.”
“I’ll take that.” He moved closer to her, wondering how the wine would taste on her lips, in her mouth. His body tightened with desire. “I had a great time with you.”
She thrust her hand out. Slowly, he did the same and tried not to smile when she shook it. But then smiling was the last thing on his mind as electricity shot between them. He wanted to kiss her, touch her, feel her.
“Good night,” she said, withdrawing her hand rather quickly. “Let me know what you find out.”
She turned and stalked away, her stride devouring the sidewalk as she hurried away from him into the twilight. He watched her go and wondered how bad it would really be to take her on a real date. One that would end in kissing and touching and feeling.
It wouldn’t be bad at all, he decided.
THE DIRT FELT good in Maggie’s gloved hands, the rich, earthy scent comforting her, soothing her nerves, which tended to unravel when she went to her mother’s house. She worked the fertilizer into the ground, sifting it through her fingers.
The gate separating her mother’s backyard from her father’s opened. Dad stepped through and let the wood clap shut. “Hello, my little magpie.”
She smiled up at him. “Hi, Dad.” With his long, dark, graying hair and full-sleeve tattoos, he was every bit as hippie-dippie as Mom, but he respected one’s choice to not be hippie-dippie. “How’re classes?”
Dad ran an art school at the local community center in southeast Portland. “Super. And my private lessons are at full capacity.” He’d offered them in his garage studio for as long as Maggie could remember. “Stop in before you go, and I’ll show you what I’m working on.”
Maggie nodded, hoping he’d forget. She didn’t mind most of his art, but some of his “experimental” stuff could be a tad unsettling. He argued that it was supposed to be, that the best art pushed you outside your comfort zone. It definitely did that.
He pushed at the bridge of his small, round wire-rimmed glasses. “What’s new with you, magpie?”
“Not much.” She finished working in the fertilizer and stood. A flat of plants—a mix of perennials and annuals—sat on the lawn beside her. She grabbed the shovel and dug holes where she planned to put the ornamental grasses.
“The new job’s going well?” he asked. “You’re feeling good?”
Dad had been incredibly supportive after Alex had died and Maggie had suffered her breakdown. He’d brought her dinner a handful of times and checked in on her regularly. “Yep, thanks.” She finished the first hole.
“Taking the herbal supplements I recommended?”
That would be Dad’s code for, Are you smoking the pot I gave you? Dad was a great believer in the healing and soothing powers of marijuana. She shook her head but smiled. “I’m good, Dad, really.”
“It’s better for you than those prescription drugs,” he said, his voice turning stern.
As she worked on the second hole, she threw him an exasperated glance.
He held up a hand. “I’ll stop. Badgering is your mother’s job.”
Yes, it was. Thankfully, she was embroiled in a Skype conversation with a friend on the East Coast. Maggie moved on to the third hole and contemplated whether to broach a topic with Dad. She typically kept her nose out of her parents’ lives—it was better for her peace of mind if she didn’t know what was going on—but she rarely got Dad alone, and sometimes he gave her a bit of insight into why they lived the life they did.
“How’re you and Mom? Spending a lot of time together, or is this one of your ‘off’ periods?” Because they lived apart, they pretty much led separate lives. Yet they still felt a connection and responsibility to each other. When Dad broke his foot two years ago, Mom had taken care of him.
“Bit of an off period,” Dad said, leaning against the fence and watching her work. “I think she’s been seeing someone the last few months.”
Maggie strained to hear a clue as to how Dad felt about that, but she couldn’t tell. She set the shovel aside and knelt to put the grass in the first hole. Knocking it out of the pot, she glanced up at him, deciding to be bold. “Does that bother you? I admit, I still don’t understand your open marriage concept. I always thought it was just physical, but then it seems like you and Mom actually date people from time to time.” So weird. She knew they loved each other and couldn’t imagine just turning the other cheek when your soul mate stepped out.
“It’s sort of like that. We’re very up front with our partners. Some of them are just sex buddies.” His lips curved up. “Sorry, I know that’s probably not what you want to imagine your parents doing.” No, it wasn’t, and if this conversation had been with her mother, Maggie would’ve been called a prude several times by now.
“It’s okay, you’re people, too.” She set the grass into the ground and patted the dirt around it. Then she moved on to the next pot. “But a few months . . . that’s longer than Mom usually spends with someone.”
Dad shrugged. “Maybe. I was with someone for about eighteen months once.”
Maggie nearly dropped the plant. “You were?”
He nodded, folding his arms over his chest. “Long time ago. You were nine or ten.”
“Wow.” She couldn’t even grasp that. How did you have a relationship like that in addition to the one with your wife? And that had been before they’d moved into the duplex. They’d lived in a small house, and now that she’d thought about it, Dad had spent a lot of time at his off-site studio. Now that she really thought about it, that studio had included a loft, a small kitchenette, and a bathroom. Like so many things she’d learned in her life about her parents, she wished he hadn’t told her.
He squatted down beside her. “Hey there, little magpie, I didn’t mean to upset you.” He brushed a strand of her hair that had escaped her ponytail behind her ear. “I was always very careful to insulate you.” He was, but that didn’t make it better.
She exaggerated her motions so that his hand fell away. She didn’t want him to touch her. She loved her parents—she did—but their odd lifestyle made her uncomfortable. No, it made her feel somewhat insignificant. Her anxiety started to amp up, and she chastised herself for not taking her Xanax. Real dumb move, but after her great evening with Kyle the night before, she’d woken up this morning feeling better than she had in a long time. A morning at her mom’s hadn’t seemed overwhelming, but now that she was here, the familiar stress was rifling through her.
Dad stood, sighing. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I know better than to trouble my sensitive little magpie.”
She looked up at him as she patted dirt around the grass. “It’s okay, Dad. It’s not like this is surprising.” Just unsettling. How many other things was she unaware of? Probably dozens, and she hoped it stayed that way. Mom kept a diary and always said she’d leave it to Maggie when she died, but Maggie planned to burn it without reading.
Dad turned the conversation to a safer topic and asked her about what she was planting. Maggie launched into an animated discussion of the grasses, the Russian sage, and the variety of annuals.
“It’s going to be quite the colorful little patch when you’re finished,” Dad said. “I think you missed your calling, magpie. It warms my heart to see your passion for something artistic.” Instead of medica
l. Both Mom and Dad counted Maggie’s and Rowan’s careers to be failures, where other parents—normal parents—would be proud of having a daughter with a PhD and a son with a juris doctorate. But for an artist and a yoga instructor, a therapist and a lawyer were apparently disappointing career goals.
“Thanks, Dad. I do enjoy it.” She’d considered going into landscape design, had actually taken a couple of classes as an undergrad, but she’d enjoyed her psychology courses, and when she realized she could make more money and enjoy more stability as a therapist, she’d taken that path instead. Growing up poor was a good incentive to follow your head rather than your heart.
Mom swept out of the house like a whirlwind. “Oh, Jer! You look scrumptious.” Smiling, she went to Dad and kissed him. She slid her arm around his waist and turned to survey Maggie’s work. “Looks fabulous, darling. What are you two talking about out here?”
“Just the plants,” Maggie said.
There was something exciting about Mom’s energy, something that always made a space brighter or the atmosphere more charged. When Maggie had been younger, before she’d understood the weirdness of her upbringing and her parents’ marriage, she’d loved that spark. Regardless of the strain in their adult relationship, she still envied her mom’s ability to live in the moment and even her absolute honesty, despite its occasion to cause harm. Mom lived without regret, without worry. And without filters.
“Isn’t it lovely, Jer?” Mom said, setting her free hand on his chest so that her stance was one of absolute possession. Or so it looked to Maggie. She imagined touching Kyle like that, claiming him for her own. The woman’s jealous look in the crosswalk the night before rose in Maggie’s memory, eliciting a small smile.
“What’s that about?” Mom asked, demonstrating her uncanny capacity to detect even the smallest things. “That’s a provocative little grin.”
“Nothing, Mom. You guys look cute together, that’s all.” Maggie picked up a trowel and dug holes for the rest of the plants.
“We do.” She patted Dad’s chest and moved away. “You look so comfortable in the garden, my flower bud. I still say you should be doing this full time.”
