“Yeah, yeah. All that.”
“And the neighbor knows to keep it anonymous?”
“Maggie will never know you sent it. I promise.”
Finally, I let out a breath. I don’t know why this matters so much to me. It’s not like Maggie would starve. She could always go to Sienna’s house if she were desperate.
But would she ever admit she was in trouble? To anyone?
I hobble back to Johnny’s car. For my own mental health, I have to stop obsessing about this woman and trust if she needs something, she’ll go to her brother or friends. Johnny’s right. She’s smart, and she’s gotten this far without me meddling in her life, so unless I hear from her, I’m gonna butt out.
We slam the doors shut and take off to grab a bite to eat.
“So, Romeo,” he jokes. “Does this mean you’re a free man, or is Maggie Morales your new ball and chain? Clarify it for me.”
I nod slowly as I stare at the wild weeds growing in Maggie’s yard and make a decision to get on with my life in more ways than one. “I’m a free man. Why? What did you have in mind?”
5
MAGGIE
MARCH
Dubious, I stare at Sienna’s closet. I knew this wouldn’t work.
Sienna gently pushes me out of the way, unhooks a raspberry-colored silky confection, and hands it to me. “Try it on.”
“It’s never going to fit.” Sienna does yoga six days a week. The kind where she twists herself into a pretzel. She’s svelte. Petite. I hit college and instantly gained that freshman fifteen, plus a few more I’d prefer not to count. I regret all the times I wished I wasn’t so skinny growing up, because those extra pounds have landed on my ass. I work out plenty, but I probably like enchiladas a little too much to pull off that dress.
“You’ll never know if you don’t give it a shot.”
My shoulders slump. “Am I crazy for doing this? Kayla called me at the last minute and begged, and I felt bad turning her down.”
Michael’s sister called me last weekend in a panic and told me her bridesmaid broke her leg and couldn’t fly in from Florida. She asked me to take her spot so she could keep her party even with the number of groomsmen. Which means I need to figure out what to wear and book it to Austin tomorrow for the rehearsal dinner.
I had planned to head home to Heartland Hills for the weekend to babysit Frannie so my mom and brother could attend the wedding, but Mom says she’d rather I go and be a part of Kayla’s special day.
Sienna shrugs and lifts the dress to my shoulders. “It means you get a hotel room for the weekend, all paid for. Free food and a party? Hell, yeah, I’d go. Want me to take your place? I’m sure Michael’s sister wouldn’t mind a stranger in her wedding photos.”
I laugh. “Okay, you’ve made your point. I’m being silly.”
“It’s sweet that she asked you. I had no idea you were close to his family.” Her lips twitch as she tries to hold back a smile.
Last fall, I eventually broke down and told her Michael and I met in middle school and grew up together, but she knows he’s a sensitive subject for me.
Part of me hates that I haven’t run into him since that grocery store episode in January. I keep thinking I’ll see him here, but it’s almost like he makes a point to avoid me.
I guess I thought he’d sent me that box of food as a peace offering. Who goes to all that trouble of approaching someone’s neighbor if you’re not trying to do something special for someone? It took some prodding, but eventually Diana admitted some college guy put her up to the food delivery. I mean, it had to be Michael, right?
I baked him a pie and left it on his front stoop to say thanks, but never heard back. His silence hurt more than I care to admit.
If anything, it proved I need to forget Michael Oliver once and for all. Whenever I let myself think we’ll be friends or… something, he hurts my feelings. It’s not worth putting myself out there for him.
Besides, if we did become more, I’d probably end up disappointed anyway.
I’ve had a few boyfriends over the years, but I always break things off because I don’t feel like we connect on a significant level. Sometimes I worry it’s me. That, deep down, I don’t give anyone a chance.
Except I want a loving, deep relationship. Like those decadent, eight-course meals I see served up on those cooking shows, complete with those bite-sized crème brûlée tartlets. But all I get served are stale, gas-station donuts and burnt coffee. Those donuts always look good from behind the glass, but once you get in your car and take a bite, you’re instantly smacked with buyer’s remorse.
