Page 33 of Offside Bride

Patricia giggles behind her napkin. “Robert, remember when we were young? Those music festivals?”

“How could I forget?” Robert winks at us. “Let’s just say, we weren’t always the straightlaced folks you see before you.”

I blink, unable to process what’s happening. Maggie just implied I bake happy brownies, and the Thorntons are… reminiscing about their wild youth?

“Maggie, my dear,” Patricia says, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes, “You simply must come to our book club. The ladies would adore you!”

I look at Maggie, who’s grinning like the cat that got the cream. She catches my eye and mouths, “You’re welcome.”

"You know you are in love when the two of you can go grocery shopping together."

— WOODY HARRELSON

10

MAGGIE

Sprawled on the couch with my laptop, I refresh my sales dashboard for the hundredth time today. The abysmal results on the book retailers is one whole penny higher than a half hour ago, so I guess that’s something. I don’t expect to get rich on one novel, but it’s still a little disheartening when there are sparkling reviews, everyone on social media says they love it, but the sales are just not matching the enthusiasm.

At least I have my Etsy shop.

The paint is drying on my latest designs I worked on this morning. Once they harden to the touch, I can attach earring hooks or clamps to make matching pendants. I’m waiting on some hair clips I ordered online and will be able to give the buyer a choice in the product listing. I also plan to make bundles. Necklaces, earrings, and hair clips, all with the same charm. The fried chicken drumsticks are my personal favorite. I like the way they dangle.

I’ve recently added an over-easy egg, raw fish, and dog poop to the list of designs. They’re so realistic, I can’t wait to take photos for my seller’s page.

The maid, Mrs. Pruitt, a pinch-faced woman, who clearly thinks I’m the bane of her existence, bustles into the living room,aggressively vacuuming. She eyes me with barely concealed disdain.

“Still lounging about, I see,” she sniffs. “Unlike some people who have important business to attend to.”

Is she referring to herself? Or Sawyer? It’s his day off, yet he’s been gone most of the day without a word. Not that I care. He’s probably out…doing whatever hockey players do on their days off. Punching each other for fun? Comparing stick sizes? Who knows?

Mrs. Pruitt switches off the vacuum and gives me a look that could curdle milk. “Mr. O’Malley left early this morning, looking quite dapper if I may say so.”

I shrug, aiming for nonchalance. “I guess.”

She starts dusting the side table, hovering behind me…the little snoop. “Must be something important…or some-ONEimportant.”

I shut my laptop. “I really wouldn’t know.”

She comes around to the other side, making a show of dusting under the vases and candles. “Oh, I’m sure he’s just…taking care of things. You know how men are.”

I make a non-committal noise.

“And he did smell rather nice, come to think of it.”

I sigh dramatically. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“I suppose you wouldn’t,” she says, “With your bedroom on the other end of the house from his.”

Ugh. I know there’s no pretending in front of the lady who changes our sheets, but she could at least be discreet about it. I don’t need to explain myself to her, and who knows what kind of arrangement Sawyer has with her? She comes once or twice a week, doesn’t seem to have a regular schedule, and yet she acts more like a daunting and disapproving housekeeper from Victorian novels.

Still, I find myself wanting to come up with some plausible excuse as to why I don’t sleep in my husband’s bedroom. But I press that thought down.It’s none of her business. It’s none of her business.

Mrs. Pruitt’s lips curl into a smirk. “Well, I hope he’s enjoying himself. Men have…needs, after all.”

My stomach does a weird flip. I don’t like this feeling.

I shake my head, trying to dislodge the thought. Nope, not going there.

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