Page 17 of The Summer I Stayed
Her eyes open wide. “How’d you—”
“Edna and Gemma.”
While at the Driftwood Diner this morning, grabbing coffee, they were giggling about something. I asked what it was, and they said Maggie had a blog and I should check it out. I haven’t been able to yet—I have a porch to finish—but I thought about looking at it later.
“Ah, of course.” She tucks a stray hair behind her ear. “Well, it kind of snuck up on me. I was always creative growing up, and interior design caught my eye. I liked making our house into a home. After we had our first baby, Matthew, I went to a moms’ group with young kids, where I met Lila and Caroline. We instantly became best friends, and they started asking me for tips. So I started Cozy Charm with Maggie to share organization and home decor with others, specifically moms. People liked it, and it just sort of took off from there.”
The corners of my mouth twitch upward as she starts talking about projects she’s worked on, the challenges of managing a blog, and the satisfaction she feels when a post sparks joy in someone else’s life.
One thing I’m certain of is this: Maggie Wilkes is passionate. About her work, her family, and this town that she’s somehow made me see in a new light.
“It’s become a channel for me to share my life experiences, too. My journey as a mom, our adventures as a family, and now…my life here in Blue Alder Cove.”
Something twinges in my chest at that. The fact that she considers this town, this place—and by extension, me—an important part of her life is…unexpected. Does she plan on staying?
Maverick’s head shoots up from her lap, his tail wagging. He leaps up from his lounging position and starts sniffing at Maggie. She chuckles, her eyes sparkling with amusement as Maverick’s nose seems to dart everywhere—toward her hands, her empty sandwich wrapper, even her hair.
“What’s gotten into him?” I ask, puzzled at the sudden change in his demeanor.
Maggie laughs, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a small ziplock bag filled with dog treats. “He probably smelled these,” she says, holding up the bag for me to see.
Maverick barks excitedly, bouncing on his paws as he waits for his treat.
“Again?” I shake my head, amused. “You’re spoiling him too much.”
With a playful roll of her eyes, she opens the bag and shakes out a couple of small biscuits. “Oh, come on, Jake. He’s been a good boy.”
Maverick’s tail wags in agreement. His brown eyes are locked onto Maggie with an intensity that makes me chuckle.
“All right,” I surrender, raising my hands defensively. “Just don’t blame me when he starts expecting treats every hour.”
She laughs at that, her laughter like wind chimes in the gentle breeze. It’s a sound that brightens up the day more than any sun could.
“Deal!” She grins, tossing Maverick a treat that he catches midair. “Oh, and Jake?”
“Hm?”
“Don’t look at my blog. Not yet.”
Chapter Ten
Maggie
The smell of fresh paint and sawdust fills my nose as I stand in the living room of the lake house, contemplating swatches in my hand—soft blue or warm beige. The peeling wallpaper is nowhere in sight, and now, there’s a fresh canvas for me to add my personal touch to. A sense of contentment washes over me, a feeling so foreign that it takes a moment to recognize. For the first time in a very long time, I feel a spark of hope. Like this is my fresh start, my new beginning.
“Jake!” I shout, hoping he’s within earshot.
He’s been in and out of the house doing small tasks that make such a big difference—cabinet handles and new faucet in the kitchen, trim work in the hall and bedrooms, and anything else I’ve asked him to do. He may have done it with a gruff shrug, but I know he enjoys it.
The sound of shuffling feet grows louder until he appears in the doorway. His eyebrows raisedat the sight of the paint swatches on the wall. He leans against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest.
It’s not that I’m just now noticing his muscular frame or that he’s wildly attractive, it’s that I’m becoming accustomed to it, accustomed to him. It’s part of the whole Jake package. Rough around the edges yet deeply thoughtful, irritable but charming in his own way, and yes, easy on the eyes.
“What do you think?” I ask, fanning my hand by the swatches.
“They’re fine.”
I shake my head at him. “Fine?” I question playfully, raising an eyebrow at him. His choice of words isn’t particularly helpful, but I realize I wasn’t actually expecting him to have a preference either.
