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“I’d like that very much. Thank you.” Lucas sounded almost as relieved as she felt.
Mission accomplished, she thought as she walked back to the office. She’d asked Vivi to make his drink, knowing her hands would have shaken too much under his gaze. But they’d cleared the air. He hadn’t been trying to ruin her. He only wanted to know her better. I can do that, Maggie thought, as she reached for her water bottle at the edge of her desk.
After plugging in everyone’s desired schedule, she didn’t put her name on the remaining shifts. Instead, she shared the schedule with the team and asked them to pick up the remaining shifts. As a salaried manager, Jack expected her to work forty to forty-five hours a week, but she regularly worked around sixty hours. Maggie didn’t get paid for the additional shifts, but she’d worked them to ensure a strong bottom line—she didn’t want to buy a failing business. If she got blow-back on the schedule, she’d talk to Jack. It’s no longer my problem, she thought with a tiny twinge of guilt, a hint of sadness, and a pinch of relief.
Maggie saw Lucas at his preferred table, the one she thought of as his. As eager as she was to spend time with him—a walk was just what she needed after emerging from her funk—she stopped to appreciate the view.
Lucas Rodriguez wasn’t magazine-cover handsome. While he always smelled great, he’d never be the face for an expensive men’s cologne. He’d be on an inside ad, doing something rugged, like swinging an ax to chop wood or wrestling a stuck calf out of the mud. Now that summer was over, his bronze skin was lightening, but it still hinted at his Hispanic heritage. His jaw was firm—and lightly shadowed—and his cheekbones high. The corner of his mouth ticked up as his finger scrolled on his phone.
She debated waiting until a full smile erupted, but that might be dangerous for the weird mood she was in. She was on the edge of something, and Maggie didn’t like edges. She liked certainty, but there was nothing certain about Lucas or her stirred up emotions where he was concerned. His eyes lifted and met hers. Too late, she thought, as his full smile shone on her. “Most people take a booth,” she said as she approached him.
He stood, shoving in his chair. “I’m not most people. Booths can be too confining.” He patted his solid stomach.
“Oh,” Maggie said, as she realized his girth would make it more difficult to squeeze into a booth. She always had problems with her long legs. “Should we get going?” she asked before she said anything else that might embarrass him.
Lucas followed her out of the building and across the parking lot toward Tumble Falls. They walked the lit path around the outer edge of the falls as they talked. Maggie asked him more about his family and his sister, the chef. Lucas told her about their farm and how it had changed over the generations. Maggie gave him a brief history of Thistlestone and shared that after World War I, her great-great-grandfather, Callum Murdoch Buchanan I, had received the large tract of land as a thank-you for saving the life of an American soldier. And while Thistlestone was technically a farm, One had named it a ranch in true wannabe cowboy fashion.
“Was he a farmer in Scotland before the war?” Lucas asked.
“Of sorts. Mostly sheep and some grain, but the family struggled. And, as the second-born son, he knew his only path to success was to leave.”
“The more things change, the more they stay the same,” Lucas murmured. “Is the farm still in the family?”
“Yes, the Buchanans still farm it and my great aunt, or maybe a second cousin—I never can keep that straight—married into a whiskey family, so they’re growing more grains.”
“Is that why Cal’s pushing to grow more barley?”
“Yes. He’s always been interested in distilling. Even as a young boy, he loved trailing after Grandad while he checked on the still. Sometimes I’m not sure if he wants to be a farmer or a distiller.”
“Can’t he be both?”
“That’s a lot for one person, don’t you think?” Maggie asked as she rubbed her hands over her arms. Her thin sweater was no match for the cooler weather now that the sun had set.
“Not if he had a partner. Someone he trusted.” Lucas pulled his arm out of his sweatshirt as they waited for the traffic light to change.
“Lucas, stop. I am not wearing your sweatshirt.” They were almost back at Marketplace. A few more minutes of being cold wouldn’t kill her. She was tougher than that.
“Who said I’m giving it to you? Maybe I’m just too hot.” He dragged it off slowly, as if knowing she tracked his every move. He placed it over her shoulders, looping one sleeve through the other, saying, “Win-win. I can cool down and you’ll stay warm without having to wear it.”
Maggie fought the desire to bury her nose in the sweatshirt. Maybe later when he wasn’t standing so close. His hands still held the ends of the sleeves crossed in front of her, and with each breath she took, they gently grazed her abdomen. Their eyes locked and held until a woman screeched, “Stop! Help!”
Maggie turned toward the noise just as Lucas grabbed a little boy by his suspenders and pulled him off his tricycle before it sailed into the intersection. A car honked and swerved as the bike’s front tire caught in the grate by the curb.
An anxious woman pushing a stroller charged toward them. “I’m so, so sorry,” she panted as the baby stroller bounced off Lucas’s shin. “The baby was fussing, and I stopped to check and the next thing I knew, he was taking off down the path like a bat out of hell. He knows he’s not supposed to do that,” she choked. “If you hadn’t been there…”
“Bat out of hell,” the little boy slowly repeated, before sticking his thumb in his mouth and cuddling into Lucas’s neck. Maggie bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing as the mom’s face turned beet red.
Lucas chuckled. “No harm done. But”—he lifted the boy’s head to look at him—“you scared your mom half to death. Good boys don’t do that. They listen to their moms and stick to their sides to make sure they don’t get lost or hurt. Do you understand?” The little boy nodded, and Lucas handed him over to the mom.
“Thank you, Mr.?” she asked, extending her hand.
He shook it, saying, “Just a guy out for a walk who was in the right place at the right time.”
“Do you need a hand getting home?” Maggie asked as she retrieved the trike from the edge of the road.
“No, thank you. You and your superhero boyfriend have done more than enough.” She assured them they lived nearby, and after Lucas reminded the little boy to behave, they watched the family stroll away, neither of them correcting her on their relationship status.
Lucas grabbed her hand and tugged her into the crosswalk as the Do Not Walk light flashed. “Run!” he called, and she laughed as he pulled her behind him.
