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Maggie almost didn’t let herself into Cole’s house after her first day of work. It felt sointimateto use his security code and key. Then again, if she hadn’t used them, that would have felt like a rebuff. She didn’t want to insult him, so as much as it pained her, like literally pained her, she let herself in the back door.
“Cole?” she called, her voice sounding small in the marble-floored sunroom.
It, like the rest of his house, was beautiful, but also ... sterile. There were no plants, no piles of magazines or books on the side tables, no rumpled throw blankets on the couch or shoes in the mudroom. He’d just been on set for four months, true, but was it always like this? And if so, could it honestly feel like home?
“In the kitchen,” he called back.
The smile in his voice was unmistakable, enough to melt her worries.
She found him setting the table—that gleaming Scandi edifice under the most beautiful chandelier she’d seen outside a theatre—withstark-white plates and minimalist silverware. He had really good taste, or he’d hired an amazing decorator. Probably both.
And it still felt unreal when he took her face in his hands and kissed her until she was breathless.
He had good taste, and he’d chosenher.
Coming up for air, he asked, “How was the first day?”
“Good.”
“Let me get the food.”
He brought in massive bowls of chickpea pasta with roasted veggies and salad while she told him about the director and the production. Compared toWaverley, this was low to the ground, though no less professional.
“Honestly,” Maggie said, sipping her ice water, “I wish I could’ve started with something like this. I don’t feel out of my depth at all. I feel like ... I know what I’m doing.”
“Of course you know what you’re doing.” Cole seemed so offended on her behalf—offended at her own low opinion of herself. “You were amazing onWaverleyfrom day one.”
“Oh yes, day one of rehearsal, when I pushed Tasha away?”
“That was not your fault, and you got her back. Got her backandsupported her in going public with her story.”
“Which may blow back on her and on you and everyone else who’s helping her.”
“It won’t. And even if it does, I’d still talk to Libby again,” he insisted.
“I know you would, that’s why I”—she stopped herself from blurting outlove you—“think you’re the best.” She smiled like a doofus, hoping that he’d bought her misdirection.
It wasn’t that she doubted loving him. And it wasn’t as if it were too soon in an absolute sense. She’d known the man almost five months. But she’d only kissed him for the first time sixteen days ago. You had to give these things at least the same amount of time it took for a bag of carrots to go soft in the fridge.
“Anyhow, that’s enough about me. Tell me about your day.”
He’d started training for a boxing movie, so his day had been stuffed with working out, meeting his trainer, and carbo-loading. Maggie wanted a nap by the time he’d reached the end of it.
When he’d finished explaining everything she’d never wanted to know about punching bags, she leaned forward. “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“Why do you want to revive your career? That sounds like a skeptical question, but I’m honestly curious. You don’t seem to love being famous. And it’s ahardjob, one without the promise of success even if you work your butt off and are good at it—and you do both. So why?”
He wiped some condensation off his glass with his thumb. “I’m usually too focused on the plan, on putting one foot in front of the other, to think about that. Sometimes I make the mistake and look down, and it’s like when you’re rock climbing. It makes me dizzy. I think ...” He eyed her. “You’re not going to yell at me about how I shouldn’t feel guilty again, are you?”
“I didn’t yell. I cajoled with feeling.”
“Right, of course. Important distinction. But there were things I got that I didn’t earn. Good things, like jobs and publicity, but maybe also bad things, like tabloid headlines and broken self-esteem.”
She raised her eyebrows at him, and he laughed.
But his expression fell serious again. “Restarting my career would be a chance to balance the scales. I want to get back to the top by being a good person. Doing things the right way. I want to be a good coworker and a good friend. For me, but also for the industry. I mean, I’m selfish, don’t get me wrong. I want to pay this house off and save for retirement, and I like getting to write my own ticket. But when I’m in something likeWaverley, it’s hard to believe thatCentral Square—with all its mess—existed, you know?”
