Page 6 of 6 Clues Your Nemesis Loves You

Once again, Maggie isn’t alone. Her preppy boyfriend is kicking up the rear, blond and blue-eyed, exuding a hefty dose of Ivy League flair. I debate bolting for the door when they get in line, but I’m done being affected by this woman I didn’t even date. I need to embody laid-back Lennon. The chill guy who was friendly with everyone in high school and didn’t dive-bomb when girls were near.

“If it isn’t Maggie Edelstein,” I say in an overly chipper voice. Decidedly not cool. “Are you following me around town?”

My bad joke is out there, floating in the no-man’s-land between us. She can’t pretend she doesn’t see me. I can’t hit rewind and sneak out Delilah’s back exit.

Maggie flicks her head in my direction but clings to her boyfriend’s arm. “Why in the world would I be following you?”

“I mean, I get it. I’m sure you’ve missed me.”

“How could I miss someone I barely knew?”

So we are still playing the we-don’t-know-each-other game. Except I think I’ll change the rules. For four months, while I was nineteen and she was seventeen, I let Maggie lay down our parameters. I was stuck redoing my last year of high school. She was two years younger than me and miles more mature. Probably still is. But I’ve been a version of invisible for ten years of WITSEC and have spent my first year of freedom living in Houston, feeling disconnected. I’m thirty now, finally back in Windfall. The only person in charge of my life these days is me.

“Well.” I tap my chin. “We weren’t exactly besties, but we did hang out a fair bit. Spent a lot of nights together at—”

“Can we not?” she says firmly. “History is history.”

She steps toward the counter, but her boyfriend wants no part of that decision. He gives her a little tug and leads them to my table, oblivious to Maggie’s horror-stricken expression.

“Hi,” he says and shoots out his hand. “I’m Harrison. Maggie’s plus-one.”

I fit my hand into his and attempt to give a firm shake, but his hand does one of those limp-fish numbers that creeps me out. “I’m Lennon. I’m sure Maggie’s told you all about me.”

“Not you, specifically. But your family’s pretty famous around here. The whole witness-protection thing.”

I release his floppy hand and make a conscious effort not to wipe my palm down my jeans. How a guy who limp-shakes can handle a firecracker like Maggie is anyone’s guess. He doesn’t even have a callus on his manicured hands.

“I recall something about witness protection,” I say, upping my sarcasm. “There was a death threat or fifty.”

My joke falls flat. Harrison drags his hand through his Ivy League hair. Maggie barely looks at me, except…no. Her eyes keep flicking toward me. If I’m not mistaken, there’s sympathy there. Compassion in the softening by her mouth. Or I’m just reading into everything Maggie, my typical modus operandi around her.

“Harrison,” she says, flashing him a stiff smile, “why don’t we—”

“What brings you to Windfall?” he asks me, not picking up on Maggie’s get-me-out-of-here vibes.

She seethes, her fair complexion burning red.

I do what I do best in awkward or emotional moments and fill the discomfort with humor. “Figured I’d pick up where my father left off. Work for a cartel and launder money. The usual.”

Harrison’s eyes dart around as he hunches toward me. “You work for a cartel?”

Wow. This limp-shaker is not only clueless to Maggie’s emotional vibes, he’s also painfully gullible. “Only on weekends. The rest of the time, I run outdoor programs for kids. Send them into the wilderness in Hunger Games-style death matches.”

He blinks at me for several long beats. Maggie rolls her eyes and clenches her jaw. I can’t tell if she’s annoyed with my jokes or irritated that her boyfriend’s IQ hovers at equator levels.

She schools her features and yanks on Harrison’s arm. “My lunch hour is vanishing fast. We should order.”

“Your wish is my command, Gummy Bear.” He kisses her cheek.

She flinches, likely at that ridiculous nickname. What I don’t understand is why she’s dating this tumbleweed.

The Maggie I knew would’ve punched me in the dick for calling her Gummy Bear. She was fun and brash, outspoken and wild. Too smart for a guy who falls for obvious jokes. She’s certainly too sexy for those smooth, limp hands. But what do I know? Ivy Leaguers like Harrison were her type in high school too. Polished presentation. Rule followers.

Guys she acknowledged in public.

I avert my attention from them, hating how much Maggie still affects me.

“Lennon.”