Getting Lucky (The Portland Pioneers Book 2) (15 page)

Maggie chuckled. “It’s called an apron.”

“Yeah, that thing,” Cal said absently, turning his attention to the drawer.

“Maybe I don’t want my shirt to look like we had a food fight before dinner even starts.”

“You’ve never cared about that before,” he pointed out.

This was technically true, but every year, she looked back at the Thanksgiving photo and wished she’d been proactive enough to at least change her shirt before Ella dragged out her camera. So last night, when she’d laid awake, obsessing over every detail of the day, she’d remembered that and decided maybe she didn’t want Noah to see her with turkey entrails smeared all over her clothes.

“Is this it?” Cal asked.

“Yes,” Maggie said, grabbing it from his outstretched hand, dipping it in the butter and slathering it on the turkey.

“What do you know? It actually looks like a paintbrush.”

Maggie laughed at his surprise. She hadn’t known quite what to expect from her best friend today; they’d spent so much of the last week fighting. But when he’d showed up this morning with a contrite expression and a bottle of her favorite champagne, she hadn’t been able to stay mad. “I told you.”

“Yeah, but usually when you compare kitchen implements to tools, I don’t get it.” He grinned and leaned against the opposite counter. “So who’s coming today?”

Maggie finished basting the turkey and slid it carefully back into the oven. Setting the pot of flavored butter on the stovetop, she straightened and turned to the sink. “Ella, of course, and Lucas. Janice. Rosa and Miguel.” She paused. “Oh, and I invited Noah Fox.”

She could practically feel Cal’s smile morph into a slight frown. “I didn’t realize you two were quite that friendly.”

It was kind of hard to answer that question, especially when she didn’t want Cal to know that just two nights ago, she’d had her tongue in Noah’s mouth.

“He’s alone, and new in town. I thought it seemed appropriate,” Maggie said, trying to keep her tone casual.

“If this is some big plot to convince me to bid his house remodel, it’s not going to work.”

Maggie glanced over her shoulder. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s Thanksgiving. You know, the holiday where we open our houses and share the bounty of our tables.”

“I don’t think his bounty needs any more sharing,” Cal grumbled.

Maggie whirled to face him. “That is enough,
Calvin. I won’t hear another word. I invited him because this is
my
house, and
my
Thanksgiving, and god almighty, he’s just as alone as the rest of us. Stop being such a selfish jerk.”

The hurt expression that flashed across Cal’s made Maggie instantly regret just how harsh she’d been but
ugh,
she couldn’t help but think,
why does he have to distrust Noah so much?

“I just don’t like the way he looks at you,” Cal said quietly.

But I do
, Maggie really wanted to say.

“So this is just plain old-fashioned jealousy then?” Maggie asked archly, even know she already knew it was. She’d always believed Cal was above that sort of nonsense.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and glanced at the floor. “It’s not jealousy, Maggie. I just want someone who deserves you, Mags, you know that.”

Maggie hated lying to him; she’d never kept something this big from him before, but his irrational assumption that Noah was a jerk was making it difficult to be honest.

“He’s a good guy, I swear,” Maggie insisted. “You’d think I’d invite him here, to this house, if I thought he was some kind of egotistical prick? Either you trust me or you don’t.”

“I do trust you. You know I do. I’ve never faulted your judgment.” And he hadn’t, which was why this hurt, Maggie realized.

“Then trust me,” she said, turning back to the sink. Picking up the potato peeler, she couldn’t help the memories that overtook her at the familiar object. Noah, laughing, his head thrown back, an apple in one hand, a peeler so similar to this one in his other. The glorious line of his cheekbones as he bent over the trashcan and tried to make sure every bit of apple peel had been stripped away. The strength in his arms as he’d boosted her to the counter and kissed her like she was the absolute center of his universe.

“Those potatoes must be pretty amazing,” Cal observed, and Maggie glanced up guiltily to see his eyes on her.

Noah had stayed until the last pie had come out of the oven, and Maggie had apologized profusely for keeping him awake until 2 AM, but he’d only smiled at her sweetly, claiming that it had been the best excuse he’d had in forever to stay up past his bedtime.

He’d kissed her goodnight then, wrapping her up in his arms, as if he could absorb the very essence of her into him. She even thought she’d heard him murmur in her ear that he’d miss her.

“They’re going to be,” Maggie smiled over at him. If only she could tell Cal the truth. She
wanted
to, but his inevitable reaction held her back. She could only hope that maybe today, he’d put aside his stupid prejudices and actually get to know the amazing guy she’d discovered inside the famous ballplayer.

Most of the time now, she forgot who he even was—he’d just become Noah to her.

“Do you need more help?” Cal asked, glancing back to the living room where she could hear the football game still on the TV.

“No,” she gestured with the peeler, “but I do want to talk to you about something.” Maybe she couldn’t tell him about Noah and her growing feelings for him, but she could definitely set the record straight about her friendship with Cal.

“Shoot,” Cal said, trying to act casual, but Maggie saw the apprehension written all over his face. He knew what she was going to say. Why was it so hard to say it?

Maggie knew why. Deep down, she was terrified that saying that she’d never date him would change their friendship. Never once in twenty seven years had she ever had a reason to doubt it, but these were extraordinary circumstances, and it had already been so weird over the last two weeks. Still, he deserved an answer and she absolutely knew that she had to tell Calvin her decision before she became more involved with Noah.

“I’ve thought about it,” Maggie said slowly, seriously. “I really, really did, Cal. And I’m sorry, I can’t. You’re my best friend in the whole world. I love you. But I can’t date you.”

He sighed deeply. “I know.”

She gave him the warmest smile she could dredge up. “Are we going to be okay?”

“Of course,” Cal scoffed, as if he couldn’t believe that she’d think any differently. He reached over and hugged her tight against him. “You’re my best friend too, Maggie.”

“Good,” she sniffed.

“Doesn’t mean I’ll like Noah Fox though,” Cal said with a stern voice but a twinkle in his eye as he released Maggie. She just rolled her eyes.

“Go watch your football game,” she insisted fondly. “But listen for the door, yeah?”

The potatoes were onto boil and Maggie was just starting to dice the onions, celery and Granny Smith apple for the stuffing when she heard the knock on the door.

She glanced at the clock on the oven and knew it was too early for anyone else to be over. The rest of her invited guests knew what time she typically served dinner and wouldn’t show up until an hour or so before. This had to be Noah.

Maggie took a ragged, nearly calming breath and smoothed her hair back. She resisted the urge to run to the bathroom and check her face in the mirror. He hadn’t minded the flour she’d been covered with two nights ago. It was good to make an exception for turkey organs, but otherwise, he knew what she looked like and he liked her anyway. She refused to become self-conscious just because he was so
good-looking.

Before she could even move to the front door, though, she heard Cal open it, and sure enough, Noah’s deep voice. She strained but she couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, though at least it sounded civil.

Taking a deep breath, she tried to collect herself before walking into the living room to greet Noah, but before she could, he was suddenly in her kitchen doorway, smiling down at her. Dressed in a black button-down with the sleeves carelessly rolled up and a pair of dark jeans, Maggie’s mouth nearly watered at the sight of him.

“Maggie,” he exclaimed with so much delight she couldn’t help but blush and hope that Cal hadn’t heard that. But Cal had decided to stay in the living room, so Maggie had zero qualms about wrapping her arms around him in a big hug.

Yes.
Hugging
. That was
exactly
what she wanted to do with this incredible man who’d just sauntered into her kitchen.

“It’s good to see you,” she murmured into the crisp fabric of his shirt, her head barely reaching his shoulder. “I missed you.”

His expression was priceless. It was like he’d been thinking the exact same thing as her, but had been too afraid to say so. “I did too,” he whispered back, and glanced out into the living room before maneuvering her back towards the other end of the kitchen. Scooping his fingers into her hair, he pressed her against the wall and proceeded to kiss her like he was on fire and wanted her to burn down along with him.

“Wow,” she managed to squeak out when he’d finally lifted his lips. “Wow.”

“Wow is right,” he murmured into her neck.

He lifted himself off her, but Maggie almost wanted to grab him back and demand he finish what he’d started a few nights before. Unfortunately, this was exactly the wrong time for them to go barricade themselves in her bedroom. She had a Thanksgiving dinner to cook, and even though she’d cooked quite a few in her lifetime, the finer points still required concentration.

Plus, she wanted it to be so amazing that Noah never forgot it. He might have bought a house in town, but Maggie wasn’t under any mistaken impression that he’d be sticking around permanently. Sand Point might be just a detour for him, and she selfishly wanted him to remember her for something, long after memories of their affair passed.

“What do you need help with?” he asked.

“Honestly, I’m fine. Most of Thanksgiving is pretty boring prep.” Maggie gestured towards the vicinity of the living room. “If I suggest you go keep Cal company, will I find my coffee table destroyed later?”

Noah just shrugged. “He doesn’t like me very much.”

“I’d say he doesn’t like many people, but that’s actually not very true,” Maggie said wryly. “He’s practically Saint Cal to the rest of the town.”

“What about for you?” Noah asked.

Maggie pulled out her favorite santoku knife from a drawer and proceeded to dice an onion in about thirty seconds, the blade sliding like butter through the layers.

“I’ve known Calvin my entire life. His attitude towards you is. . . .odd.”

Noah didn’t respond right away, and before she started on the second batch of celery, Maggie glanced up to see him staring at the knife in her hand.

“What?” she asked, wrinkling her forehead in confusion.

“Um, you were just. . .
really
scary with that knife,” he breathed out, clearly a little in awe. “Please tell me Tabitha can’t do that.”

Maggie laughed. “You know Tabitha. She wouldn’t even know which end of the knife to cut with.”

“Where did you learn to do that?”

“Culinary school. First class, knife skills. I’ve actually lost a little of my edge over the last few years. I’d never make it in a big city restaurant anymore—not on the line during the dinner shift, anyway.”

Noah shifted his weight against the counter, and Maggie couldn’t help but think this was a particular specialty of his. He could practically teach a class in seductive leaning.

“Do you ever regret it? Leaving San Francisco and coming back to Sand Point to open the café?”

Maggie slid him a look as she tackled the rest of the celery. “You’re full of questions, today.”

“I like learning about you. You’re like that onion—a lot of layers to unpack.”

“Actually,” she chuckled, “I think I’m rather simple. Running a small business tends to boil you down to your most essential elements. But to actually answer your question—no, I don’t ever regret it. I never wanted to stay in San Francisco. It was good for a few years of experience, but I always intended to come back to Sand Point and start the Café.”