Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

Three weeks. It had been three weeks since Jack Durand had spent the night at Maisie’s house. So why was she still dreaming about him? Why was she still smelling his scent, which had long since faded, on her pillows?

She hadn’t seen him a single time in the interim. It was surprisingly easy to avoid someone when you really set your mind to it, something she’d already discovered in her months-long avoidance of River after he first hooked up with Georgie. But that had been a mistake, one that had hurt both of them, and her sister Molly was adamant that this was too.

“You don’t know what the rest of that note said, Maisie,” she insisted. “He probably said that he wants to keep f—”

“Little ears,” Mary interrupted, covering her toddler son’s ears.

Maisie felt a press of longing. It was Thanksgiving morning, and the O’Sheas were all supposed to be together—they were all supposed to be here , at their family house—but Molly had been given an assignment about holiday dating that required her to go on five Tinder dates on Thanksgiving Day (a huge opportunity, she insisted), and Mary and her husband had decided at the last minute to bring Aidan along to visit his paternal grandparents. So instead, she was sitting at her dining room table, looking at them through a computer screen.

“You might want to inform him he had another set of grandparents,” Maisie had snapped upon learning the news. “Or that, I don’t know, his aunt actually has a life outside of visiting him every few months. I promised to take him to the shelter. You said you were coming.” That last sentence had gotten a little more pitchy than she would have liked. Dammit, she hated showing her cards—she much preferred knowing what was in everyone else’s hands.

Mary had just shrugged as if it was out of her control, but Maisie knew better. Just like she knew Molly didn’t have to do Datesgiving, as she was calling it.

They didn’t want to come. And she knew they thought she was the one who needed therapy, that her wish to live at home, among their parents’ things, was weird, bordering on creepy.

But her thoughts digressed.

“How did you know I was going to say something naughty?” Molly complained.

“Because I know you,” Mary said with an eyeroll. “What are you going to do when you see him, Maisie?”

For a second, she almost asked Him, who?

Because she was going to see both of them today: Jack and River. Which had to be the worst idea she’d ever come up with.

But her sisters had bailed on her, and Adalia was hosting a big Thanksgiving extravaganza at Beau Buchanan’s old house, and she hadn’t really been allowed to say no. Adalia had told her in no uncertain terms that she wouldn’t hear of it. Plus, she’d seen River and Finn on Tuesday night, and they’d agreed they would hunt her down like a couple of bounty hunters if she bailed.

To her surprise, River still hadn’t told Finn about his engagement, which probably meant it hadn’t happened yet. But it was going to happen soon, and she’d feel like she was sitting on the edge of her seat until it did. Which was, all in all, a very good reason to stay home today.

But you want to see Jack , a little voice insisted.

She did. But she wasn’t sure what it meant, and they’d be surrounded by other people. By River and Georgie, Finn and Adalia, Dottie and whomever she’d been allowed to invite (although surely she’d gone rogue and invited some people on the Do Not Call list), as well as Jack’s kid sister Iris. It had all the hallmarks of an awkward situation.

“Well?” Mary pressed. “What are you going to say to him?”

“I guess I’ll start with hello.”

Molly rolled her eyes. “Or you could pull him into the bathroom and lock the door.”

“You seriously might have an s-e-x addiction,” Mary said, scowling.

Aidan had run off, and it felt like Molly was meeting Maisie’s eyes through the camera, the two of them sharing the same thought: why was their sister spelling it out if her son wasn’t there to hear her? They both burst out laughing.

“It might not be a bad idea,” Maisie said, pretending to think about it. “We did have some pretty great s-e-x against the bathroom wall.”

“Oh, you two,” Mary said, as if they shared an affliction and she pitied them. Truth be told, Maisie felt a little sorry for Mary, what with her husband Glenn’s dad jokes and endless stories about his boring job in middle management. Which was judgmental of her for sure, but she’d never pretended to be a people pleaser.

“The truth is I don’t know,” Maisie said honestly. “I’m going there with no expectations other than to bring home some gross turkey for the dogs.”

“And what are you going to eat?” Mary asked. “A dish full of potatoes?”

Maisie rolled her eyes. “I’ll carve some delicate pieces of Tofurky, white meat only.”

“It comes in different colors?”

Her elder sister had to be the most literal person on Earth, God love her. Maisie had been a vegetarian since she was ten—when she realized where the chicken on her plate had come from—and Mary still worried about her protein intake.

“On that note,” Maisie said. “I have to go get ready. We’re supposed to be over there at twelve, and I still have to make something.”

“What are you making?” Mary asked.

“Mom’s corn casserole, of course,” Maisie said. Because it was what she made every year, for every potluck Thanksgiving.

A flash of something like sadness crossed her older sister’s face. She opened her mouth to say something, but Molly interrupted.

“Wear something sexy!” she shouted, as if she needed to speak loudly to be heard through the internet connection. Given that she was the youngest of them, she really should know better.

“How about pants with an expandable waistline and a shirt from the shelter?” she asked, raising her brow. “Sexy enough for you?”

“Hubba hubba, ding-dong,” Molly teased.

They exchanged their goodbyes and hung up. Aidan’s “Happy Thankthgiving, Aunt Maithie” almost made her cry—he had a bit of a lisp, and even though her sister had him in speech therapy, she secretly thought it was adorable.

Einstein looked up at Maisie and whimpered. Chaco sat beside him, wagging her tail.

“Yeah, I know,” she said in an undertone. “I miss them too. And I wish I could bring you guys with me.” Einstein had taken an immediate dislike to Tyrion, Adalia’s dog, when she’d briefly brought him home as a foster. Chaco would have been fine—she liked everyone—but it felt unconscionable to leave Ein alone, even if he didn’t know it was Thanksgiving. Jack had been right. The dogs did better together.

“You’ll get plenty of turkey.” The other dogs at the shelter would get some later this evening. Dottie always made enough for them, and she’d promised to bring over a Tupperware. The shelter was closed for the day, but they were never truly closed. Even if no one was on full-time duty, they still had someone come by to check on the dogs every few hours. Thankfully, Maisie had a couple of very diligent full-time employees, plus a volunteer staff that generously donated their time.

Ein perked up at the mention of turkey, then followed her down to the kitchen while she cooked. She hummed to herself, startling when she realized what she was humming: “Dream a Little Dream of Me” by the Mamas and the Papas.

Although it pissed her off that she cared, Maisie had spent a little longer on her outfit than usual, ending up in a green blouse—Jack had said the color made her eyes pop—a pair of black slacks and a knitted cardigan. But she’d gotten a call from the on-duty volunteer on the way to Adalia’s house, and she’d needed to stop by the shelter to give one of their anxious strays his meds. (The volunteer had been worried about getting bitten, which probably wouldn’t have happened with that particular dog, but at the end of the day, they were volunteers.) So now her pants were covered in fluffy white hair (amateur mistake), and she was half an hour late.

The driveway was clogged with cars, so she parked a little ways down the block, did a half-hearted job of wiping the dog hair off with the roller she kept in her car, and grabbed her casserole dish.

She was somewhat tempted to change her mind now, walking up to the house, hearing the people bustling about and talking in the back yard. But she was Maisie “Red” O’Shea, and she wasn’t about to wimp away from a little awkwardness.

Besides, she didn’t need River and Finn searching all over town for her, singing the bounty hunter theme song they’d come up with while tipsy on margaritas.

It seemed like most of the action was in the back yard, but she headed for the front of the house, figuring she’d leave her dish in the kitchen or wherever the food was being prepared. And while she wasn’t exactly a gourmet chef, she figured she should at least offer her assistance to whomever was in the kitchen.

She knocked, steeling herself for the possibility that Jack might answer. And okay, maybe she actually hoped it would be Jack…and that he’d be happy to see her.

But instead a young girl she’d never seen before opened the door, a look of skeptical boredom on her face. She was beautiful, with long dark hair and eyes as dark as her brother’s—because this was surely Iris.

“They invited more people?” she scoffed. “Where are they going to find room for everyone?”

It was an obvious challenge, and Maisie knew better than to take it sitting down. She’d basically ushered her little sister Molly through her last year of high school, and Molly was nothing like Mary. Their big sister would have had a conniption fit—or several—if she’d known about some of what had gone down, but she’d been away at law school. (Maisie had refused to let her drop out.)

“Maybe we’ll put out a kid’s table,” Maisie suggested, raising her brows. “Should solve the problem.”

Amusement flickered in the girl’s eyes, there and then gone, and she settled on an offended look.

“Who are you, anyway? One of Dottie’s weird friends?”

“Dottie and some of the others,” she said. “I’m Maisie, and I’ll tell you right now, if weird people offend you, you’re in for it today.”

Iris stepped back with a beleaguered sigh, dropped a sullen “You said it, not me,” and Maisie brushed past her.

She took a quick glance around the front room. River and Georgie sat on one of the couches, sides pressed together, but she barely had time to analyze whether that bothered her before Adalia’s big husky barreled into her. The corn casserole went flying, and the dish—her mother’s dish—cracked in two when it hit the hardwood floor.

It was foolish, really—it was just a dish—but it felt like her heart was being squeezed by a boa constrictor.

“Oh,” she said softly, watching for a moment as Tyrion started to lap up the mess.

“I am not on cleanup duty until after dinner,” she heard Iris say, maybe in response to someone asking her to help. “Jack said so.”

Then River’s hand was on Maisie’s shoulder, his touch warm and comforting and safe, and she realized she was crouched on the floor next to the dish with tears in her eyes. Tears that probably weren’t just over a broken dish, to be honest.

If she hadn’t known better than to believe in woo-woo nonsense, she would have thought this was bad luck. It sure felt like it.

“Hey,” River said softly. “That was your mom’s, wasn’t it?”

Because he knew better than anyone that every last thing they’d owned mattered to her. They were just things, she knew that, but they were their things. They were all she had left.

“Sorry,” she said, embarrassed that Georgie was seeing her like this. She shook it off and got to her feet. She shrugged at Tyrion, who was still lapping up the casserole. “At least someone got to enjoy it. That was probably my one major cooking effort for the year. Although I’m glad I don’t have to pick up his poop later.”

“Gross,” River said, bumping her shoulder. Georgie came up to them with a dishcloth that was almost laughably inadequate for the task—or maybe not, given the speed with which Tyrion was eating.

“Thanks,” Maisie said, reaching for it.

“It’s okay,” Georgie said. “I’ll get the stuff spilled on the ground. Why don’t you take the dish? Maybe it can be saved.”

There was nothing on her face to indicate she was being disingenuous, so Maisie didn’t question her motives, she just grabbed up the dish, trying to keep the goopy center contained, and shooed Tyrion away as she headed for the kitchen. Iris had gone off somewhere, probably upstairs.

River stayed behind, presumably to help Georgie, although she also thought she heard someone knocking at the door.

“Did my big lug do that?” Adalia asked, meeting her in the doorway to the kitchen.

Maisie pushed past her. “Sorry, this is still pretty hot. Kitchen emergency.”

She barreled past Finn, who was doing something to a dish of squash—when had she ever seen him cook?—and headed straight for the trash bin. Georgie had updated the house some before leaving—after basically having her arm twisted by a fire Dottie had unintentionally started—but the trash can was still in the same place. Adalia handed her a spoon over her shoulder, and Maisie grabbed it and scooped the rest of the casserole into the trash. For a moment, her hands lingered over the trash can, her gaze locked on the broken dish.

She could glue it together again, but it wouldn’t be useful for anything but decoration. And it wasn’t exactly pretty, really—it was just old.

Maybe Mary and Molly had a point. Maybe it was time to let go of some things. She’d liked the way Jack looked at her, like she wasn’t just one of those poor O’Shea girls who’d lost their parents so young. Like she was a woman who had baggage but didn’t have to be defined by it.

“Do you want to save it?” Adalia asked softly. The door had opened in the great room, and she heard River and Georgie talking to someone, presumably another guest.

“Nah.” But her hand refused to release the pieces.

Then she remembered that Adalia collected broken things, lost things, things no one wanted, and used them in her art. “Why don’t you keep it? Maybe you can use it in one of your pieces.”

Adalia took the remains of the dish from her and rinsed both sides off in the sink, looking them over with interest before glancing back at Maisie. “You sure? Because this is a seriously cool vintage dish, and I’m not going to ask you twice. I am totally, one hundred percent going to take advantage of you.”

Finn moseyed over, having finished whatever he’d been doing with the squash.

“Oh man, was that the corn casserole?” he asked. He was a total glutton when it came to other people’s home-cooked meals, and he’d eaten half of it himself the last time she’d spent Thanksgiving with her friends.

“The first casualty of Thanksgiving,” Maisie confirmed. “Sorry, guys.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Adalia said. A door opened and closed again. “It’s my fault for not putting Tyrion outside. I just get a little twitchy when he’s out there without Finn or me. God only knows where Jezebel is. She snuck out when River and Georgie got here, and I have a feeling she’s going to come back with a live turkey at some point. Why don’t you grab a beer and head out back? Take a breather?”

“I can help out in here if you want,” Maisie said, glancing around. There were dishes piled everywhere, including some that were unmistakably Dottie’s handiwork—a huge bowl of mac and cheese with a note reading “comfort” on the side, a vat of vegetables that read “health,” and a huge bowl of mashed potatoes that read “happiness.” And it wasn’t a lie. Dottie made the best mashed potatoes on the planet, plus she always made a special vegetarian gravy just for Maisie, although Adalia, a pescatarian, would likely eat some too this year.

“We’ve got this under control,” Finn said proudly, which was hilarious and kind of sweet. Before meeting Adalia, he’d struggled to make frozen pizza.

Adalia nodded in agreement. “Dottie’s out there. Jack—”

At first she thought Adalia had started a sentence without finishing it, but then she realized her friend was looking over her shoulder. She turned around, and the sight of him almost made her stumble. Because he was staring at her with an intensity that told her he hadn’t forgotten a single minute of the night they’d spent together. He had on a long-sleeved shirt that clung to those amazing biceps, covered by an apron.

So he’d been outside helping Dottie cook something—or maybe create something. She liked the thought of him out there with Dottie, playing along with one of her games or ideas. It endeared him to her.

As if you needed to like him more.

“Play any poker lately?” Jack asked, lifting his eyebrows.

She gulped back a laugh, all too aware that Finn and Adalia were looking at them strangely.

“Not for a few weeks,” Maisie said. “But they say it’s like riding a bike. You don’t lose any skills if you take a little time off.”

Something flashed in Jack’s eyes, and he opened his mouth to say something, but she never found out what. Stella, of all people, barreled into the kitchen, followed by Lurch, who had a bright pink lipstick imprint on his bald head and a heavy-looking platter in his hands, covered by an aluminum tent. For a moment, the logistics of that kiss imprint boggled Maisie’s mind—Lurch was about a foot and a half taller than Stella, which raised questions about other logistics too. Then her gaze landed on the painting in Stella’s hand.

A naked Lurch stood next to a goose that looked like Diego, hand in wing as if they were shaking on something. Two goats stood behind them, one with a fork in its mouth, the other with a knife.

“It’s called Thanksgiving Dinner ,” Stella said proudly, handing it to Adalia. “I know we got off on the wrong foot, what with the chemistry between me and your man”—she nodded to a flustered Finn—“so I brought you a housewarming gift. Well, two, I suppose.”

Adalia’s face lit up, which came as no surprise. Even if she didn’t want a naked Lurch hanging up on her wall, it was exactly the kind of gift she’d find hilarious. “Let’s hang it in the dining room so we can all admire it while we eat.”

Jack’s gaze shot from the painting to Maisie. Probably Adalia had thought he’d object, but he gave a wicked smile and said, “Sure. It brings up lots of good memories.”

Finn and Adalia were looking at him like he’d lost his mind, but Jack didn’t rush to explain himself.

“Oh, you were fond of Diego, weren’t you?” Stella said, reaching out to touch his arm. And even though she was apparently Lurch’s date for the evening, she hung on to that bicep for dear life.

Maisie couldn’t blame her, but she cleared her throat loudly anyway, giving Stella a look intended to remind her of the warning she’d issued a few weeks back. She clicked her teeth together, miming biting. Sure enough, Stella pulled away, mouthing something that looked suspiciously like “harridan.”

It was then that her earlier comment registered. “Wait, did something happen to Diego?”

Lurch lifted the platter and grinned. “You’re looking at him.”