Take A Chance With Me (With Me in Seattle 18)

If I weren’t completely and utterly in love with her, I’d walk away. Be content with being her eldest brother’s best friend, and that’s it.

But I’ve had a thing for Maggie since I came back to town when she was about twenty, and I discovered that she’d grown up into a gorgeous, interesting woman.

Unfortunately, she was already married to the asshole who would eventually try to destroy her.

We all knew Joey was an idiot, and no one liked how he spoke to Maggie when we were around. I can only imagine what it was like for her when we weren’t around. Until he died, she didn’t say much about it. After he had the heart attack, we learned that he’d been cheating for years.

What a complete moron.

I should have made her stay put last night. Made her listen. But it’s not easy to make Maggie do anything she doesn’t want to do.

It’s one of the things I love about her.

I’ll go find her later this morning and smooth things over. She might have an Irish temper, but she doesn’t stay angry for long.

I rinse my coffee mug and set it in the sink. Grabbing my keys, I open the front door and then stop short.

“That’s twice in less than twenty-four hours I’ve found you outside my house.”

Maggie’s on the steps, her back to me. She sits up tall when she hears my voice. I walk over and lower myself next to her. She’s in a puffy orange jacket with a gray hat over her red hair. She’s holding a pink box and has two cups sitting on the step next to her sneaker-clad feet.

“I brought you coffee and donuts,” she whispers. “Because I’m a jerk, and I need to apologize.”

“You’re not a jerk, Mags.”

“Yeah, I am.” She shrugs a shoulder and finally turns her sweet face to me. She has tears in her gorgeous green eyes. “I’m sorry I’m a moron.”

“If you don’t stop calling yourself names, I’m gonna get really mad.” I lean over and kiss her cheek. “What kind of donuts did you bring?”

“French crullers.”

“Those are my favorite.”

“I know.” She passes the box over to me and then grabs one of the cups, offering me that, as well. “And coffee. Black.”

“You should yell at me more often. I get good food out of it.”

“It’s not funny.” She sounds miserable, and I want to pull her to me and hold her close. Reassure her.

But I don’t know if that would be welcome.

I stand with the treats in my hands and motion for her to follow me. “Come on inside. I can’t eat these all by myself.”

“Weren’t you headed out somewhere?”

“Yeah, to find you. Come inside, Maggie.”

She stands, and with her coffee clutched in her hands, walks inside behind me.

“It’s damn cold out there,” she says with a shiver.

“How long were you sitting on my stoop?”

“Only about a half hour or so. I didn’t want to wake you up or anything.”

I turn and stare at her. “A half hour? For Christ’s sake, Maggie, you’ll catch a cold.”

“That’s an old wives’ tale,” she says and then promptly sneezes. Her eyes widen, and she points at me. “That was a coincidence.”

I laugh, open the pink box, and eat one of the crullers in two bites, then reach for another. “They’re still warm.”

“You’re so classy,” she says with an eye roll as I shove another into my mouth. Suddenly, I know that last night’s storm has passed. “Why were you coming to see me?”

I wash the donut down with a sip of coffee and lean on the counter as Maggie sits on a stool at the kitchen island and nibbles on a donut. I like seeing her in my place. I just like having her nearby, period.

“I was coming to talk about last night.”

She sighs. “I was afraid of that. Can we forget it ever happened? Because I know I was acting foolish and rash. And you’re allowed to date anyone you like—it’s not really any of my business.”

I narrow my eyes and cross my arms over my chest so I don’t just yank her against me and kiss the hell out of her.

“Did you not hear me last night when I told you that the woman was a freaking client?”

“I heard you.”

“But you didn’t believe me.”

She shrugs a shoulder again. “I have no reason not to believe you.”

“Jesus, you’re the most frustrating woman on the damn planet.”

“Well, I apologized, so I’ll just leave now if I’m that bleeding frustrating.”

“You’ll sit your ass on that stool, Mary Margaret.”

Her eyes widen at my tone, and I swear under my breath. “You’d test the patience of a saint.”

“And you’re no saint,” she says. “I guess I forget that sometimes. Because you’re always so calm and collected. You never get worked up.”

“I do, too. Especially when it comes to you.”