Page 23 of Falling Backwards (The Edge of Us #1)

As far as earning tips goes, slow work shifts aren’t my favorite. However, it’s so cold and wet outside today and sleep eluded me for so long last night that I kind of appreciate how easy brunch has been thus far.

The only interesting things that have happened are Paxton showing up again, which has brought conversation, and Maggie’s ex being seated at a table near my bar with his girlfriend, which has brought curiosity.

It’s possible he hasn’t actually been peeking at the front of the house because he’s searching for Maggie. It’s possible my brain has simply settled into lookout mode because of Kyle.

All that’s for certain is he keeps sneaking looks over there while he hangs all over his girlfriend, and I keep noticing. It reminds me of a couple weeks ago when he was here and he all but groped that girl right in front of Maggie.

Well, he is a lame-ass, so maybe he’s still hoping to make his ex jealous somehow.

I remember how she looked at me in that shirtless minute yesterday.

Did she ever look at him that way? I can’t help wondering quietly. All rapt and wide-eyed and sincere and like she felt breathless from the mere sight of him?

I mean, they were together for several months, so I’m sure they were…physically intimate….

Even briefly thinking about that puts an unwelcome feeling in my stomach.

I clear my throat and start working on the mimosa order that, funny enough, is coming in from Marcus’s table; his girlfriend wants a third one.

Obviously, he and Maggie were attracted to each other to some degree. Of course he didn’t disgust her. But he seems so whatever, you know? I never witnessed a truly connected moment between them any of the times I saw them together. I never saw a spark, was never forced to roll my eyes and tell her crossly, ‘Get a room.’

There’s gotta be a spark between you and the person you’re with. It won’t keep a relationship alive on its own, but it’s still important.

The cold part of me wants to say she and I don’t have a spark either. Which is why that part of me is cold, right? No spark between us—no warmth, no heat, nothing. Just distance and detachment.

Except that would be an outright lie.

“Ugh, bro,”

Paxton groans around a mouthful of food. I blink over to him as he sets his fork on his cleared plate.

“Thish French toasht ish life.”

This isn’t new from him, but it still has me chuckling. I finish the mimosa and set it out for the server to collect.

As my eyes drift that way again to see what Marcus is doing, I’m unsurprised to find him zeroed in on someone at the front of the house. I look over and see a girl has entered the restaurant but isn’t facing this direction because she’s talking to an older woman. It’s not Maggie and I know it, but she partly resembles her with the long, dark hair and the similar height—until she twirls in a circle while looking around at Lucent’s elegant interior, and then she resembles her even less.

And Marcus, I find, is outwardly disappointed.

Yeah, it seems to me like he’s hoping the real Maggie will show up while he’s here.

He turns his attention this way and catches me watching him. I give as polite a nod as I can, then refocus on Paxton, who has swallowed his food and is talking to me once more, voice low.

“So how are things with you and the GF?”

I blow a raspberry and say in kind.

“Fine, I guess.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, haven’t gotten mad enough to try to rip each other’s head off just yet. Miraculous, huh?”

“Well, I wouldn’t call it a miracle. I figured you two could act like grown-ups.”

I chuckle again.

“You saying we were acting like kids before this?”

“Something like that!”

We laugh together now, and I shrug because he kind of has a point.

At the same time, he kind of doesn’t understand why we are the way we are.

I drum my fingertips on the bar top, unsure if I should say what’s on the tip of my tongue.

Between glancing at her ex, remembering how she reacted to me touching her eyebrow, and work being slow, I decide to go for it, still quietly.

“When I came up with this idea, I knew it’d be complicated in some ways, and it is. There are things about her that get on my nerves, and there are things that don’t. Some of them remind me of when we were young, but others come from this version of her. Annoying and not-annoying alike.”

Annoying and lovely alike, I silently correct myself.

Paxton is nodding about my out-loud words. “Mmm.”

“It’s weird.”

“I’m sure. You’ve gone a long time with two halves of younger Maggie in your head—the one you cared about and the one who pissed you off—plus the salt-in-wound half of older Maggie. Now the other half of older Maggie is squeezing in there too.”

That’s an accurate way of describing it, since I sometimes feel like my brain is going to explode from how much room she takes up in it.

I admit.

“Even though I’m glad to be helping her, the ‘her’ part of it can be really overwhelming.”

“Well, do you ever think about just…”

he gestures away from himself.

“…like, putting it out there?”

“Putting what out there?”

“That you wanna mend fences or whatever.”

My eyebrows shoot up even as my insides clench because I have caught myself inching towards thinking that once or twice.

“Who said I wanna mend fences?” I ask.

“Why wouldn’t you want that?”

He pauses.

“Unless you despise her. Which you don’t. Or unless whatever she did to you in high school was straight-up unforgivable. Which it wasn’t, ’cause if it was, you’d despise her.”

He shrugs.

“So, yeah, I ask again: why wouldn’t you wanna try to fix it?”

While I drum my fingertips on the bar again, answers pile up in my head.

I’m still hurt about her spreading lies about me and topping them off with a private truth I didn’t want anyone else to know.

It seems unlikely that she would hear me out if I tried to apologize again for going along with Jayden’s stupid plan.

I don’t wanna ruin what peace we’ve built up and force us to regress into constant hostility, because not being up in arms has felt really good.

Unlike a minute ago, the urge to speak honestly doesn’t poke at me. If there’s a place or time for telling Paxton what happened, it isn’t here or now.

So I just say.

“Fixing it is a two-way street with some pretty big potholes hanging out right in the middle of it. Wouldn’t be fun for either of us.”

“Eh, it’s like that a lot of times, I think. But wouldn’t it be worth it to try to patch up the ugly places so you don’t knowingly damage your car a little bit more every time you go down that road?”

I mutter.

“Could just avoid the road altogether.”

He leans towards me, winks, and whispers.

“Regarding traveling, sure. Regarding relationships, it can be a bitch-out move.”

While he chuckles, I look around to make sure the coast is clear, then subtly flip him off.

That just makes him laugh more, and I can’t help joining in.

“Are you an expert on relationships?” I ask.

“I basically am. I mean, not for myself since I prefer dating to being tied down, but when you consider how much advice my parents have inundated me with over the years….”

“Ah, yeah, you don’t stay married for an eternity without learning valuable stuff.”

“Sure don’t.”

This conversation wraps up, and I take his plate and offer a refill on his orange juice.

Shortly, he’s paid up and heading out. As he goes, I notice Marcus’s girlfriend passing him, seemingly heading for the restrooms. I turn to start wiping down where Paxton was dining—and I’m surprised to see the ex-boyfriend himself coming right for me.

His hands are in the pockets of his slacks and an amicable smile is on his face, but his pace isn’t relaxed. He looks like he’s trying to be quick.

Once he’s close enough, I greet him like a good employee.

“Yes, sir?”

“Hey, hello. How are you?”

He continues before I can answer.

“Can you tell me whether Maggie is working today? She’s a hostess. I was hoping to see her.”

Well, there’s the confirmation on that suspicion.

He won’t get any help from me, though.

Resting my hands wide along my side of the bar, I scan a look over him.

“I can’t, actually. Schedules are private information.”

I’d like to tack on that he’s a tool, but I refrain. Now I’ve learned I was right about him, it’s time to learn what his motive is.

“You used to date her, right?” I ask.

He perks up like he’s pleased that I don’t think he’s just some random dude.

“I did, yes.”

He glances away for a moment, then steps closer between two barstools.

“She’s a nice girl, but whew, I had to end it.”

I cock an eyebrow at him.

He contemplates me, then unpockets one hand and bends his arm onto the bar.

“Well, dude to dude, it’s just that I quit being attracted to her. You’re a good-looking fella, too, so I’m sure you get that we deserve to be with someone who fits with us. Isn’t it a shame how these girls get all comfortable in their relationships and don’t care if they gain weight?”

My head jerks back like he’s spit at me.

Did…did I hear that right?

Displeasure prickles through me as I say slowly.

“No, I don’t know what you mean.”

He shakes his head.

“Lucky you, then. See, you ask a girl out ’cause you think she looks great, but she only keeps up the impressive stuff for, like, a few months and then that’s it. Before you know it, she’s all relaxed, not caring about her weight, and you’re left feeling like you’re the only one who’s trying to make things work anymore. It happened to me once before Maggie, and I’ve seen it happen so many times to my dad. He’s a super successful guy—total catch—and you’d be surprised how many women snag him and then just quit trying ’cause they think they’ve won. They kick back and settle in for the happily-ever-after like that’s the end of it. Like they don’t have to impress their man anymore and no one’s gonna care if they get bigger.”

He shakes his head again.

“You just can’t stand for it, you know? When they pull that kind of thing, you gotta do what you gotta do. People have standards.”

I stare at him.

Uh, yeah, I heard right. He really did say he dumped Maggie because he didn’t think she was skinny enough anymore.

My easy mood from earlier decidedly barrels towards anger.

It takes a ton of self-control for me not to let expletives fall out of my mouth and instead ask.

“If you think about Maggie like that, why do you wanna see her today?”

“Well, it was insulting that she let herself go while she was dating me, like she didn’t care enough about me to be her best self. At first, I was just gonna move on, but I actually saw her in here a couple weekends ago, and the look on her face was priceless. I think it shook her up to see me with my new girl, who is a freaking goddess, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

He glances away again, then talks more quickly.

“So I’ve decided I wanna formally introduce Maggie to her and get some closure for myself. Know what I’m saying? You know how you leave a bad relationship and then the other person sees you happy with someone new and it just…makes you feel good about yourself?”

I inhale slowly, my blood veritably boiling now.

This dude.

Is a fucking.

Asshole.

He is going out of his way to be vindictive over what may be the most ridiculous perceived slight I’ve ever heard of in my life. He literally thinks he was in a bad relationship just because—

Stay neutral. You’re at work, and he’s not worth getting upset about.

That inner voice sounds more than a little bit like Maggie’s.

That’s not why I ignore it, though. I ignore it because Marcus may be worthless, but the girl he’s talking shit about is not.

I tell him.

“Maggie Moss has always been drop-dead gorgeous.”

He looks at me for a puzzled second, then snorts in amusement—and dismissal, I think.

Indeed, he says.

“Maybe you think that about the workplace Maggie you’re familiar with. You haven’t known her as long—”

“I’ve known her for almost ten years.”

That seems to surprise him.

I reiterate.

“She has always been the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever laid my eyes on.”

“Well, her face is pretty,”

he says as if in compromise. He straightens from his casual lean on the bar.

Straightening, too, I cross my arms and look down on him, and not only because he’s a bit shorter than I am.

He suggests.

“Agree to disagree? About the rest of her, I mean?”

Then his name rings out from beside us and he looks that way.

“Ah, there’s my goddess!”

I watch him extend an arm to his girlfriend, who comes up with a glowing smile.

My smile is forced for her. For him, it’s nonexistent.

He opens his mouth to say something else, but I go first.

“Your remarks about Maggie have been unwelcome, to put it extremely politely. I’d appreciate it if you apologized.”

His girlfriend rubs at his chest with one hand.

“What’s he talking about, honey? Who’s Maggie?”

Still too casually, he shrugs at me.

“I don’t believe an apology is called for. I was just stating my opinions. And it’s not like I was flat-out rude and said them to her face.”

I plant my hands on the bar again and lean towards him. My eyes bore into his.

“But you said them to her boyfriend.”

Fresh surprise hits him.

Things are quiet and unmoving for a few seconds while he hopefully realizes he gossiped to the wrong stranger.

Uneasily, the girl asks.

“What’s going on?”

It’s still not my place to answer her, so I don’t.

Marcus ignores her again, too, as he asks me.

“Oh, you’re with her now, huh?”

“Big time.”

“Well….”

He lets go of his girl and seems to outline the shape of Maggie in the open air with his hands. Then he tsks.

“Have fun with all that.”

I tap the bar with my hands, then push away from it.

“Yeah, and you have fun being an insufferable jackass.”

The girl gasps. His eyes bug out of his head and he stares at me, incredulous.

I feel no regret whatsoever. I’m perfectly fine with what I’ve said—happy with it, even.

Marcus explodes into insults about me and my bartending job and says he’s going to hunt down my manager, but I’ve already started reaching under the bar for the phone so I can call Mr. Polk and tell on myself.

—

Maggie isn’t due at work until two, but she shows up a bit early, while I’m alone in the back room finishing my break. She called the restaurant a while ago to ask when I’d be taking it; she wants a few minutes to talk to me without work getting in the way.

I throw away my snack trash and watch her sit at the table I’ve been at, positioning herself sideways in the chair beside the one I’ve been in. Me sitting back down will put us closer together than she probably realizes, but I don’t move my chair even an inch before settling into it and angling myself towards her.

Yep, my thigh presses right up against her knees, which are covered in see-through black tights because she’s wearing a dress today.

I try not to dwell on my stirring urge to touch one of them. I bet that fabric feels pleasant, though undoubtedly not as pleasant as the skin underneath. Bet she’s somehow warm even though it’s cold outside.

Her ex is so fucking stupid, I think for the two-hundredth time since he went on his pathetic way. So stupid and shallow. I can’t believe him.

“So,”

Maggie starts.

She hasn’t moved even an inch away from me either.

“So,”

I echo.

“How has your day been?”

“Nice. How about yours?”

“Nice, too, I suppose. Mostly quiet.”

I’m sure she’ll freak out when she learns about the not-quiet part.

Not going to tell her about it right now.

I drag my eyes from where we’re touching so I can take in the rest of her. Lucent-appropriate black dress under the coat hiding the rest of her body from me. Dark hair up in a ponytail that’s halfway draped over one shoulder. Sweet expression on her face.

Wait, why does she look sweet?

Like she can hear the thought, a smile graces her lips before she presses them together. She slips a hand into her coat pocket.

“I got you something.”

…She did what?

Intrigued, I sit up straighter and watch her produce a rectangle-ish thing enclosed in dark blue wrapping paper, neatly tied up with silver ribbon.

“You got me something?”

“Yeah.”

I take it from her and find it’s kind of squishy, kind of crinkly.

“Can I open it now?”

“If you want. It’s okay if you’d rather wait.”

“Psh. Waiting is for kids at Christmas.”

And saying that is how I earn today’s first giggle.

I take a moment to soak up the smile that comes with it. Can’t help smiling myself.

Then I see about this gift. It’s clear she was meticulous about the ribbon, so I take care not to destroy that. I untape the ends of the paper, and the seam down the middle on the back. I get it all out of the way to reveal….

Rushing warmth overtakes my chest.

I nestle the package of gummy worms into my hands.

She thought to get this for me?

She did. Thought to get it, even spent time wrapping it. For me.

“Oh, wow,” I murmur.

And I notice it’s not just any old package. It’s—

“That’s the one you like, right?”

she checks lightly.

“The brand, I mean?”

I meet her gaze just for a second.

“You know it is.”

I told her so when we were sixteen. Told her if I can’t get my hands on this brand, I don’t bother eating gummy worms. It was true before I met her and it’s been true ever since; in fact, this is the same brand I took into Merritt’s the other night.

“Yeah,”

she agrees.

“I guess I do know it.”

We fall quiet.

She bought my favorite candy for me.

The thought keeps circling in my mind. Even though it is just candy we’re talking about here, the gesture makes me feel moved and grateful, amused and increasingly warm.

I look from the candy to her knees. Her knees to her hands in her lap. Her hands to the candy. The candy to her knees again—they’re starting to bounce a little.

“Thank you,”

I finally tell her.

“Most special gift I’ve ever gotten.”

She lets out a breath of a laugh, but I’m not joking.

“You’re welcome. Um…thank you. It’s a thank-you gift.”

Aha.

“There’s something else on the back, if you haven’t noticed already.”

That intrigues me anew because I hadn’t noticed. What could it be?

I turn the package over—and promptly send her a disapproving look, because there’s some cash taped here.

“No,” I say.

“Yes,”

she counters.

I start peeling the tape away.

“I’m all for the free gummy worms, but I don’t want money.”

She closes a hand over mine, stilling it.

“Please keep it. I mean, it’s not much, but some repayment is better than none.”

Bet her hand would fit in mine even better now than it used to.

I blink at the thought and at her, then tell her.

“I’ve told you before that I don’t care about being repaid.”

Her hand shifts away as she leans towards me. She lowers her voice.

“Yeah, but since I’m not your favorite person, this is a huge thing you’re doing, which makes, ‘I don’t care about being repaid,’ sound unreasonable.”

I lean in too.

“Ooh, now I’m unreasonable. I don’t know if you’ve called me that one before.”

She visibly fights her amusement.

I wink at her.

The smile gets through.

Pleased, I lean away again and finish with the tape.

“Thanks for the thought, but I’m not accepting this.”

“Yes, you are.”

“You can’t make me.”

I look over her shoulder and think up a quick bit of nonsense.

“Wait. Timeout. Does that flyer say Fall Out Boy are coming to town?”

Maggie whirls around in her chair.

“Where do you see that?”

While she’s distracted, I swiftly tuck the money into her coat pocket.

Not smoothly, though—she feels it and turns back this way, gasping. “Hey!”

I think, Damn it, but reply, “Hmm?”

I summon my most innocent smile.

“You tricked me!”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

I gather my gummy worms and the wrapping stuff, and I don’t try very hard not to graze her knees with the back of my hand while I get to my feet. One could even argue that I try a little too hard to make sure it happens.

“Still like the ol’ FOB, do ya?”

“Yes. You got my hopes up.”

She stands, too, and stuffs the money between the candy and the wrapping paper.

“Take this.”

“No.”

I dig it out and reach to get it back into her pocket. She tries to step away but bumps into her chair, so as she rebalances, I succeed.

“Luke,”

she whines.

“Maggie,”

I mimic her.

“Just accept—ah!”

I yelp out a laugh as her fingers attack a ticklish place on my side. I try to escape, but between my vulnerability and my own chair being a bit of an obstacle, I don’t get far at all. Chuckling, she wedges the money under the candy again.

“You accept it!” she says.

“I don’t want it!”

“Too bad!”

I finally get away from the table. She follows well enough for me to try to stick the money back into her coat, but my other hand is too busy holding my stuff to stop her from wrangling the cash out of my fingers. I give it up, then quickly cover the candy so she can’t use her tactic again.

But she shoves her hand down into my pants pocket instead.

I suck in a breath and halt my backwards shuffle—she jostles into me and grabs my other shoulder with her free hand, eyes wide like she’s startled herself along with me.

Holy God, is loud in my mind like our breaths in the ringing silence and my heartbeat in my ears.

This sudden closeness has me noticing a few things at once.

The shade of her irises in this lighting; it’s almost like actual moss.

A sheen appearing on her lips because she’s just wet them; I automatically do the same to mine, and she flicks a glance to them.

Her hand feminine and addictive where mine is always unremarkable; the warmth emanates through the fabric to my thigh, which tells how very close she is to my skin, which is a mouthwatering fact, especially with her touch this close to certain other parts of me.

And she isn’t skittering away.

Or moving at all.

Or trying to apologize.

Or saying anything else.

She’s just standing here, looking up at me with those magnetic fucking eyes and keeping her hand in my fucking pocket.

I don’t mind.

Can’t mind.

It’s a golden cage of a moment—trap me here for an hour, I don’t care.

This is going on my list of touches I’m okay with. Pretty sure her hand belongs right where it is.

That thought is on the cusp of branching out into others, the stirrings of which are already starting to shake me deep, when I pick up on light chatter outside the breakroom.

Maggie registers it too. With a quick breath, she finally leaves the money in my pocket and pulls her hands back to herself. I clear my throat a little more loudly than I mean to.

Another hostess and a server come into the room. I nod at the latter when he looks at us, and oddly, the color and style of his hair remind me of Marcus’s.

Once again, I can’t fathom how he stopped wanting Maggie to be his. For one thing, how was it not enough for him that he liked her as a person? He said she’s a nice girl, not that she cheated or was abusive in any way—did he not think that meant anything? Did he not have special memories and plans with her that he cared about? And then to add on the distaste for her getting a little curvier during their relationship….

None of it makes sense to me. If I were him, I would’ve never—

Wait, what am I talking about, ‘I would’ve never’? That sounds, like, jealous or longing or like, ‘One man’s trash is another man’s treasure,’ or—

“Hey,”

she whispers.

“why are you staring at Dan like that?”

I blink, blink, blink and realize I have been staring at him. He hasn’t noticed like she has, though.

My eyes pass over the clock on the wall. My break is ending. I’ve got no time to tell Maggie any of the Marcus-related things that are piling up in my brain…

…or to relish touching her in any of the ways I’d like to…

…or to convince her I still don’t want this cash.

So I look at her again, sigh, note that she hasn’t moved back from me, and remember how thoughtful she was to buy gummy worms for me.

I’m as freshly warm from that last thing as I am from how bold she was a minute ago.

I tip a smile to her.

“I’ll tell you later. It’s nothing to do with him, though. He just…got me thinking.”

She nods.

“Oh. Okay. Yeah, you gotta get back to the bar.”

“Yeah.”

Another holding look tries to grow between us.

We don’t let it. I take a step back from her and she gives me a smile, too, and then turns and heads for her locker.

I remember I need to go to my own. On the way over, I watch her slip her coat off, finally letting me see the dress she’s wearing. Even being simple, it looks great on her.

While I put my giftwrap and candy away, I think again about how nice our minutes together were. I skim over her thanks, her not being able to fight off a smile because of me, her excitement about my Fall Out Boy fib…and her hands in places that aren’t going to forget her for a long, long time.

If they ever even do.

I secure my locker and head out of the breakroom, hoping to catch her eye but only catching her sweetly complimenting the other hostess on her new glasses.

Lovely on the outside, lovely from the heart.

God knows I’ve gone a long time believing the latter wasn’t true about her anymore, but lately, in one way or another, she’s been making me rethink that.