and read in my room. I don’t want to keep you up.”
“I usually stay up late. Some things don’t change. We can’t watch television because Selah is in the only room with a TV.”
“We could play cards or a game of old school Scrabble,” Gil suggests, gesturing at the basket of games and cards tucked next to the bookcase in the corner.
“Deal.” Maggie gets up to grab the Scrabble board. “Do you want to play at the dining table or sit on the floor here?”
“Dining table if you don’t mind. You set up the board while I put the bowls in the dishwasher.”
“Do you want another glass of wine?” He grabs the bottle and waves it at her.
“Are you having another beer? I don’t want to be the lush.”
“I’ll have another one if you do.”
“Sure.”
He fills her glass.
She has the board and bag of tiles out and ready when he settles in the chair at the head of the table. If she stretches out her feet, she’ll be touching his legs, so she keeps her legs tucked under her chair.
He pulls out a “B” tile from the bag before she reaches in and takes out a “M”.
She sets up all her tiles and looks at her selection of letters: U, R, C, N, T, S, P. If they were playing dirty Scrabble, she’d have the perfect word.
As if reading her mind, Gil plays “LICKS”.
Tempted but not sure she should go there, she plays “PUNTS.”
She grabs five more tiles from the bag.
While he studies his tiles for a few minutes, she notes he’s the same player he was in college— slow and methodical.
He plays “LEASE” off of the “L” in “LICKS,” and then adds up his points on the pad of paper and sips his beer. A comfortable quiet settles over the table.
She drinks her wine and studies her new tiles before deciding to play “GLOVE” off of the last “E” in “LEASE.” Looking up writing down her score, she notices Gil looks sleepy.
“Hey sleepy, you forgot to take tiles out of the bag.” Maggie nudges him with her foot.
“Sorry. I think I hit the wall…” His words trail off into a yawn, his deep voice more rough with sleep.
“We can call it a night.” Maggie hides her disappointment. She’s been enjoying Gil’s quiet company.
“Do you mind? Let’s tip our tiles down and continue this tomorrow.”
“That sounds like a good idea since we don’t need the table for meals. I’ll have to kick your butt later.”
When Gil stands up and stretches, she stares at a sliver of exposed skin again. Shaking her head, she can’t believe she is ogling Gil’s stomach.
“Like you ever kicked my butt at Scrabble.” He tugs down his shirt.
“Once I did before I grew to hate playing with you. You never let me win.”
“You wouldn’t have liked it if I ‘let’ you win and you know it.”
“This is true,” she says, busying herself with turning off lights around downstairs.
“You should be all set. Extra towels in the linen closet in your room and toothbrushes etc in the vanity in the bathroom.”
“Thanks,” he tells her as they head upstairs. “Good night, Maggie May. It’s great seeing you again.”
“Same.” She means it.
After getting ready for bed, she stands at her bedroom window, looking out at the dark water lapping the beach. She picks up a wishing rock from the many scattered along the windowsill and sets it on her nightstand before slipping into bed.
Eight
Maggie opens her eyes to the rude light of another cloudless, deep blue sky. The bluff appears close enough to touch out the windows. Stretching, she bargains with herself to skip her morning run. Maybe she can use a house full of guests as an excuse to avoid her daily three miles. Biscuit stretches out beside her and presents his belly for a rub.
Hearing a knock at her door and before she says come in, Quinn walks in with a cup of coffee in both hands. Maggie sits up, relieved and vaguely sad it’s him.
“Morning, starshine. Good morning, Mr. McGhee.” Quinn
“I usually stay up late. Some things don’t change. We can’t watch television because Selah is in the only room with a TV.”
“We could play cards or a game of old school Scrabble,” Gil suggests, gesturing at the basket of games and cards tucked next to the bookcase in the corner.
“Deal.” Maggie gets up to grab the Scrabble board. “Do you want to play at the dining table or sit on the floor here?”
“Dining table if you don’t mind. You set up the board while I put the bowls in the dishwasher.”
“Do you want another glass of wine?” He grabs the bottle and waves it at her.
“Are you having another beer? I don’t want to be the lush.”
“I’ll have another one if you do.”
“Sure.”
He fills her glass.
She has the board and bag of tiles out and ready when he settles in the chair at the head of the table. If she stretches out her feet, she’ll be touching his legs, so she keeps her legs tucked under her chair.
He pulls out a “B” tile from the bag before she reaches in and takes out a “M”.
She sets up all her tiles and looks at her selection of letters: U, R, C, N, T, S, P. If they were playing dirty Scrabble, she’d have the perfect word.
As if reading her mind, Gil plays “LICKS”.
Tempted but not sure she should go there, she plays “PUNTS.”
She grabs five more tiles from the bag.
While he studies his tiles for a few minutes, she notes he’s the same player he was in college— slow and methodical.
He plays “LEASE” off of the “L” in “LICKS,” and then adds up his points on the pad of paper and sips his beer. A comfortable quiet settles over the table.
She drinks her wine and studies her new tiles before deciding to play “GLOVE” off of the last “E” in “LEASE.” Looking up writing down her score, she notices Gil looks sleepy.
“Hey sleepy, you forgot to take tiles out of the bag.” Maggie nudges him with her foot.
“Sorry. I think I hit the wall…” His words trail off into a yawn, his deep voice more rough with sleep.
“We can call it a night.” Maggie hides her disappointment. She’s been enjoying Gil’s quiet company.
“Do you mind? Let’s tip our tiles down and continue this tomorrow.”
“That sounds like a good idea since we don’t need the table for meals. I’ll have to kick your butt later.”
When Gil stands up and stretches, she stares at a sliver of exposed skin again. Shaking her head, she can’t believe she is ogling Gil’s stomach.
“Like you ever kicked my butt at Scrabble.” He tugs down his shirt.
“Once I did before I grew to hate playing with you. You never let me win.”
“You wouldn’t have liked it if I ‘let’ you win and you know it.”
“This is true,” she says, busying herself with turning off lights around downstairs.
“You should be all set. Extra towels in the linen closet in your room and toothbrushes etc in the vanity in the bathroom.”
“Thanks,” he tells her as they head upstairs. “Good night, Maggie May. It’s great seeing you again.”
“Same.” She means it.
After getting ready for bed, she stands at her bedroom window, looking out at the dark water lapping the beach. She picks up a wishing rock from the many scattered along the windowsill and sets it on her nightstand before slipping into bed.
Eight
Maggie opens her eyes to the rude light of another cloudless, deep blue sky. The bluff appears close enough to touch out the windows. Stretching, she bargains with herself to skip her morning run. Maybe she can use a house full of guests as an excuse to avoid her daily three miles. Biscuit stretches out beside her and presents his belly for a rub.
Hearing a knock at her door and before she says come in, Quinn walks in with a cup of coffee in both hands. Maggie sits up, relieved and vaguely sad it’s him.
“Morning, starshine. Good morning, Mr. McGhee.” Quinn
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