dutifully scratches Biscuit’s belly.
“Morning yourself,” Maggie mumbles while reaching for the oversize mug of steaming coffee.
Quinn hands her the cup and sits against the headboard.
“So. What’s on the agenda for today, Magpie? You better say baking a batch of those amazing scones of yours is the first thing you plan on doing. I’m giving up the giving up of carbs for some of your baked goodies this weekend.”
“Scones do sound good. I have a pint of marionberries in the fridge. Will those work?”
“Perfection,” says a male voice that’s not Quinn’s.
Gil stands in the doorway looking sleep rumpled in a pair of cargo shorts and an Evergreen State T-shirt. He walks over to the bed and sits on the edge. She’s self-conscious about her spaghetti-strap, cotton nightgown. Quinn seeing her like this is no big deal. Somehow having Gil in her bedroom, sitting on her bed, while she is barely clothed feels entirely different.
“What is perfection?” she finally asks.
“Marionberry scones for breakfast,” Gil answers
“If I make scones, I’m definitely going to need to go for a run.”
Quinn pinches her bare arm. “Yep, you’re a big squishy ball of fat. You should probably skip the scones and give your share to me.”
Maggie brushes off Quinn’s pinching fingers. “Be nice, Mr. Eight-Percent Body Fat.”
“You run?” Gil asks from the foot of the bed. “Since when?”
“For a few years now. Needed something to beat back the clock. So I started running and practicing yoga. Biscuit and I were both starting to get paunches.”
“I don’t see any evidence of a paunch or wrinkles.” Gil smiles at her. “I still run. What’s your typical run?”
“Three miles, sometimes four. If I want to torture myself, I run on the tideland during the low tide, but usually I keep to the roads.”
“I brought my running shoes. We should go for a run together,” Gil suggests.
The idea of sweating and panting next to Gil gives Maggie pause.
“Okay, before you two start talking 5Ks and 13Ks and who has a 26.4 sticker on their car, let’s get back to the scones,” Quinn interrupts.
“Always about the food, Q. Marathons are 26.2 miles and 13Ks are not a thing, you know,” Maggie says.
“Whatever. Now chop chop!” Quinn attempts to push her out of bed.
“All right, all right. I’m getting up. Run first, then scones. Can a girl have some privacy for a minute?”
“Magpie, it’s nothing we haven’t seen before. Hello? Topless sunbathing phase.”
Maggie blushes at the memory of their tar beach summer before junior year.
“I miss those twenty-year-old boobs.”
She swears she hears Gil whisper “me too” as he walks out the door. That’s strange, she thinks. All twenty-year-old boobs or my boobs specifically?
* * *
By the time Maggie gets outside, she finds Gil stretching on the front steps, wearing running shorts and the same gray Evergreen T-shirt. His long legs are toned and tan. He looks good. Really good.
Maggie wears her typical black capri leggings and a purple running tank, her hair pulled into a high pony tail. She’s forgone her iPod and earbuds in case Gil wants to talk.
“No Biscuit?”
“He’s going to stay behind and make love-eyes at Quinn.”
“What’s our route?” Gil pulls one of his legs behind him to stretch.
“I usually run up the hill to the main road and then head out toward the bluff. It’s pretty flat with a couple of gradual hills in the middle. That work for you?”
Gil makes a sweeping gesture toward the road. “After you.”
“I might be a slower runner than you. Are you sure you don’t want to head out on your own?”
“Nah. I’m here more for the scenery and the company. Run to your pace and I’ll adjust.”
His sweet words make her smile.
Maggie jogs up the hill to warm up before running to her typical pace once she hits the main road. Gil easily keeps up. He doesn’t seem to be breaking a sweat. Of course not.
“If
“Morning yourself,” Maggie mumbles while reaching for the oversize mug of steaming coffee.
Quinn hands her the cup and sits against the headboard.
“So. What’s on the agenda for today, Magpie? You better say baking a batch of those amazing scones of yours is the first thing you plan on doing. I’m giving up the giving up of carbs for some of your baked goodies this weekend.”
“Scones do sound good. I have a pint of marionberries in the fridge. Will those work?”
“Perfection,” says a male voice that’s not Quinn’s.
Gil stands in the doorway looking sleep rumpled in a pair of cargo shorts and an Evergreen State T-shirt. He walks over to the bed and sits on the edge. She’s self-conscious about her spaghetti-strap, cotton nightgown. Quinn seeing her like this is no big deal. Somehow having Gil in her bedroom, sitting on her bed, while she is barely clothed feels entirely different.
“What is perfection?” she finally asks.
“Marionberry scones for breakfast,” Gil answers
“If I make scones, I’m definitely going to need to go for a run.”
Quinn pinches her bare arm. “Yep, you’re a big squishy ball of fat. You should probably skip the scones and give your share to me.”
Maggie brushes off Quinn’s pinching fingers. “Be nice, Mr. Eight-Percent Body Fat.”
“You run?” Gil asks from the foot of the bed. “Since when?”
“For a few years now. Needed something to beat back the clock. So I started running and practicing yoga. Biscuit and I were both starting to get paunches.”
“I don’t see any evidence of a paunch or wrinkles.” Gil smiles at her. “I still run. What’s your typical run?”
“Three miles, sometimes four. If I want to torture myself, I run on the tideland during the low tide, but usually I keep to the roads.”
“I brought my running shoes. We should go for a run together,” Gil suggests.
The idea of sweating and panting next to Gil gives Maggie pause.
“Okay, before you two start talking 5Ks and 13Ks and who has a 26.4 sticker on their car, let’s get back to the scones,” Quinn interrupts.
“Always about the food, Q. Marathons are 26.2 miles and 13Ks are not a thing, you know,” Maggie says.
“Whatever. Now chop chop!” Quinn attempts to push her out of bed.
“All right, all right. I’m getting up. Run first, then scones. Can a girl have some privacy for a minute?”
“Magpie, it’s nothing we haven’t seen before. Hello? Topless sunbathing phase.”
Maggie blushes at the memory of their tar beach summer before junior year.
“I miss those twenty-year-old boobs.”
She swears she hears Gil whisper “me too” as he walks out the door. That’s strange, she thinks. All twenty-year-old boobs or my boobs specifically?
* * *
By the time Maggie gets outside, she finds Gil stretching on the front steps, wearing running shorts and the same gray Evergreen T-shirt. His long legs are toned and tan. He looks good. Really good.
Maggie wears her typical black capri leggings and a purple running tank, her hair pulled into a high pony tail. She’s forgone her iPod and earbuds in case Gil wants to talk.
“No Biscuit?”
“He’s going to stay behind and make love-eyes at Quinn.”
“What’s our route?” Gil pulls one of his legs behind him to stretch.
“I usually run up the hill to the main road and then head out toward the bluff. It’s pretty flat with a couple of gradual hills in the middle. That work for you?”
Gil makes a sweeping gesture toward the road. “After you.”
“I might be a slower runner than you. Are you sure you don’t want to head out on your own?”
“Nah. I’m here more for the scenery and the company. Run to your pace and I’ll adjust.”
His sweet words make her smile.
Maggie jogs up the hill to warm up before running to her typical pace once she hits the main road. Gil easily keeps up. He doesn’t seem to be breaking a sweat. Of course not.
“If
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