“Kinda cold for salads,” he noted, “but yeah, that’s pretty simple.”
She grabbed salad makings, studying the prebagged stuff for freshness, then grabbing some add-ons: cranberries, candied pecans. “You okay with feta? Or chèvre?” she asked, not looking at him.
His stomach grumbled. He’d only had a cup of coffee that morning, which was probably a mistake. “Yes to both.”
“We’ll grab some when we get toward the deli,” she mused. “And we’ll grab a rotisserie chicken. Then you can have a simple salad with chicken, cranberries, pecans, and feta. What kind of dressing do you like?”
“With that? Maybe a light vinaigrette?” he suggested, his mouth watering. “Damn. That sounds really good.”
“I should make it more, myself,” she agreed, “but it’s edging into winter, and I’m not as much of a fan of salad outside of summer. Now, I’m all about soup.”
“I like soup too,” he said.
“Grilled cheese and tomato soup, maybe?”
They went back and forth like that, wandering the aisles, getting food. He was by necessity going to have more at-home meals than he’d had in the past two years, he realized . . . and he was looking forward to it.
“Do you eat like this? All the time?” he found himself asking.
She shrugged. “I cooked more when Kit was home,” she answered. “I liked making more experimental stuff. Indian food. Vietnamese food, of course. Mexican food. His father didn’t really like ethnic food, so once he left, I went a little wild.”
It was the first time she’d made any mention of her son’s father, despite talking fondly at length about Kit himself during their lunch the previous day. It piqued his interest, but he got the feeling now wasn’t the time to ask. He really, really hoped there would be more opportunities to delve deeper, if he just bided his time.
They eventually got him enough food for a week, and she promised that she’d help him after that, but insisted that “next time, buster, you’d better have a list.” They’d bantered back and forth easily. Hell, he’d had more fun grocery shopping with her than he’d had at the football party, or even having breakfast with Riley, by a long shot.
They drove back to his place, and she helped him put all his groceries away. By which he meant she snarked “Oh, sit down before you fall down” and then moved like a whirlwind, putting away stuff with a ferocious efficiency that was startling. She was done in minutes, it seemed, and he stared in awe.
“I put away your food, dude,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I didn’t perform trachea surgery.”
He shook his head. “I’m just . . .”
But before he could finish, there was a knock on his door. He frowned.
“Expecting anyone?” Maggie asked.
He felt a ball of ice in the pit of his stomach. “Oh, please God, no,” he whispered.
She grinned. “You just sit there,” she instructed, then went to the door and opened it. From his place at the dining room table, Aiden watched in horror as Deb emerged on the other side of the door.
“Maggie?” she said, eyes comically wide. “What are you doing here?”
“Helping Aiden.” Maggie sounded matter of fact, like it was something she did all the time. “We just went grocery shopping.”
“Oh. I . . . um, brought a lasagna?”
“That’s really nice, thanks,” Aiden called, and Maggie threw a look over her shoulder that pretty much said shut up if you want to live, but he would hate being rude.
“I’ll take it and put it in the fridge,” Maggie said, relieving her of the burden.
“Is there anything else I can do?” Deb asked. “Because I’ve got plenty of time. I know how much you hate being around people, Maggie, and you’re working so hard. I’m happy to stay, help Aiden with whatever he might need . . .”
“No, no, I’m fine,” he tried to reassure her.
“C’mon, men never admit they need help,” Deb insisted, her super-cheerful, super-efficient, just-this-side-of-pushy demeanor returning full force. She turned back to Maggie. “Don’t worry, I’ve got it from here, Maggie. Maybe we can catch up some other time . . . ?”
“Actually,” Maggie said, overpowering Deb’s runaway-train monologue, “we were just about to watch a movie and hang out before dinner.”
Deb’s words screeched to a halt, and her mouth fell open a little. She looked at Aiden.
“You two are . . .”
“Just gonna talk about guild stuff,” Maggie said firmly. “That’s how we know each other: video games. He’s a good friend, so if he needs me, I’m on it. Don’t worry. He’s okay.”
Deb looked stunned, like none of what she was witnessing computed.
“Uh . . . okay. Well, if you need me, Aiden, you know how to reach me,” she finished, her tone weak. She nodded at Maggie. “Good seeing you,” she added.
“Great seeing you too,” Maggie said, then shut the door behind her. She shook her head. “Awkward. But hey, over with.”
He looked at her. “Am I keeping you from work?” he asked. He hated the thought.
She arched an eyebrow at him. “If you were, I’d say: I have to work, I’ll take you shopping later.”
He chuckled. Then he looked at her hopefully. “Do you have to go do work later?”
She stared back at him. “Oh my God. You’re like six feet and you’re built like a tank, and you have the audacity to try puppy dog eyes at me?”
He added a comically exaggerated lower lip.
She cracked up. “Lucky for you I’m waiting on some client stuff and I got up early to do billing,” she grumbled, but laughter still hinted around her eyes and lips. “Besides, I ought to probably watch something with you, just in case Deb is waiting around the corner for me to leave or something.”
“Movie?” he pleaded, then sighed. “We could even watch something old in black and white.”
She shot him an indulgent smile. “You know I like cartoons and anime too. How about something animated?”
He grinned broadly. “Now we’re talking.”
CHAPTER 20
MUNDANE MADE AWESOME
She’d been at Aiden’s all damned day, and now well into night. And she really ought to go. But she . . . well, didn’t.
It was ten o’clock, and they’d just knocked out a bunch of Jujutsu Kaisen episodes while eating Deb’s lasagna, which was quite good. She supposed she ought to feel sorrier about cockblocking the woman （or whatever the female equivalent of cockblocking was—clam slamming? cunt shunting?—she’d have to ask Mac） but frankly, she hated it when people got invasive. Sure, Aiden needed help, but he was also a grown-ass man. If he didn’t want to accept Deb’s help, she couldn’t just politely and passive-aggressively nudge her way into his life and his living room because she thought it was best. The fact that Deb was also apparently interested in Aiden, romantically speaking, made it a big no-go for Maggie. Like she’d taught Kit: consent was crucial. That was across the board, and it applied to men as well as women.