“Huh.” Maggie blinked, then shook her head. “Yes. Thanks. I really do need this problem fixed.”
“And I told you I’d fix it,” Aiden reassured her. “So let’s get going.”
Without another word, Maggie turned and almost sprinted out. He started to follow her more slowly—damned foot—but Deb put a hand on his forearm, stopping him.
“I know you’re just trying to be nice to her,” Deb said in a low voice. “Trust me, I get it. I’ve been trying to help her too. It’s easy to feel sorry for her. But . . . I mean, you have a whole house full of people. You can’t just walk out. They’re here for you.”
He had what his mother called a long fuse. It took a lot to piss him off.
He’d reached the end of his fuse.
“Did I invite them, Deb?”
“That was the surprise, Aiden.” Deb half laughed. “We’re just trying to—”
“Did I invite them, Deb?”
She blinked. Then, dammit, her lip started quivering, and her eyes brimmed with tears.
“I was just trying to help, though,” she said. “I swear. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
He felt like an ogre. “I know you were,” he said, his voice more exhausted than anything. “And I do appreciate the thoughtfulness and the intent behind it. But first ask me before you think about doing anything like this again.”
She bit her quivering lip, nodding.
“Second,” he tacked on, “Maggie’s my friend.”
He thought back to the words Maggie had used, when she’d thought he was some kid with a broken foot who needed some soup.
“I have her back. Always. So I’m going to go. Just lock up when everybody’s gone, okay?”
“You’re going to be gone that long?” Deb’s voice sounded stunned.
He honestly had no idea how long it would take to fix Maggie’s problem. But no matter how long it took, he wasn’t coming back to this.
“Yes, I am.”
Then he walked away.
Maggie was waiting for him, car door open. “Look at you go,” she said. “Pretty soon I’ll teach you how to tell people to fuck off like a Bogwitch!”
“Shuddup,” he muttered, but he felt himself smile, and his chest warmed when she smiled back. “Let’s get out of here.”
CHAPTER 22
YOU CAN’T FIGHT FATE
Maggie gnawed on her lower lip as she watched Aiden in her home office. The house wasn’t palatial, but she did have her own little spare room in addition to Kit’s old room. Her office was her kingdom, her refuge. She wasn’t used to seeing anybody in it. Especially not a big ginger cinnamon roll of a man, who was currently humming under his breath as he clicked through her computer.
She was glad that he had stood up to Deb. Not that she had anything against Deb, per se. They just didn’t have anything in common. Deb was an extrovert. When they’d scheduled playdates, or worked together on things like the school fair or whatever, she tended to listen to what Deb had going on but didn’t share much about her own life—largely because she didn’t know what to say about Trev, especially as things went downhill. She’d genuinely felt bad when Deb and Barry had gotten divorced a year ago and had sent over a chicken pot pie and a baked rigatoni casserole for her and Harrison. But they hadn’t hung out just the two of them, ever, and Maggie was fine with that.
After shutting down Deb not once but twice, Maggie got the feeling even the cheerful Deb might shank her in a dark alley. Still, Maggie hated seeing anybody get rolled over, and Aiden was definitely letting Deb run roughshod. Which shouldn’t be her problem . . . but here she was, allowing him to futz with her internet.
She could fix it herself. Eventually. With a lot of crying and cursing. She might not have been a programmer or anything, but her life was largely lived online. Which was why this whole thing was so frustrating. She’d tried everything.
She wondered if Aiden was bullshitting his knowledge of things. She really hoped not.
He frowned. “Where’s your router?”
“My router?” She frowned. She pointed to a high bookshelf. “It’s over there.”
He hobbled over, staring at it. Then he started chuckling gently.
“Sweetie,” he said, surprising her with the endearment. “It’s off.”
“That’s it? My router’s off?” It was too high for her to see—supposedly the best place in the house for it, but still. “Goddamn it! I should’ve looked at that first! I know better!”
He nodded. They tried messing around with that for a while; then he rubbed his bearded jaw. “You have a power outage recently?”
“Here in the Upper Falls, we have outages all the time,” she said. “Short ones, though, unless it’s, like, a windstorm or snow knocking down a tree onto the line or whatever. We’ve had a lot more recently because they installed a new line too low.”
“What, are vehicles hitting it or something?” Aiden looked horrified.
She giggled. “Actually . . . apparently, they’re being hit by turkeys. Who are then electrocuted . . . and also, somehow, knock out the power.”
“Turkeys.” He started laughing, shaking his head. “Well, you had it plugged directly into the outlet. You should have a surge protector.”
She tried to get on her tiptoes, then swore. “Kit,” she said. “He needed another one before he left, and I forgot we cannibalized my office. I meant to get a new one, but I sort of spaced out.”
“They’ve got that supercenter, couple towns over,” he said. “Maybe an hour drive. I can go with you if you want to go now.”
She glanced at her phone. It was about four thirty, and the Walmart was an hour away, easily. “I’ll grab it tomorrow,” she said instead. “Too late now. I’ll just have to make do.”
He nodded. Then he looked around. “I like your office.”
She felt her cheeks heat. Which was silly, but there it was. “Thanks.”
She watched as his gaze moved over her bookshelves, taking in her Funko dolls, her LEGO hobbit hole, various reference books, and novels that she loved.
“Love that you have graphic novels too,” he said. “I read Sandman over and over as a teen.”
“Somehow, I have trouble picturing you as a goth kid.”
He rolled his eyes. “Yeah. That would’ve gone over. If the football team didn’t rib me endlessly, my parents would’ve lost their minds. Especially if I dyed my hair black.” He chuckled.
She grinned back. She wondered, absently, what he looked like in high school. What he was like.
“I suppose you were a goth kid?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No. My Nana Birdie would’ve been appalled and kicked me out, no question.” She did not chuckle, because she wasn’t kidding. She’d always subtly—or not so subtly—felt like she lived on borrowed time in Nana’s house. “I was your typical honors student. Editor in chief of the school paper. Stuff like that.”
“Huh.” Now his curious gaze was trained on her. “Got any pictures?”
“None I’m willing to share,” she said, shooting him an are-you-nuts look. “C’mon. I figure you’re going to be here for a bit, so I should get started on dinner. Nothing I cook seems to be quick.”