“You and Cal don’t share all the same interests,” Maggie said. Audrey knew how she felt about Dean, so there was no reason for the tightness closing at the base of her throat, except that recently Maggie kept feeling like she had to defend her faux relationship.
“We share a lot,” Audrey said and looped her arm through Maggie’s, dragging her to the dressing room. “I know romance novels will convince you that opposites attract, but you’re statistically more likely to be attracted to someone who is like you and shares your interests, hobbies, and values.”
Maggie closed the door to the changing room and stared at her reflection in the mirror. She was sure Dean was the one for her. He showed her his love every single day. Yes, it made sense that people were attracted to others like themselves, but that wasn’t true for everyone. She and Dean had things in common. They both liked to read, Dean loved Stephen King, and Maggie read romance novels. They both enjoyed trying different cuisines, although Maggie was a vegetarian who mostly lived off pasta, and Dean went keto and ate enormous slabs of meat. Maggie was sure they had enough commonalities that they would work as soon as Dean stopped seeing her as his little sister’s best friend.
They both loved animals. There. That was another thing.
Maggie pulled on one pair of the pants and the less complicated of the two bras. The pants were baggy around her thighs and knees, although they fit okay on her hips. Maggie pulled the waist around to check the size. She tried on another pair of the pants and had the same fit issues. The strappy bra was a bust. She’d need someone to cut it off of her if she actually wore it. Although, thanks to Mac, she had a shiny new knife that could handle the job.
Mac could handle the job.
What the hell was wrong with her?
“I think you’re wrong about compatibility,” Maggie said after she pulled her own leggings back on and left the dressing room. “If sharing interests were the most important thing, then Mac would have to wait forever for another history-loving bladesmith.”
“Concerned with Mac?” Audrey arched a brow. Maggie rolled her eyes. “Maybe for Mac it would look like a partner who understood his artistry. Someone who is creative, too. Or someone who understands how he can get lost researching something for hours. Kind of like you with your writing.”
“The pants were all too big,” Maggie said and hung them on the clothes rack just inside the changing room door. “Let’s go grab a different size or try a different store.”
Audrey studied her, mouth twisted to the side. It was her concerned face, and Maggie wanted no part of it. She should have known a subject change wouldn’t deter Audrey. Nothing deterred Audrey. She was a terrier masquerading as a labrador.
Audrey shoved another pair of the purple pants at her. “These are XXS, try them. I’ll grab some running shorts. They’ll show off your ass.” Maggie took the pants and held them in her hands, thumb stroking along the smooth fabric.
“Look,” Audrey said, “If you want to take up exercising then take up exercising. Don’t let me tell you what you can and can’t do. Don’t let anyone tell you that. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.” Then she turned on her heel and headed back into the brightly lit aisles of the store to hunt down shorts.
Two hours later, after a stop for lingerie for Audrey and new underwear sets for Maggie, and enough cute, comfy, and trendy clothes to weigh Maggie’s arms down, the pair were back in Audrey’s car and blasting the radio. Maggie was unpacking her messenger bag to fill the mini pleather backpack she’d found and had to have. She transferred her two notebooks, her iPad, her wallet, her Kindle, a handful of hair ties, a bottle of iced tea, fourteen pens, a smashed pack of Oreos, and the small box she’d picked up on a whim.
“I’ll bring you back to the house, and then I’ll cut your hair, and we can play with some makeup if you’re interested.” Audrey said and flicked her turn signal on.
“Sounds good,” Maggie said. “I have something for Mac, anyway.”
Audrey pressed her lips together to hide a twitch, and Maggie resisted the urge to knock against her shoulder. It wouldn’t be smart while Audrey was driving.
“It’s just a thank you.” Maggie thought about the gorgeous dagger she was using as a letter opener–although she’d never tell Mac that—and the way his palm had slammed into the top of the counter as he told off a bigoted asshole. “He made me a knife, and he stood up for Shay at the shop when he dropped it off.”
“Awe. Of course he did.” Audrey pulled the car into the double wide driveway and parked. “He’s really the sweetest guy. He just hides it under a scowl and facial hair.”
“You’d be surprised how enticing a grumpy hero can be.” Maggie let herself out of the car. “There’s a whole trope surrounding the grumpy hero and the heroine made of sunshine.”
“Well, they haven’t found Mac yet. Cal said he doesn’t really date.”
Maggie rolled her eyes and laughed as she hoisted her bags out of the passenger seat. “You know that just adds to his appeal, right? In romance land?”
Audrey straightened, ponytail swinging. “You should write your next book about him. Give him a happily ever after.”
“I don’t write about real people, Audrey,” Maggie said and flushed as she thought of her tall, muscled, sandy-haired hero smiling from the pages of her rough draft. “But a grumpy sunshine story could definitely be in the future. I’ll meet you inside.” She shook her new backpack at her friend. “I’m going to drop off Mac’s gift first.”
“He’s in the forge,” Audrey said, as though the hum of the blower and the dings of a heavy hammer hitting metal weren’t audible all the way to the driveway.
Mac’s back was to Maggie as she walked down the stone path to his blacksmith’s paradise. The forge was in an extra garage at the back of the property. Mac and Cal’s grandparents had probably stored lawn equipment there, but Mac had added a rolling garage door and had filled the inside with medieval looking tools. He had the door open like he always did while working, and the glow from his fire pit backlit his dark hair, powerful arms, and sweat-drenched shirt.
Mac stood in front of a large, dark anvil, a pair of tongs holding the end of a glowing rectangle of metal. He swung a huge hammer down on the top edge of the heated steel. Maggie tried not to watch as the muscles in his arms and back flexed each time he brought the hammer up over his head and then down in a slicing arc. Beads of sweat clung to the back of his tanned neck and bled down to where dark wet patches of sweat soaked his shirt. Those same spots bracketed the sides of his body and the small of his back, and Maggie wondered when she started finding sweat a turn-on. Even after her run with Dean, she’d barely leaned into his side for a hug goodbye. It must be the primal core of her that wanted to press her body up against Mac’s sweaty torso.
The clang of hammer on metal was loud enough to rattle Maggie’s eardrums, and the boxy headphones Mac wore made the necessity of touching him seem like a more and more workable way to get his attention. She watched him swing the hammer a few more times, flinching each time the blow came. He put the hammer down and turned the billet, looking at the glowing length as he turned it left and right. The yellow was fading out of the metal, and Mac took his tongs and carried the billet to his forge before laying the whole thing inside the glowing box. He pulled one glove off and scrubbed his hand down his face and over his beard. Mac lifted his shirt to wipe the sweat from his forehead.
“Hi,” Maggie said before her power of speech failed. She moved into his line of sight.
“Maggie.”