The tips of Mac’s ears flamed pink. Mac glanced over at her again. He had fully relaxed now, limbs loose, hand draped carelessly over the top of the wheel. Maggie had never felt safer.
“I’m sorry,” he said.“I must have bored you to tears. You don’t pay me to lecture you.”
“I like listening to you talk, Mac.” Maggie laced her fingers together before she did something stupid like reach for his free hand. “I like what you have to say.”
“I usually don’t talk much,” Mac said, cupping the back of his neck with his palm.
“I know, but you looked like you could use a distraction. I figured your brain was sending you some intrusive thoughts, and I know what that’s like.”
“I kept seeing us clip the curb and then flip into the brick buildings. Everything was on fire and I couldn’t get you out.” Mac tensed up for a moment and swallowed hard before dropping his hand. “I needed to get you out.”
“We barely swerved a foot,” Maggie said. “You were in complete control the entire time.”
Mac pulled his car into a free spot in front of Maggie’s apartment and killed the engine, but made no move to get out. He turned his body to face hers, and Maggie’s stomach turned over. She sucked in a breath at the intensity in Mac’s eyes as she felt his gaze move from the top of her head down to her knees. She resisted the urge to shift her hips on the seat.
“You de-nerved me,” Mac said. His voice had dropped lower, rasping out into the car and over her skin.
“You’ve done the same for me.” This time, she reached forward and touched the back of his hand. Mac’s skin was hot under her fingertips. She stroked gently until he turned his hand over and let their palms slide together.
“You’re something, Maggie.” He squeezed her hand in his. “Something wonderful, and intelligent, and kind. Something magical, and I am lucky to spend even a moment in your presence.”
Maggie leaned in until the seatbelt tightened across her front and stopped her momentum. She let her thumb rub along the side of his. His gaze dropped to where they touched. Sitting here with Mac, helping him through his own bout of anxiety, left her feeling magical and wonderful and kind. It was like all her own panic attacks had been worth something if she could help someone else come out on the other side of one.
“I like those moments,” she said. Sure she would float away if the seatbelt and Mac’s hand weren’t holding her in place.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
BythesecondtimeMaggie opened her fridge and stared into the empty abyss, she was ready to admit she was in way over her head. The problem wasn’t the dinner invitation she’d sent to Dean. She’d told him she wanted to thank him for helping her out, and he’d agreed with the effortless charm and smile he always had for her. It wasn’t even her lack of culinary skills because, given enough time and YouTube tutorials, she was certain she could put something together. The problem was that Maggie had zero idea what she was supposed to make.
You should have figured that out before texting him,Maggie thought as she pushed aside a half empty egg carton and a cup of lime yogurt.
She had bread, pasta, cereal, and enough dairy products to make any Midwesterner proud. She had fruit, some baby carrots, and enough frozen soy products to keep her vegetarian heart fed and happy. And Maggie was almost positive Dean would eat none of it except the bag of shredded cheddar. A quick Google search confirmed that Dean’s keto diet meant no to the fruit, the carbs, and even the carrots. A few more Google searches and Maggie realized she was going to need to cook some meat if she wanted to satisfy her fake boyfriend.
Two hours, ten bookmarked recipes, and a trip to the grocery store later, Maggie stared into her now full fridge and was still as nauseated as she had been before the shopping trip. She’d had to go to three separate grocery stores to find the specialty sweetener the recipe called for, and then the tiny jar of agave cost more than the rest of the ingredients combined. But it was okay. She’d settled on a recipe that said it was foolproof and would take about twenty minutes. The only part standing in her way now was the hunk of raw chicken breast that stared up at her from the clear bottom shelf. Dammit, she should have bought gloves.
Her phone rang while Maggie was contemplating how to begin.
“How do you cook chicken?” Maggie said as she put her phone on speaker and set it on the counter.
“You don’t,” Audrey said. “You’re a vegetarian.”
“That’s why I asked how you cook it,” Maggie said. She pulled the wrapped package out with her pinched forefinger and thumb and threw it on the counter as though it might bite her.
“Don’t you remember living with me? We starved because neither of us has any skills in the kitchen.” That was true.
Maggie thought back to the time she and Audrey had tried to make eggplant Parmesan to impress Audrey’s study group partner. They’d remembered to cover the vegetable slices with a thick coating of kosher salt, but they hadn’t let them sit and drain, nor had they wiped off any of the excess salt. Audrey’s date had been nice about it, but the finished dish had been inedible. All three of them had nibbled on pieces of untouched pasta, trying to fight past the burn of too much sodium and the tingling urge to cough.
“Is this for something you’re writing? I can get Mac. He cooks everything Cal and I eat.”
“No,” Maggie’s stomach was still a little pitchy thinking about Mac’s hands bracketing her hips and his chest pressed to her cheek, a feral anger burning in his dark eyes. Standing that close to him had left her so unbalanced that she’d let Mac bring her home, ignoring her carefully laid plans to have Dean rescue her. There had been no question about it either. His muscles had been solid under her hands. He’d winced when he’d read her message, and Maggie had known she was going to turn down Dean’s offer.
“It’s not for a book. I’m cooking dinner.”
“Chicken,” Audrey said.
“And zucchini and other veggies and Thai peanut sauce.”
Those parts of the recipe seemed a lot more manageable.