Page 68 of No Way Home
“So…” He shrugged. “What if you ask Magnolia to come along?”
The all too familiar pit in my stomach reappeared. “Uh, I think that’s a terrible?—”
“No pre-worrying allowed.” He smiled. “What if…you ask Magnolia out and she says yes. You show up and your family is so happy you’re actually with a date—” His voice pitched a little higher, knowing he was pushing his luck with all these wild hypotheticals. “—that they’re gracious, make her feel incredibly welcome, and never bring up the Spartan Race kiss at all?”
I said nothing, but only because I wasn’t allowed to pre-worry out loud. But there was so much pre-worrying going on in my head.
He sped up, “You have so much fun on the date, you decide to do it again. Make out a lot over the next few months, have inside jokes no one else gets, you help her study forboards, she helps you start your own architecture firm, you get married, have a slew of babies, buy a minivan, argue over who left the milk out, have make up sex, send the kids to college, grow old together, and die holding hands like a Nicholas Sparks movie.” He collapsed in his chair.
“Geez.” I scratched my jaw. “Did you even take a breath?” My lips were trying to smile. Trying so hard.
“No. But I got you thinking about it. Didn’t I?” He grinned triumphantly.
“Okay. Fine. I’ll think about it.”
I’d think about it a lot.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
BOWEN
The next day,Magnolia’s Mini got a flat tire, making her late to work. But when it happened again the day after that, she was a bumbling mess when she finally arrived. Apparently, being late on a rotation looks very bad.
Billy didn’t seem to care that she was having car trouble, and I watched her have a near panic attack in the parking lot at lunch after he told her he was going to fail her if she couldn’t get her crap together. Only he didn’t say crap.
But she made it clear she did not want my help. When I told her to text me if it happened again, she said she had it under control. So I suggested she move some things around in her one-car garage so she could park inside. She made no indication as to whether she’d take my advice.
But I was done doing nothing.
The day after that, I covertly drove by her house an hour before she normally got to the clinic. Her car was nowhere to be seen. I padded across the lawn and peeked through the garage windows to find her Mini tucked safely inside, all the tires fully inflated.
Then I headed to the clinic and sat in my car, working on floor plans, waiting for her to arrive. When she pulled in ten minutesearly, I finally relaxed. I gathered my things and stepped out of my Land Cruiser.
I caught up halfway across the lot and fell in step next to her. “Good morning, Magnolia.”
She glanced over at me, looking anxious. “Morning.” Her cheekbones were bronzed in something shimmery, and it was catching the early morning light, making me wish I could run my fingertips over them.
“No flat tires this morning?” I asked.
“No. I parked in the garage. Thank you for the suggestion.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. “But I’m a little freaked out because someone dropped some kind of tool in my driveway and if I hadn’t seen it, I wouldn’t have just had to fill my tire with air, I’d be buying a new tire. Maybe two.” She shook her hands out like she was trying to release some of the nerves. “I just want to get through my freaking rotation and be done,” she whispered. “Not be up every night, worried someone’s lurking outside my house.”
I cleared my throat. “Did you see someone lurking outside your house?”
“No. But how else did the tool get there? I’m the only one at home right now. Someone’s definitely lurking.”
“What kind of tool was it?” I asked in a hush.
She found a picture on her phone and tilted the screen so I could see.
“Pliers.” Though they weren’t the kind you kept in a junk drawer. A pair of slip-joints, big and heavy, the kind every mechanic in town had rattling around in the back of their truck. Except these weren’t right. One jaw was snapped clean off, the metal edge jagged and crooked, like it had teeth. Left in the road like that, it wasn’t a tool anymore—it was a trap. And it hadn’t been in her driveway when I’d stopped by an hour ago. “Yeah, that would’ve been bad.”
“I know.” I saw her visibly swallow.
“We’re going to figure this out,” I said, making my tone firm. “We.”
Her jaw tightened, and she gave a hesitant nod, as if accepting help from me was the last thing she wanted to do. But she agreed. That was all that mattered.
She went stiff when we heard Topher’s voice around the corner. He was reliving his glory days, telling one of the construction crew about a game they ‘almost’ won his senior year. “You shoulda seen my touchdown pass. So sick.”
