What Were You Expecting? (15 page)

Lars cocked his head to the side and smiled at her before slipping back into the kitchen. “Then go easy on him.”

Maggie trudged up the stairs, turning left on the landing and opening the second door on her right. The old wooden stairs creaked as she climbed up into the attic, her sweaty hands slick on the polished wood banister.

“Lars? That you?”

She held her breath for a moment, all of the confidence she arrived with ebbing from her body, siphoned by the tone of his voice so near to her.

“N-nae. It’s me.” She cringed at the tremor in her voice.
Get ahold o’ yerself, lassie!

Nils peeked his head around the doorway at the top of the stairs, and it took her eyes a moment to adjust to the dim light, but she could make out the blondness of his hair as some stingy light filtered in through a round window behind him.

“Heya, Maggie May,” he said in the gentlest voice she’d ever heard, as he stared down at her.

Oh, Lord.
She stilled between two steps and took a deep breath as every feeling she’d ever had for him came rushing back, covering her like mist, until she was saturated with love for him, as bright and shiny as the day she’d married him.

This is too hard, too complicated,
a voice inside her head whispered, but she hushed it.

“Heya,” she answered, resuming her climb. “Findin’ anythin’ good?”

“Some,” he answered, not moving.

When she was two steps away from him, she paused, looking up, still holding his ice-blue eyes with hers. “What you said to Tess hurt me,” she blurted out in a whisper.

He swallowed. “I’d erase it from your ears if I could.”

“Did you mean it?”

He stared at her sadly and then shook his head slowly back and forth. “No.”

Tears sprang into her eyes at the sound of that sweet, single word and she longed for him to open his arms to her, to bury his hands in her hair and crush her lips with his. Instead she asked timidly, “No?”

“No,” he repeated, frowning. “It wasn’t all an act.”

“Oh,” she murmured, her head whirling from this information, desperate for clarification. What wasn’t an act? Saying the wedding vows? The kiss? The feelings between them that he wouldn’t acknowledge? All of it?

“Maggie, I…” She watched his tongue dart out and wet his lips before he bit the bottom one, shaking his head again. “But I still can’t do anything about it.”

“Oh,” she breathed again. “Why not?”

“I just can’t.” He winced, looking intensely sad and frustrated and regretful.

That’s not enough. I need to know why. I need to know why you think this
can’t
happen, so I can figure out a way to
make
it happen!

“I don’t understand.”

“I’m sorry. I just…I can’t. But I care about you. Your friendship’s important to me.”

She nodded briefly, ignoring the ache in her heart caused by his words. Someday she would figure out why. Someday she would figure out why he wouldn’t let himself be with her and she’d do something about it. But for now, it just felt so good to be around him again, she nodded again, letting it go.

***

“What about this one?” he asked her, as they sat side by side on the dusty floor against an old steamer trunk, passing photos back and forth to each other from boxes they’d found in an ancient bureau.

Maggie looked over and giggled at a picture of Jenny sticking her tongue out, thumbs in her ears and fingers waggling. “Och, she’d nae be so pleased to have that one suddenly appear on the screen!”

He looked sideways at Maggie and grinned. Whenever she was drunk or comfortable, her accent was just the slightest bit stronger, and he loved it. After their initial awkwardness on the stairs, they’d settled into a comfortable rapport, and man, it felt good to be around her again. Like sunshine after a month of rain. Like forgiveness.

But feeling good around Maggie had never been the problem. Feeling good had always pretty much come naturally. It was “what comes next” that had always led Nils to personal quagmires.

“Look at wee Erik!” she exclaimed, her shoulder brushing against his as leaned toward him, showing him the picture.

It was sweet torture to be sitting so close to her. He could feel the warmth of her body next to him, the smell of her strawberry shampoo. His eyes couldn’t stop flicking to the neckline of her low-cut shirt, black against her creamy freckled skin. And every time one of them moved, they touched. Their shoulders, their hips, their legs. It was all he could do not to haul her up on his lap, free her breasts from that tease of a shirt and suck on her nipples until she was arching and writhing against him. He cleared his throat, taking a deep breath and drawing up his knees to hide his growing erection.

“Erik?” he asked weakly.

“Or is this Lars?”

“Nope. You were right. Erik. All ready for his first ski run. Man, he was scared.”

“Why? Did he fall?”

“Amazingly? He didn’t. He was a natural from the start. Papa sure was proud of him.” Nils put the picture in the slideshow pile and scooped up another handful of photos to sift through.

“Now I know this is you, but who’s this next to you?” Maggie chuckled beside him.

Nils glanced over at the picture Maggie was holding up and sighed, taking it from her fingers. He was about ten years old in the picture, holding hands with a little girl who came up to his shoulder. She had a wreath of daisies on her head and a shy half-smile on her face. “That is Maisy McKintrick.”

“Maisy?”

“Mm-hm. Miss Maisy. My first love.”

“Your
first
? Have there been loads since? Hoards?”

“Veritable hoards. Don’t you hear them all beating a path to my door at night?”

“And I here I thought it was a stampede of buffalo comin’ out of the park for a wee visit to town, but nae. Just your dainty admirers.”

“They plague me to no end.”

“Maybe you should tell them you’re married.”

A quick current of energy buzzed in the small space between them as though her comment was a live wire, wild and sparking, separating them, but fascinating all the same. He swallowed, eyeing her carefully.

“Ha,” he said finally, in a flat, low tone.

“Ha,” she answered, smirking at him, all dry and sassy and adorable. Her big green eyes twinkled with mischief and he felt a smile take over his face even before he chuckled.

“I made you laugh,” she said with quiet triumph.

“You’ve always been able to do that.”

She stared at him for an extra beat before looking away. Anxious not to spoil the mood, he nudged her hand with the picture. “It was
Midsommardagen
. Ten minutes after that picture was taken, she tried to kiss me behind my folks’ house and I refused. She told me I was stupid, stomped away and never gave me a second glance.”

“Pushy little thing,” said Maggie, her lips tilting up in amusement as she put the picture in the back of the pile.

“It was complicated.”

“Complicated? At ten years old?”

“Her brother was my best friend.”

“Ah. I see.”

“Not that I don’t appreciate a woman who knows what she wants.”

“Is that so?”

He didn’t know what to say in response, sensing that they were drifting into murky waters. She shifted a little to face him, plucking the photo from his fingers. “But you liked her. And she liked you. Maybe he would have understood.” She paused glancing at the photo before looking back up at him with her wide green eyes. “Maybe you should have just…leaned in.”

The last words were spoken so softly, they hovered between them like a breath, like a spell or a dare. Nils felt his body leaning in, just as Maggie had suggested, her strawberry shampoo daring him to make a move. He tilted his head just slightly so his lips would touch down flush on hers, and felt his eyes starting to close. What he wouldn’t give to be able to pull her into his arms, pliant and warm, her lips softly open and—

Wait, no! You can’t do this!
The voice in his head bellowed for him to stop.
You just got back on level footing with her. You can’t mess this up again!

His eyes flew open and he jerked back. “Sorry,” he murmured, his heart pinging like hammer on anvil.

“Um…it’s fine,” she answered lightly, lowering her chin. She took a deep, ragged breath, her chest heaving up and down rhythmically. “So…so it, um, it didn’t work out with Miss Maisy?”

“Nope.” He cleared his throat. “Although she did get that kiss.”

“From whom?”

“Lars.”

Maggie gasped, her eyes shocked and teasing at once. “Your brother stole your girl!”

“She turned to him for comfort.” He shrugged, trying to look pathetic, trying not to grin. “Plus, in fairness, I guess she wasn’t mine by that point.”

“I dinna know what’s worse…that she was such a fickle lass, or that Lars made a move so quickly.”

“Can’t blame Lars. It’s just his way. She probably sidled up next to him and took him by surprise.”

He lowered his knees and turned his attention back to the small pile of photos still in his hand. When she didn’t say anything, it took Nils a moment to realize she was staring at him—staring at his bowed head beside her. When he looked up, her eyes were compassionate and searching.

“You’d forgive him anything, wouldn’t you?” she murmured.

“Lars?” He stared at her, mesmerized by the softness in her eyes.

“Aye.”

“He’s my brother.”

“You love them so much. Lars and Erik and Jen. And your da.”

And you, Maggie. You’re on that list, too.
He bit his bottom lip, unable to look away from her. “They’re my family.”

She made a small sound in the back of her throat then nodded at him, looking away quickly. “It’s just so lovely.”

The sadness in her voice made him pause. “You know,” he said, pulling two pictures from his parents’ honeymoon in Stockholm from the batch he was holding and placing them in the slideshow pile, “I barely know a thing about your family. You never talk about them.”

“Oh, well…my family isn’t exactly like yours.”

“What’s that mean?”

“You’re all so lovin’ and close and we’re…not.”

“There’s got to be more to it than that,” he insisted, nudging her leg gently.

She sighed. “My da passed on ages ago. He was a big drinker which made for an unpredictable childhood. He wasna violent, but he wasna much good for anythin’ either. My mum was one of three sisters and once my da passed, we moved in with her younger sister, Janet, my aunt. I have an older brother, too. Ian. And then there’s Janet’s son, Graham. That’s all of us, I guess.”

“How old is Ian?”

“Three years older than me. And Graham’s about ten years younger.”

“You group them together? Your brother and your cousin?”

“Aye. I guess I do. We all lived together in the same flat for years. I took care of Graham while mum and Aunt Janet worked, so…”

“You didn’t resent it? Caring for a younger cousin?”

“Resent it? Och, no! I loved it! It’s probably why I love children so much, all that time I spent tendin’ to wee Graham. He was a charmer then, for sure.”

Why I love children so much
. Nils winced, reminding himself of why he could never make a move on Maggie, why it was best that they remain friends. He could never give her what she wanted.

“You were close to him?”

“To Graham? Aye. To me mum and Ian and Aunt Janet? I love them, but…” She handed him a photo of his parents looking young and vibrant, his mother holding a baby as his father held the hands of two little blond boys. “…we aren’t close like you and yours. More like we were just…sharin’ space. Ian’s married now and settled, thank God. We feared he might turn out like da for a while there.”

The way she described her family—so disjointed and cold—tugged at his heart. His childhood had been full of warmth and love, while hers had been uncertain and frightening, her closest relative a cousin ten years her junior. And yet, it was Maggie who offered warmth and cheer to him, while he was helpless to offer her anything but friendship. It didn’t seem fair. She deserved better. She deserved stability and love. It made him wish—for the thousandth time—that things between them could be different.

“Graham’s still a hellion,” she added distractedly as she passed Nils a baby picture of Jenny. He put it absently into the slideshow pile, more interested in learning more about Maggie than sifting through pictures.

“What does that mean?”

“He hangs about with some shady characters. It scares my aunt to death. Me too. I’ve told her over and over again to send him here to me for a while.”