“I’d hang on to the law degree,” Maggie said. “You worked hard for it.”
“You have a point.” Grace turned to Natalie. “What did you have for dinner, and are there any leftovers?”
“Daisy and I had takeout eggplant stacks from Jim’s and potato wedges. I just put it all away. And there’s salad on the top shelf of the fridge.”
“Great. Thanks.” Grace stood in front of the open refrigerator door while she decided what to take out first.
“Oh. Knock on the front door. I’ll get it.” Natalie flew out of the room.
“You do look fabulous, Mom. I hope you have a good time.” Grace put the container of eggplant on the counter and opened the cupboard for a plate.
“Thank you, Grace.” There was more Maggie would have said—such as, Why the sudden change of heart?—but the voices from the front hall drew closer. She turned as Natalie came into the kitchen with Brett close behind. He held a huge bouquet of summer flowers.
“Oh my.” She gasped and held out her arms. “Come to Mama.” She held the flowers to her chest. “All my summer favorites. They’re gorgeous, Brett. Thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome.” He looked mildly uncomfortable, with both her daughters standing there watching and her granddaughter staring at him. He said hello to Grace and hi to Daisy, who continued to stare.
“Mom, let me take those flowers and put them in water for you.” Natalie reached out, and Maggie handed them over.
“Thanks, sweetie. We’ll see you all later.” Maggie grabbed her clutch bag off the table in the foyer on their way out.
Brett stopped at the passenger door and opened it. Maggie got in and began to fasten her seat belt. Before he closed the door, he looked down at her. “You look beautiful. You were beautiful when you were younger, but now you’re spectacular.”
Her stunned “Thank you” was lost in the sound of the door slamming.
Brett walked around the front of the car and slid in behind the wheel. He started the car and pulled into the driveway to turn around.
“What?” he asked. “You look like you have something to say.”
“You caught me off guard.” She tilted her head in his direction.
“Why, ’cause I said how beautiful you are?” Brett shrugged. “You are. You take my breath away. You always did.” He drove toward the center of town as if he’d stated an accepted fact that was not noteworthy. “And I do find you even more beautiful and more sexy than you were when you were fifteen or nineteen or twenty-four.” He smiled. “I can’t remember you being uncomfortable at a compliment.”
“I’m not uncomfortable. I’m just . . . surprised, that’s all.”
“Why? Didn’t you look in the mirror at some point tonight? Check to make sure your hair wasn’t sticking up in the air or that you had both earrings in? Nothing green hiding between your front teeth?”
Maggie laughed self-consciously. “Yes, I looked in the mirror, but I didn’t see . . .”
“Didn’t see what?” he asked softly.
“Didn’t see what you think you see.”
“Maybe you can call and get an appointment with Dr. Almquist. Get your eyes checked. You are beautiful. Maybe you just need to be reminded a little more frequently.” When she didn’t respond, he said, “Hey, what is it?”
She turned her head to the window and looked out to avoid his gaze. “I’m almost sixty. If I didn’t color my hair, there’d be lots of gray on this head. My boobs are starting to move south, and I have cellulite on my thighs. I don’t feel sexy.”
“What’s cellulite actually look like, anyway?” he asked. “I’ve heard the term, and I know it’s something women seem to worry about, but I don’t know what it looks like.”
“Think of an orange peel. All those little tiny puckers.” Maggie was sorry she’d brought it up. “If you saw my thighs, you wouldn’t have to ask.”
“Oranges are my favorite fruit. And for the record, I would love to see your thighs again. As I recall, you had the best legs in the entire state of Massachusetts.”
She rolled her eyes.
Brett laughed. “Come on, Mags. For one thing, you’re not ‘almost sixty’—you’re fifty-eight and will be for another few months. But even so, what’s the big deal? It’s a number. You look at least ten years younger. Fifteen years younger when you smile.” He checked the rearview mirror, then pulled to the side of the road and stopped the car. “I don’t care if you’re gray under all that blonde. I don’t even care if you’re blonde. We all have moving parts that are starting to slide just a bit. No big deal. And I repeat: you always had great legs, and you’re still beautiful. And still very, very sexy. So what are you worried about?”
It took her a moment to pull her thoughts together. “I guess . . . it’s just the last time we were together, I was younger . . .”
“So was I, Maggie. We’ve both aged.”
“I don’t think of you that way.”
“Then you should understand when I say I don’t think about you that way, either. You’ll always be my prom queen, Mags. No matter how old you are, how gray your hair is, or how far your boobs slip.”
Finally, she laughed.
“You’ll always be the love of my life, whether you ever love me again or not.” He’d lost the tease in his voice, and he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the palm.
She tried to ignore the sudden racing of her heart. “What woman could resist a man who says things like that?”
“I’m hoping you can’t when I make my big move.” He put the car in drive and eased back onto the highway. “That won’t be for a while, though, in case you’re wondering.”
“Oh? Why is that?” She felt lighter, as the fear she hadn’t known she harbored—fear of being
