Closest To My Heart

Chapter Five

Maggie sprang out of bed the moment she heard the apartment door close, grateful that her brother and his roommate had finally vacated the premises. Another five minutes, and she would have had no choice but to relieve herself into the empty wastebasket, because she sure as hell didn't want to face Tag Vitale anytime soon, not after the things he'd said to her the day before!

With a cautious glance around the corner to verify that she was, in fact, alone, Maggie skittered across the hall and closed herself into the bathroom. As she emptied her throbbing bladder, her mind again replayed the words Tag had said, as it had done at least a hundred times during the previous twelve-plus hours that just she'd spent avoiding him. Who did he think he was, anyhow, passing judgment on her? And how dare he call her a people-pleaser, or a martyr, or... desperate! Who was he to talk? It didn't appear that his life was anything to write home about, either!

Maggie washed her hands, brushed her teeth, and splashed cool water on her face, determined not to let Tag Vitale and his boorish opinions take up one more second of her time. She heaved the bathroom door open, and the flood of sunlight streaming in through the windows gave her just the inspiration that she needed to lift her sour mood. After ducking into the bedroom for a quick change of clothes, Maggie grabbed her yoga mat from the tidy collection of her belongings and headed out to the fire escape for a peaceful morning workout.

Decades before, the building that housed her brother's apartment had been a restaurant, with nearly a quarter of the second story notched out to accommodate the exhaust fans from the first-floor kitchen. When the building was converted into three small apartments, the fans were removed, leaving the large, flat expanse of roof exposed. Wrought-iron railing had been installed around the perimeter, and a metal ladder that could be extended down to the ground, should the need for escape ever arise. Sean, of course, had transformed the space into his own personal oasis, complete with green outdoor carpeting, patio chairs, and even a kiddie pool surrounded by sand. All of that, in conjunction with the morning sun and fresh air, was just the environment that Maggie needed to clear her head. She opened the door and stepped outside, heading straight for a lone patch of shade to her left.

"Good morning," came a smooth baritone greeting, and Maggie whirled around to find Tag Vitale standing at the far side of the fire escape, perusing the urban landscape through the lens of his camera. His rumpled appearance and day's growth of beard suggested that he'd just recently rolled out of bed... or had never even gone to bed in the first place. Not that it mattered to Maggie one way or the other, of course.

"Oh," Maggie said with a roll of her eyes. "It's you."

She turned away and unfurled her yoga mat with an abrupt snap, determined to avoid any further interaction with him. He, however, seemed to have other intentions.

"Still mad at me, huh?"

"No," Maggie lied with chilly indifference, unzipping her fleece hoodie and draping it over a nearby chair. "Not in the least."

"Oh," Tag said, sounding pleasantly surprised. "Well, I'm glad to hear it."

Maggie shot a suspicious glance over her shoulder, waiting for the proverbial other shoe to drop. But his attention was focused on the camera in his hands, his long fingers making some sort of adjustment to a dial at the base of the lens, and no further comment seemed to be forthcoming.

"Besides," Maggie felt compelled to add. "If I were angry with you, which I'm not, that would seem to imply that I view your opinion with some level of regard, which I don't." She paused, and then added, "Not in the least."

Tag glanced up at her and smiled—that annoying, lop-sided smile that she was coming to despise, because it generally preceded some obnoxious and asinine comment that was bound to bring out the Irish in her. Flaunt the hair, hide the temper. That's what her mother always said.