Closest To My Heart

Chapter Eight

Tag froze four steps down from the top, his eyes pinned on the crack of light seeping out from beneath the apartment door. Sean's car wasn't in its usual spot in the parking lot out back, so he knew it had to be Maggie on the other side, and that realization sparked an unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach. Not queasiness, exactly, but more of a...fluttering sensation, like the feeling he used to get way back in high school, right before a big game or final exams. He'd felt the same thing earlier that afternoon when he'd discovered Maggie sitting on the stairs, that same rush of nervous energy, although he hadn't recognized it at the time. But he recognized it now and there was no denying that, for reasons Tag couldn't comprehend, Maggie O'Donnell's presence was the catalyst. He glanced down the stairs to the exit below, then back to the sliver of light beneath the entrance to his temporary abode, weighing the options of Fight or Flight. He could go back out, he supposed, and do some more experimentation with his camera; maybe take some evening shots of the waterfront, or do some low-light work in the downtown area. It wasn't as if Maggie was waiting for him, after all, and he wasn't really avoiding her...

Oh, who the hell am I kidding? he gave in, setting his camera bag and tripod on the step before sitting down himself. That's exactly what I've been doing, all afternoon!

It wasn't that he didn't like having her there, because he did. Even cramming himself onto that godforsaken sofa night after night didn't seem so bad in light of the changes that she'd made in the apartment. The place was spotless, there were always clean towels in the bathroom and actual food in the refrigerator, and... well, Tag couldn't help but think that this Kevin guy must be some sort of damn fool to not want to come home to an arrangement like that every night. But there was more to it than just her housekeeping skills, and that was the part that Tag was worried about. The day before, when he'd been lying beside her on the patio and enjoying the pleasant nuances in her voice, he'd felt... something. Something warm and inviting, calling out to him from a part of himself that had been closed off for a long time now, maybe too long. Then earlier, when he'd found her sitting in the stairwell and stopped to talk to her, he'd felt it again, even stronger, and when he'd reached out to touch her hair—

Nothing, Tag told himself, springing to his feet and gathering his things. It was nothing. And even if it was something, it doesn't matter. Because she's pining away for some loser who she'll probably end up going back to, and I'm definitely not in the market for a relationship—especially with a woman who can't seem to decide who the hell she is!

With his resolve suitably fortified, Tag took the final three steps in one leap and strode toward the door, turning the handle and swinging the handle open with confident determination. In his younger days, he'd shot photojournalism pieces on inner-city gangs, the homeless, and even did a small spread on refugees in a war-torn African nation, for crissakes, so he could certainly handle the inherent dangers associated with one admittedly alluring redhead!

Oh, hell. Yes, dangers he could handle, but tears? Tears were a no-go. So when Tag was greeted by the sight of Maggie sitting on the couch in what could only be described as Full-On Blubbering Mode, his steely resolved crumbled. Closing the door, he dropped his equipment on the floor and hurried to her side.

"Maggie, what happened?" he asked, frantically scanning her for signs of bodily injury until he spotted the computer in her lap. "Wait, is that my laptop?"

Maggie nodded her head and indecorously wiped her nose on the sleeve of her oversized sweatshirt.

"You left it on, and I wanted to check my email," she explained. "But then I decided to go online, and I found... this!"