Maggie snorted. Who the hell was she kidding? Tucker owned her, always had. She’d find a new life and the past would again get buried in the back of her heart, but she would never ever forget. Even the harsh words he’s flung at her in anger weren’t enough to permanently burn off what she felt for him.
She glanced around her makeshift home. She didn’t belong here. It was time to go. Putting one foot in front of the other she walked down the hall to the bedroom. Unable to look at the bed she’d shared with Tucker, she grabbed her clothes and headed into the bathroom. Somehow her brain tricked her into continuing as she blindly set about packing the house. Since Spring was still months away, she’d have to winterize everything, making sure to leave nothing behind.
If she left no trace of her visit maybe her parents wouldn’t even realize she’d returned. At this point she’d do just about anything to avoid questions.
Maggie pulled boxes from the garage and hauled them in the house. She had half a plan to keep her brain occupied and push out thoughts of Tucker. Unfortunately, that didn’t work. Everything she did, everything she touched, made her remember something about the man who’d given her a chance to be the woman she craved.
More tears burned behind her eyes. Maggie straightened her spine and drew in deep breaths. Regrets and alternative scenarios might fill her mind but that didn’t mean she had to let them drag her into a deep pit of depression. It was her life and that meant it would be whatever she chose to make of it.
The phone rang after she started to pack, and her body froze. What if…
Nope. Don’t even go there. Tucker wasn’t going to magically call and tell her everything had been a huge mistake. It’d be a cold day in hell before she heard from him again.
By the third call in an hour she’d grown irritable and ready to take down the caller in a single phrase. Actually, she had several phrases in mind for the asshole on the other end. She stomped to her desk and grabbed the phone. “What?” she demanded.
“Is this Ms. Cisco? Maggie Cisco.”
Her heart sank. For a second she’d still thought… maybe. “No comment,” she blurted, assuming yet another reporter had found her.
“Pardon me?” The voice on the other end sounded very confused.
“Look, I know you’re probably just doing your job but I’m in no mood for reporters today. This is a private number and I don’t appreciate you calling it.” As much as they deserved her wrath, the good manners bred in her still made it painful to be rude.
“Uhm. I’m not a reporter. My name is Carolyn Kellog and I’m calling on behalf of the University of Boston.”
Maggie abruptly plopped into a nearby chair. “Seriously?”
The woman chuckled over the line. “Yes, seriously. We have a proposal for you. Would you have time to meet with us?”
Her head spun. “I don’t understand. What is this about?” she held her breath, afraid to conjure any ideas in her mind.
“We have a job we’d like you to consider. But we’d rather discuss it in person. If you’re free we’d like to fly you in to meet with us.”
Her breath left her body in a whoosh. A job? She hadn’t considered going back to teaching even a possibility. Nor was she sure she wanted to. Not that she had a lot of choices at the moment. She’d yet to come up with a single idea of where she’d go. With no family to flee to and no friends not tied into her old life, she’d have to go somewhere new. Maybe…
“When would you like me to come?”
“Are you available tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow sounds perfect.” After listening to the travel details that would be emailed to her, Maggie hung up and surveyed the room. Packing the cabin could wait. She had a plane to catch.
*
Forty-eight hours later Maggie walked into Nina’s café at the edge of the lake. Since she hadn’t bothered to stop for any supplies after her plane landed, she stopped at the only place she could to get some food to take home with her.
Home.
Not for long. She had a week to get things packed up and moved to Boston. The sadness never far from her conscious came rushing forward. Her step faltered. The nonstop ache for Tucker seized her insides. No matter how hard she tried to get him out of her head, he’d taken up residence and no amount of busy work kept him at bay.
Less than twenty-four hours away from him and she’d sat down at her computer to send him an email. Shame at being unable to resist him still burned inside her. Still, whether or not he hated her she’d made sure he understood there would never be a book. Her attempt to get back to writing through a journal had been a colossal error on her part. At the very least, her conscience was clear.