really wished she could call him, just to hear his voice.
“Why is that?”
She started, suddenly realizing what she’d said. “I like to take the simplest route,” she admitted. “When I was younger, I would try to change the recipes and sometimes left out some important steps or ingredients. I ruined a lot of dinners and we ended up eating a lot of pizza.
“Now that I’m out of school and he’s retired, he likes to cook with me. He goes through all of these gourmet magazines and comes up with crazy recipes, and we start arguing over whose way is better. Like with last year’s Thanksgiving turkey. He wanted me brine it and marinate it and then treat it with all kinds of crazy herbs and spices, but I argued that nobody really wants fancy gourmet fare on Thanksgiving. Instead, I seasoned it with a citrus glaze and slow-roasted it. It turned out moist and delicious and just proved my point that sometimes simplicity is the very best recipe.”
“Does your dad know that your friend ditched you here in Beach Haven?”
Maggie sat up abruptly. Just like that, the moment of openness was gone.
“Does he know you’re hurt?” Sean pushed, gesturing toward the still-vibrant bruise on her face.
“You should go, Sean.”
“Why? I thought we were being honest with each other here. I’m just wondering if your dad is worried about you.”
Of course he’s worried about me, she wanted to say. He’s also furious at me for being on the reality show, and for quitting my last five jobs, and probably for stealing Devon’s car and leaving everyone in the lurch. He’s probably telling all of his buddies that “Shortcut Maggie strikes again!”
Instead, she sighed. "It’s getting late. I believe you said something about having to go to a cookout . . . ?"
"Damn! What time is it?" Sean sat up quickly and looked at his watch. "6:30? Oh, man. I'm going to be late. Please, say you'll come with me. I have to go to this thing, but I want to spend time with you too. Please?"
She hesitated.
“Come on, Maggie. I’m sorry I pried into your personal business. Just come with me and have a burger. It’ll be worth it just to try Alex Hale’s macaroni salad and help me figure out what her secret ingredient is. It’s out of this world.”
Lindsay had ordered her to "lay low" and stay out of the public eye, but surely there couldn't be any harm in joining a handful of firefighters and their families for a little dinner. Slowly, doubtfully, she nodded.
Chapter Nine
Exactly thirty minutes later, Sean pulled into the driveway of Chief Griswold's home. Maggie felt a sudden surge of shyness as he took her hand and led her toward the crowd. Her months on the reality show had gotten her into the habit of spending hours in the styling chair before any appearance, sitting still while experts applied make-up and hair extensions and told her what to wear. While it was a relief to return to her usual low-maintenance beauty routine, she felt somehow naked with her finger-combed blonde waves and make-up free face. She was painfully aware of her rumpled blue sleeveless dress and worn-out sandals.
Sean seemed to read her mind. "You look great," he murmured. "Don't worry." He introduced her to his fellow firefighters, but she quickly lost track of names and ranks, especially when he added spouses and children to the introductions. The men and women laughed easily and made her feel welcome, even if she couldn't remember which name went with which face.
"Why do they call you 'Spiffy'?" she asked Sean, after they had filled their plates and found places at one of the picnic tables.
"We all have nicknames," he told her. "Alex is Lug Nuts, Tim is Nipper, Dave is The Chihuahua, and I am Spiffy, and so on. No big deal."
"But why? How did you get that name?"
"Because he's such a spiffy dresser," Alex Hale laughed. She leaned closer to Maggie and spoke in a loud stage whisper. "Way back when he was a rookie, Spiffy here showed up for a call, all