“She’s right,” Maggie agrees. “He’s a great guy, but he doesn’t really date anyone for very long. It’s not that he’s a player, really, it’s just that he gets absorbed in running his business, and the girl gets pushed to the back burner.”

“And you don’t deserve to be the back-burner girl,” Maeve adds. “You’re a front and center, rolling boil kind of girl.”

I stare at both of them. “Are you warning me away from your brother?”

“No, not at all. Actually, we really like you for him. I wasn’t kidding when I said you’re cute together.” Maggie grins at me. “We just want you to be aware of what you’re getting yourself into.”

“Basically, a good time without long-term strings attached,” I say.

“Yeah, I think that’s probably an accurate assumption,” Maeve says. “So, have fun with him, but don’t fall in love with him.”

What if it’s too late for that?

“Thanks for the advice, you guys.”

“I hope we didn’t hurt your feelings,” Maeve insists. “Because I really do like you, and I hope I get to know you even better. And Keegan is a good guy. He doesn’t try to hurt anyone.”

“No, I’m sure he doesn’t.”

This gives me a lot to think about.

“Okay, let’s not talk about that depressing stuff anymore,” Maggie says. “I want to hear more about the meteorologist thing.”

“What meteorologist thing?” Maeve asks.

“Izzy went to school to be a weather girl.”

Maeve’s eyes widen, and her gaze flies to mine. “Really? Why aren’t you doing that?”

“It’s a long, sad story,” I say with a laugh, but give them the CliffsNotes version of the tale I told Keegan the other day.

“But you’re trained,” Maggie adds. “Like, you could do it?”

“Sure.”

“Show us,” Maeve says.

I blink at her. “What?”

“Show us, right here. Do a mock weather report.”

“Make it a dramatic winter storm report,” Maggie adds, clapping her hands.

“This is fun. Okay.” I jump off the stool at Maeve’s breakfast bar and rub my hands down my thighs, suddenly nervous. “I haven’t done this in a little while.”

“You’re going to be great,” Maggie insists.

I stand in front of the wall and pretend it’s the green screen. “I need a key fob.”

“Here,” Maeve says and pulls one out of her purse, tossing it my way.

I glance off to the left as if I’m looking at a monitor and use the fob as a pretend clicker to cycle through the screens.