She found the sweater still inside her suitcase, on top of her only matching bra-and-underwear set that she absolutely was not wearing on this nondate.

Dressing quickly, she decided on the stacked heel ankle boots over sneakers. She debated texting Dean to ask if she should cuff or not cuff but then remembered she was mad at him—or herself and him—and decided to roll the denim to the top of the boots.

Earrings, dangly.

Lip gloss, dark rose.

She stepped back, trying to see more of herself in the tiny mirror mounted above the bathroom vanity. But she could only see her face or her chest.

“I really need to move up the timeline in here,” she muttered to herself before jogging out into the hall. There she found the heavy, gilt frame mirror angled against the wall between two of the back bedrooms and—after a quick cleaning with toilet paper—surveyed her efforts.

“Huh,” she said.

She looked…not bad.

Strong and soft, she decided, running a hand over the sweater. Fun without trying too hard. A belt would have worked, but she didn’t have one on hand. A curling iron would have been even better, but she’d been without one since she’d left hers in a motel between the Charming Cape Cod and the Beach Bungalow projects.

Still, this was the most effort she’d put into her appearance in…a while. She pulled her phone out of her back pocket and snapped a picture in the mirror.

“Showered and on the hunt for finger steaks,” she said as she typed up the caption. “Annnnnd, post.”

Duty to her followers performed, she hustled back into her bedroom.

“What do you guys think?” she asked the portrait. The oil-painted Campbells eyed her impassively as she grabbed a small clutch and tucked her license, cash, and lip gloss inside. “You should have seen me a few years ago. I would have dazzled you in a dress and heels,” she told her roommates.

She felt like the spark-eyed Mrs. Campbell was curious about what had happened to that version of Maggie.

Ignoring the judgmental vibe from inanimate objects, she headed into town for her first nondate in her new temporary town.

She parked her truck a block away and strolled toward the restaurant, glancing in shop windows as she passed. Every gift shop in town seemed to have a treasure chest of fake gold coins and bars in their displays.

Decked Out was a one-story building with gray cedar shakes that backed up to the lake. She remembered it from before. Remembered her mom sitting out on the deck, eyes closed, face to the sun. Basking.

As she approached, a long-legged man in jeans and with a charming smirk pushed away from the wall. Silas. There was something about the way he looked at her. Proprietary. Appreciative. Dangerous.