“It’s not funny.” She sounds miserable, and I want to pull her to me and hold her close. Reassure her.

But I don’t know if that would be welcome.

I stand with the treats in my hands and motion for her to follow me. “Come on inside. I can’t eat these all by myself.”

“Weren’t you headed out somewhere?”

“Yeah, to find you. Come inside, Maggie.”

She stands, and with her coffee clutched in her hands, walks inside behind me.

“It’s damn cold out there,” she says with a shiver.

“How long were you sitting on my stoop?”

“Only about a half hour or so. I didn’t want to wake you up or anything.”

I turn and stare at her. “A half hour? For Christ’s sake, Maggie, you’ll catch a cold.”

“That’s an old wives’ tale,” she says and then promptly sneezes. Her eyes widen, and she points at me. “That was a coincidence.”

I laugh, open the pink box, and eat one of the crullers in two bites, then reach for another. “They’re still warm.”

“You’re so classy,” she says with an eye roll as I shove another into my mouth. Suddenly, I know that last night’s storm has passed. “Why were you coming to see me?”

I wash the donut down with a sip of coffee and lean on the counter as Maggie sits on a stool at the kitchen island and nibbles on a donut. I like seeing her in my place. I just like having her nearby, period.

“I was coming to talk about last night.”

She sighs. “I was afraid of that. Can we forget it ever happened? Because I know I was acting foolish and rash. And you’re allowed to date anyone you like—it’s not really any of my business.”

I narrow my eyes and cross my arms over my chest so I don’t just yank her against me and kiss the hell out of her.

“Did you not hear me last night when I told you that the woman was a freaking client?”

“I heard you.”

“But you didn’t believe me.”

She shrugs a shoulder again. “I have no reason not to believe you.”

“Jesus, you’re the most frustrating woman on the damn planet.”

“Well, I apologized, so I’ll just leave now if I’m that bleeding frustrating.”

“You’ll sit your ass on that stool, Mary Margaret.”

Her eyes widen at my tone, and I swear under my breath. “You’d test the patience of a saint.”

“And you’re no saint,” she says. “I guess I forget that sometimes. Because you’re always so calm and collected. You never get worked up.”

“I do, too. Especially when it comes to you.”

“I’m not sure if that’s a compliment.”

“Me, either.”