Page 24 of Keeping Score

“See!” I wrapped an arm around her, gesturing for Mr. Waterman to see. “My girlfriend!”

Mr. Waterman scowled.

“She’s too good for ya.”

“Right you are, you old rascal,” I said before planting a kiss on Maggie’s lips. “But don’t say it too loud. I was hoping she wouldn’t find that out.”

Maggie looked between us in concern.

“Brody, are you harassing an old man?” she whispered in horror.

“Yes, he is!” Mr. Waterman yelled back at the same time I denied it. “Keep him off my steps.”

Maggie narrowed her eyes on me and I laughed.

“He keeps me company while I wait for you to get off work,” I explained, before noticing her eyes on the flowers in my hand.

“For you,” I said, holding them out for her.

She peered down at them suspiciously, then looked back up at Mr. Waterman, then back to me.

Then she accepted them, smiling brightly.

“You’re really something, you know that?”

But that something didn’t seem like such a bad thing, considering the way she had those happy crinkles by her eyes and was pulling me in for a kiss.

I smiled against her lips, feeling balance restored to the universe once more.

When I looked up, Mr. Waterman had left, his window shut—and probably locked—behind him.

Apparently sitting on his steps was off limits, but he was fine with me kissing beautiful girls there.

“So,” I said, rubbing a hand down her arm, “we have guests.”

Maggie’s brows furrowed for a moment before clearing into an expression of realization. Maggie always figured things out before I gave her any clues.

“Are your sisters here?” she asked, lighting up.

I nodded, amused at how thrilled she was by the prospect of seeing my family.

“Not only that,” I said, “but Mom and Dad, too.”

“SHARON AND TOM ARE HERE?” she practically shrieked, grabbing onto my wrist with an intensity I didn’t think possible for someone her size.

“Yup,” I nodded. “The whole Callahan gang has hit Boston.”

“Where are they?” she asked. “Are they staying with us?”

“You think my three sisters and both my parents can fit in our shoebox?” I rolled my eyes. “I got them hotel rooms.”

“We could’ve squeezed,” she said half-heartedly.

“Or we could upgrade our living quarters.”

“Never,” she said, affronted. “I’ve been in that apartment for eight years and it’s the perfect proximity to everything in Boston.”

“Fine,” I held my hands up in defeat. “We’ll put that conversation on the back burner. Again.”