What Were You Expecting? (6 page)

She turned away from Nils as she unfolded the letter, but he heard her murmur, “No. Oh, no. Oh, God.”

Without thinking, he reached out and put a hand on her waist to pull her closer to him, as though he could protect her from whatever was in that letter. His adrenaline rushed like crazy as his body tensed up and felt jittery at the same time. “Maggie, what’s happened? What’s wrong? Tell me.”

She took a deep breath and clenched her jaw once before looking up at him with a flood of tears brightening her eyes.

“My visa expired over six months ago. I’m here illegally.”

***

The wrinkled paper trembled in her shaking hands.

How could she have missed this letter? How on God’s green earth had it happened? Maggie might not have the most comprehensive filing system in the universe, but for Lord’s sake, she should have had a handle on when her visa was expiring! Her heart pounded mercilessly in her chest as the skimmed the letter again, vaguely aware of Nils’s warm hand encircling her wrist. She wished she could lean into him, turn into him and put her head on his shoulder, but she couldn’t do that. Well, she could, but she shouldn’t. It would mean something different to her than it did to him. In his eyes, they were friends. Just friends.

With that thought in mind, she took a step back from him and tried to catch her breath as words and sentences popped out at her.

…inform you that your non-immigrant visa will expire within 60 days…failure to reapply may result in criminal prosecution…may be subject to a three-year ban upon reapplication for a United States visa…unauthorized residency by any foreign national may result…the Department of Homeland Security…

The letter fluttered from her hands and the room started spinning around her. My God, she was going to be deported. Or arrested. Or both. Either way, her life in Gardiner, in Montana, in the United States, appeared to be over. She turned away from Nils to face the back wall and braced her hands on the messy countertop. She lowered her head as humiliating tears streamed down her face.

What a mess. What a goddamned mess.

“Maggie. Maggie May,” he whispered in her ear from behind, just as he had last night. She felt his hand touch her hip, push her gently to her right, toward the end of the bar. “Go back to your office. I’ll take care of things for a bit.”

She nodded, biting back a sob, and turned for the little office hidden behind a colorful yellow and red curtain. She pulled the curtain closed behind her and fell into her desk chair, laying her aching head on the desk.

It wasn’t enough that she felt like death warmed over, or that she’d humiliated herself last night in front of Nils Lindstrom not just at the bar, but later, too. It wasn’t enough that he’d used the dreaded f-word with her this morning repeatedly, consigning their blatant attraction to friendship once again. All of this would have weighed heavy on a normal day, but today was a catastrophic day. It wasn’t enough that she
looked
scatterbrained and reckless, she
was
scatterbrained and reckless, and he’d had a front-row seat for the past twelve hours. Her head pounded as she processed the fact that she was about to be kicked out of the country she’d so come to love. All because she hadn’t been responsible enough to manage her own affairs and file the paperwork to renew her visa.

Through the curtain, she heard Nils greet some customers and tell them they had a choice of regular coffee or decaf coffee, but any other orders would have to wait a bit. She smiled through her tears, swiping her sleeve over her snotty nose. Levelheaded, rock-steady Nils had come to her rescue.
Again
. Her stomach flipped over at the thought of leaving him and she spun around to scramble for the little sink behind her desk, heaving once, but thankfully holding down the contents of her stomach. She took a glass from the shelf over the sink and poured herself water, sinking back down into her desk chair and opening the top drawer to root around for Advil. Her head felt like it was splitting open.

Then she sat back in her chair in a state of semi-disbelief and let the tears fall freely. She loved the little café she’d inherited from her aunt. She loved baking scones and other treats upstairs in her apartment and bringing them downstairs to sell. She loved the smell of fresh coffee beans mixed with books. She loved the friends she’d made—like Jenny Lindstrom, Nils’s younger sister, and Paul, who was like a brother to her. And Nils. Oh, Lord, how she’d miss his quiet brooding and longing looks. How she’d miss wondering every day if today would be the day his walls would tumble down and he’d reach for her, press his lips to hers, tell her that he wanted her—needed her—as much as she wanted and needed him.

She’d imagined it a million times: the café would be almost closed for the night and she’d have just finished putting the chairs on top of the tables and sweeping the floor. She’d be untying her barista apron when the little bell over the door would jingle, and he’d be standing there in the dim light. He’d catch her eyes with his icy blue ones and cross purposely to her, pulling her into his arms.
I can’t hide my feelings for you anymore, Maggie May. I have to know…do you love me even half as much as I love you? Have I even the slightest chance?
And she’d throw her arms around his neck, leaning her body into his and—

Her email pinged on the laptop before her, and she clicked twice on the space bar to animate the screen.
Need legal advice? The offices of…
She wiped her eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath. Junk mail. Nothing but junk mail. Just—

Wait a minute. She stared at the words. Need legal advice? She took the edge of her apron and swiped at her wet cheeks. Legal advice. Yes, of course! She pulled down the Yellow Pages resting on a bookshelf over her desk. Of course! She could talk to a lawyer, couldn’t she? There had to be a loophole of some sort; she couldn’t be the first person who’d ever let her visa run out. She flipped the pages to L and found the listings for two Gardiner lawyers. She called the first, Beck Westman, who she knew a little and who occasionally flirted with her over a cup of cappuccino, and made an appointment for that evening. Then, feeling marginally better, she splashed her face with cold water, blew her nose and stepped back out to coffee bar where Nils had his elbows propped on the counter, staring down at her letter.

He looked up as she approached him, his eyes worried and tender. When he looked at her like that it squeezed her heart; it made her breathless. It made her wonder, for the thousandth time, why he never made a move on her when his eyes said he cared for her as more than a friend.

“Feeling any better?”

“Not much. But I called a lawyer.”

“Oh,” he said trying to sound positive. “That’s a good idea.”

She shrugged, willing back the tears that threatened to shake her tenuous courage. She touched the letter. “Doesn’t look good, huh?”

He leaned up, putting his hands on his hips and facing her. “What do I know?”

“Thanks for taking over here for a few minutes.” She reached out and touched his flannel-covered forearm, swallowing as his ice-blue eyes looked into hers. It shocked the hell out of her when he reached out with both hands, placing them on her waist for the second time that morning and drawing her into his arms. Her eyes closed slowly as her cheek made contact with the soft fabric of the shirt covering his chest. She could hear his heartbeat, loud and solid, and she tried not to think of anything else—not last night and not this morning—just now. She tried to memorize the feeling of Nils’s Lindstrom’s arms around her, of the way it felt to be safe and protected by his strong, burly warmth. His hands met and locked behind her back, and he lowered his chin until she felt it rest softly on the top of her head.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured and the low timbre of his voice vibrated against her head, making her shiver, making desire pool helplessly in her belly, warm and insistent.

“I’ll get it sorted,” she breathed.

“Want me to go with you?” he asked in a whisper.

“Where to?” she asked, half in a daze.

“Tonight. To the lawyer. Just for…for moral support.”

She didn’t think. She gave him the only answer in her head, in a soft, strangled voice, full of emotion. “Yes.”

His chin bobbed against her head lightly as he nodded and then his hands unclasped. He loosened his arms and she stepped back as she opened her eyes, willing herself not to fling her body back into the sanctuary of his arms and demand more from him than he had ever been able to give.

When she tilted her head up, she caught his eyes, brilliant and blue, shrouded with concern. “Thank you, Nils.” She cocked her head to the side, offering him a small smile. “I feel like I’m endlessly sayin’ thank you to you.”

He clenched his jaw once, then twice, staring at her face, then turned away from her and quickly walked to the end of the bar and around it, zipping up his jacket. “What time?”

“Six’ll do.”

“Then I’ll see you at six.” He held her eyes just a beat longer than necessary, watching her with that serious, worried expression. Then, without another word, he grabbed the coffees off the counter and left.

***

She cannot leave. She cannot leave. She cannot leave Gardiner. She cannot leave me.

The words were a litany in his head as he walked the short distance back to his office.

Though it would break my heart,
thought Nils
, it’d be better for me if she did.

He silenced the thought and remembered how good it had felt to hold her small body against his, almost shuddering with the intensity of his feelings. She was so much smaller than him, he’d had to draw his biceps against his own body to tighten his forearms around her. Like a little kitten, she’d nestled against him, her cheek against his pounding heart. Did she know what she did to him? Couldn’t she tell?

But thinking of her that way invariably reminded him of another girl he’d known once upon a time, small and red-headed like Maggie. Carefree and young, though not so spirited. She’d only been a girl. A girl he’d loved like Maggie.

“Nils!” His father’s voice snapped him back to reality and he glanced up to see the older Lindstrom standing in the doorway of
Lindstrom & Sons
, blinking in the bright sun. “Took you long enough. Was about to send out the search party!”

Nils handed his father a coffee cup and followed him into the warm office, shrugging off his coat and hanging it on the coat tree by the front door.

“Nice and hot,” his father muttered sarcastically under his breath.

His younger brother Lars sat at the small conference table in front of the left window, arranging bottled water and trail mix into hospitality bags. He looked up with an easy grin, gesturing to the cup in Nils’s hand.

“That for me,
Største
?” asked Lars, using Nils’s family nickname which meant “biggest,” and had originally referred to Nils’s place in the birth order, but was now—quite literally—an accurate description of his physique when compared to his two younger brothers. Lars was slightly taller than Nils, but had an athlete’s build which he kept toned and even. Though neither brother had more than an ounce of fat on their bodies, Nils’s body was so dense, it almost appeared stocky. Tall, broad-shouldered and built like a Mack truck, he was a solid mass of muscled strength, whereas Lars’s body type almost looked elegant in comparison.

Nils scowled. “Bite me, Lars. Get your own.”

“Oh, that’s nice talk,” Mr. Lindstrom chided, raising his eyebrows at Nils. “Can’t help but notice you woke up on the wrong side of the bed today, son.”

Nils pulled a file off his father’s desk and settled down in the chair at his own desk without responding.

“Want to talk about it?”

“Nope.”

“Bet it has something to do with a certain Scottish café owner,” said Lars, placing
Lindstrom & Sons
stickers on the aqua gift bags and grinning at Nils.

Nils was used to his siblings ribbing him about Maggie, but he really wasn’t in the mood for it today, not after Maggie’s troubling news. He squared his jaw and shot his brother a warning look, holding Lars’s blue eyes until the younger man finally rolled his, chuckling, and looked away.

“Well,” said Lars, “I guess I’d better get going. Flight comes in at noon, right Pop?”

“Noon,
Midten
,” replied Carl Lindstrom, using the Norwegian nickname his late wife had bestowed upon his middle son. “Another TV group. Couple of cinematography people. They’re scouting locations for one of those police shows.”

“Got it, Pop.”

Mr. Lindstrom looked up at Lars thoughtfully. “You’re good with these flashy city types, Lars. Just had someone else call me from New York today. Magazine people who want to bring in a supermodel for a photo shoot. I’m thinking you should take the lead on that one, too, if they end up booking with us.”

“When’s that one, Pop?”

“End of the summer.”

“Well, we’ll see if it even happens, huh?”