Page 58 of Two Hit Wonder

"What happens next is I hurt you," Maeve said flatly. "That's what I do. That's what I've always done."

"You left," Iona said. "Fifteen years ago. You left without saying goodbye, without explaining, without anything. I've spent fifteen years wondering what I did wrong."

"You didn't do anything wrong."

"Then why did you go?"

The waitress returned with their drinks, setting them down with slightly too much enthusiasm. Coffee sloshed over the rim of Maeve's cup. She didn't seem to notice.

"Because I was drinking," Maeve said quietly, after the waitress had gone. "And I was a mess. And you were this bright, brilliant thing, and I was going to drag you down with me if I stayed. You didn't deserve that. You didn't deserve me the way I was."

Iona felt something move in her chest. "And now?"

"Now I've been sober for longer than I drank."

"So now you're not a mess."

"I'm always a mess. I'm just a functioning mess."

Iona laughed. "You're clean. You're here. Maybe now we can both deserve each other."

Maeve let out a breath that was almost a laugh. "That's a big ask."

"It is," Iona agreed, grinning. "I'm very demanding."

"You're very something."

"Charming? Persistent? Devastatingly attractive?"

"Annoying."

"That too."

For a moment, something softened in Maeve's expression. Not quite a smile, but close. Iona felt a flutter of hope, fragile and foolish and completely impossible to suppress.

And then the waitress came back.

What happened next would be replayed in Iona's mind many times over the following weeks, usually when she needed cheering up. The waitress, carrying a fresh pot of coffee, caught her foot on something. The pot tilted. And the entire contents, mercifully not quite boiling but still impressively hot, cascaded directly onto Maeve's lap.

Maeve shot to her feet with a sound that was half yelp, half profanity. The chair scraped back. The waitress gasped. Half the cafe turned to look.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry." The waitress was already in tears. "I'll get napkins, I'll get ice, I'll get…"

"It's fine," Iona said quickly, because Maeve's face was cycling through approximately seventeen different expressions and none of them were good. "Accidents happen. Could you just bring some napkins?"

The waitress fled.

Maeve was standing there, coffee dripping down her jeans, hands clenched at her sides. Iona could see her fighting it, could see the anger rising, the instinct to snap and snarl and make everyone as miserable as she felt.

"It’s fine," Iona said gently.

"I'm covered in coffee."

"I know. And it’s fine."

Iona grabbed a handful of napkins from the dispenser on the table and moved around to Maeve's side, kneeling in front of Maeve, dabbing at the coffee, looking up at her in a way that… In a way that she definitely shouldn’t be doing in a coffee shop.

"You don't have to…"