star light, star bright

“Here,” her tone is gruff as she places the full pint of beer on the bar in front of him and takes a long drink from her own. “That guy over there,” she gestures with a tilt of her head, “won’t leave me alone, so…” Max shrugs, offering a sheepish smile as she tips her glass towards him, “wanna be my boyfriend?”

Lowell hasn’t ordered a beer, which is why he’s surprised when a glass ends up in front of him. It’s not his chocolate malt, nor his grilled cheese and potato barrels (hang in there, stomach), but Lowell’s not about to turn his nose up at a free drink. And then it clicks. Max is bribing him, but he’ll take it.

There’s something bubbling in the pit of Maggie’s stomach as she takes the route described by the receptionist to Eve’s office – excitement, she decides and something else she can’t quite to put her finger on. But certainly something she hopes to explore further. Something the pair were meant to do over lunch that day when something work related had cropped up and forced Eve to cancel. 

But Maggie figured she still needed to eat, so… here she is. At Eve’s office. Assured by a surprised looking middle aged woman that she won’t be bothering her new friend. So, with takeout from the planet tucked precariously under her arm, she gives the open door a gentle knock. 

“Knock knock,”  she sing songs, “delivery!” 

Because Maggie is, well, for someone that can wax poetic about quantum entanglement, Eve has a hard time putting words to Maggie and the feelings she evokes. The magnetism about her. 

Eve is making a mental note to text later and apologize again, perhaps ask about brunch over the weekend, when the knock at her open office door draws her attention instead. For a moment Eve just blinks, certain that her tired state and thoughts of Maggie have resulted in some kind of mental manifestation, an illusion, but then she catches the scent of the takeaway in Maggie’s hands and Eve knows it’s not but a dream.

“If that’s the eggplant club and truffle fries I smell, I might just have to kiss you. I haven’t eaten since...” Eve’s words trail off because the croissant rose delivered with her 10am coffee is still untouched at the edge of her desk. Brainfood is overrated anyway. “I haven’t eaten. Hi, Maggie. How are you, aside from being a literal angel? I’m sorry cancelling, and I’m so happy you’re here.” And Eve finds that, unlike so many of the conversations she held today for business and the cordial pleasantries she was forced to exchange with small talk, she actually truly means what she’s saying now.