Offside Bride (Toronto Titans #2)

9. Sawyer

9

SAWYER

I lead Maggie up the winding walkway of the Thornton mansion, feeling like we’re about to enter Downton Abbey’s Canadian cousin.

As we approach the front door, I lean in close to her ear. “Remember, best behavior.”

Maggie flashes me a smile that’s sweeter than maple syrup. “Don’t worry, honey. I’ll be the perfect trophy wife.”

Before I can retort, the door swings open, revealing Robert and Patricia Thornton in all their well-preserved, Botox-enhanced glory.

“Sawyer, my boy!” Robert booms, clapping me on the shoulder. “And this must be the lovely Maggie we’ve heard so much about.”

Patricia’s eyes light up like she’s just spotted the season’s hottest Hermès bag. “Oh, darling! That dress is simply divine. Is it Valentino?”

Maggie blinks, then grins. “Actually, it’s from Target’s clearance rack. But don’t tell anyone—it’ll be our little secret.”

I choke on air, but the Thorntons burst into laughter.

“Oh, I like her,” Patricia coos, ushering us inside.

We’re led into a living room that could double as a modern art museum. Robert heads straight for a bar that looks like it could supply drinks for the entire NHL.

“What’ll it be?” he asks, gesturing to an array of bottles that probably cost more than my first car.

“I’ll have a whiskey, neat,” I say, then turn to Maggie. “And the lady will have…”

“A dirty martini,” Maggie cuts in, winking at me. “Extra dirty.”

The little minx.

As Robert busies himself with the drinks, Patricia leads us to an opulent sitting room. “So, Maggie, tell me. How did you two lovebirds meet?”

Maggie’s eyes sparkle mischievously. “Oh, it was so romantic. I shot him in the head playing paintball. Then he charged at me, scooped me up, and practically told me he loved me right then and there.”

I nearly spit out my drink. What is she doing?

“We were inseparable after that,” she continues. “Sawyer never, ever, ever left my side. He’s like a barnacle.”

Robert lets out a hearty laugh. “My, my! That’s certainly a whirlwind romance!”

“You have no idea,” I mutter, shooting Maggie a look that says ‘behave yourself.’

She ignores me, of course. “This husband of mine couldn’t resist my charms.”

“More like I couldn’t resist your right hook,” I quip, earning confused looks from our hosts.

Maggie pats my knee patronizingly. “Oh, honey. Don’t be modest. You were absolutely smitten.”

“Smitten with a concussion, maybe,” I retort under my breath.

Patricia claps her hands together, delighted. “How wonderful! Young love is so refreshing, isn’t it, Robert?”

“Indeed,” he says, handing me a whiskey. “Remember our golfing trip to the Maldives?”

“How could I forget?” Patricia chuckles.

Robert sits down after everyone is served their drinks and starts recounting some golf story.

I’m trying my best to focus on Robert’s droning, but Maggie in that red dress is like a siren call to my eyes. Every time she shifts, the fabric whispers against her skin, and I swear I can hear it over the clinking of ice in crystal tumblers.

“…and then I said, ‘That’s not a sand trap, that’s my wife!’” Robert guffaws at his own joke.

I force a chuckle, nodding along. “Good one, Robert.”

“I can’t begin to tell you how happy and relieved we were to hear you’d tied the knot, Sawyer,” Patricia says. “I want to hear all about it.”

“Not much to tell,” I say.

Maggie’s eyes sparkle mischievously. “Oh, it was so romantic. He proposed to me in a parking lot.”

Mark my words. She’s going to get it later. And she’ll like it.

“A parking lot?” Patricia’s eyebrows disappear into her hairline.

“Yep,” Maggie continues, popping the ‘p’. “I’d just beat him at bowling. He got down on one knee right next to a puddle of what I hope was spilled soda.”

I clear my throat. “What Maggie means is?—”

“Oh, don’t be modest, honey,” she interrupts, patting my arm. “Tell them about how you serenaded me with that beautiful rendition of ‘Sweet Caroline.’”

Robert’s eyes widen. “You sing, Sawyer?”

“Like an angel,” Maggie answers for me. “Especially after a few beers.”

I feel a bead of sweat trickle down my back. This woman is going to be the death of me.

“So,” I say, trying to change the subject. “I read online that Sunrise Foods is making the transition to all organic ingredients. That is definitely a brand I can stand behind.”

“We can talk business another time, my boy,” Robert says, holding up his drink. “I never mix gin with cereal.”

“That would not taste good at all,” exclaims Maggie.

“I had hoped we could discuss?—”

“Do you like cigars, young man?” Robert interrupts me.

“No, I don’t smoke.”

He moves to a console table and brings back a wooden box.

“Got these in Havana the last time we went.”

He opens the box, takes out a cigar, and sniffs. “You don’t get quality like this anywhere else.”

“Oh?”

“Here.” He takes it upon himself to fold back my suit jacket, slides the cigar in the interior pocket, and pats me on the chest for good measure. “Light that up when your first son is born.”

“I don’t think they allow smoking in hospitals anymore, dear,” says Patricia.

He waves off her comment and sits back down, dangling a cigar in his mouth without lighting it. I get the feeling he just likes the flavor?

After more stimulating conversation, we finally move to the dining room. Robert and Patricia lead the way, while Maggie and I trail a little behind. Maggie leans in close to me, her breath tickling my ear. “Having fun yet, Mr. Family Man?”

I grab her hand, squeezing it a little tighter than necessary. “Behave,” I whisper.

She gives me an innocent look. “Or what?”

“Or I will throw you over my knee right here and spank the sass right out of you. And before I’m done, you’ll be begging for more.”

She just throws me a witchy grin and picks up her gait, swaying her hips side to side with the sole purpose of taunting me.

“I hope you like wagyu beef,” Patricia says as we take our seats. “Our cook studied in Tokyo for a year, right after graduating from Cordon Bleu.”

“That’s amazing,” says Maggie. “It’s so hard to find good help these days, am I right? Sawyer hired our cook at Burger King. Went right up to the manager and said ‘I simply must have this man. Name your price.’”

Patricia looks scandalized.

“Joking!” I say. “My wife loves to kid. We don’t have a cook, because Maggie is a wiz in the kitchen.”

“Oh lovely,” Patricia says.

I rub Maggie’s back as I say, “She waits on me hand and foot, this wife of mine.”

“I like that quality in a woman,” Robert says. “Let’s toast to domestic women.”

“Hear, hear,” I say, raising a glass.

“I’ve done my share of cooking,” Patricia adds. “But nowadays I have so many social engagements. You’ll understand soon enough, Maggie.”

“Just like Emily Gilmore,” Maggie chirps, then polishes off her martini.

“Who?” Patricia blinks, then turns to her husband. “That name sounds familiar. Do I know her?”

“I think she was in your rotary club, dear.”

A lightbulb goes off in Patricia’s eyes. “Ah yes. Dreadful woman.”

Maggie snickers, and I pinch her leg under the table. She responds by kicking my ankle.

A middle-aged man emerges from what I assume is the kitchen and presents a bottle of red wine to Robert. Robert nods, tastes the first sample, and then approves of the wine, which the man serves to everyone in the glasses that were already at each place setting.

In a matter of moments, he returns with a rolling cart and starts serving us a meticulously prepared plated dinner.

“So, Maggie,” Patricia leans forward, her diamond earrings catching the light, “What do you do besides charming the socks off our hockey player here? Do you work? Volunteer?”

Maggie takes a sip of her wine, her eyes twinkling mischievously. “Oh, I’m a professional gold-digger. Sawyer here is my latest victim.”

I nearly choke on my wagyu. Robert lets out a hearty laugh, slapping his knee.

“Actually,” I say, shooting Maggie a look. “My wife’s an artist. I’m constantly tripping over her mess of art supplies she leaves around the house. The things she makes are… interesting.”

“How fascinating!” Patricia exclaims, looking genuinely interested. “What kind of art do you create?”

“I make jewelry,” Maggie replies. “Mostly out of macaroni and glitter glue.”

This time, I can’t hold back a snort. The Thorntons look confused, but amused. “She’s joking again,” I explain, patting Maggie’s knee. “She actually creates beautiful, intricate pieces. You should see them.”

It’s only a white lie. She’s clearly talented, and the little things she makes have a lot of detail. They’re just weird, that’s all.

Robert nods approvingly. “A creative spirit! That’s wonderful. You’ve got a firecracker on your hands, young man.”

I grin, wrapping an arm around Maggie’s shoulders, squeezing her tightly. “That I have. She keeps me on my toes, this woman.”

“He’s loving it,” Maggie grunts. “Aren’t you, sweetums?”

Sweetums? Oh, she’s really spreading it on thick now.

“Absolutely…snookums,” I reply, crushing her into me and gritting my teeth. “I wake up every day wondering how. I. Got. So. Lucky!”

Maggie stiffens slightly but keeps her smile plastered on. “And I wake up wondering the same thing. Soooo… Lucky.”

The sarcasm in her voice is lost on our hosts, who are practically cooing at us now.

As the dinner progresses, the conversation moves to more mundane subjects. I’m starting to think I might actually survive this evening without Maggie completely torpedoing my career. That is, until dessert arrives.

“Oh, before I forget,” Robert says, setting down his spoon. “Sawyer, we’d love for you and Maggie to join us at our charity gala next month. It’s for a cause very close to our hearts.”

I nod eagerly. “Of course, we’d be honored?—”

“What kind of charity?” Maggie interrupts, her eyes wide with innocence. Too much innocence.

Patricia beams. “The Special Committee for the Conservation of Special Committees.”

“How wonderful! I love special committees,” Maggie exclaims. Then she turns to me, her face a mask of pure mischief. “Honey, we should donate some of your special brownies!”

I freeze, my spoon halfway to my mouth. “My…what?”

“You know, those ‘herbal’ brownies you make. The ones that make everything hilarious and food taste amazing?” She winks at the Thorntons. “They’re quite popular at parties.”

I feel the blood drain from my face. This is it. She’s finally done it. I’m going to be traded to a team in Siberia.

But to my utter shock, Robert bursts into laughter. “Oh, my dear! You are an absolute riot!”

Patricia giggles behind her napkin. “Robert, remember when we were young? Those music festivals?”

“How could I forget?” Robert winks at us. “Let’s just say, we weren’t always the straightlaced folks you see before you.”

I blink, unable to process what’s happening. Maggie just implied I bake happy brownies, and the Thorntons are… reminiscing about their wild youth?

“Maggie, my dear,” Patricia says, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes, “You simply must come to our book club. The ladies would adore you!”

I look at Maggie, who’s grinning like the cat that got the cream. She catches my eye and mouths, “You’re welcome.”