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Another book fell shut as Maggie's pen clattered back down to the table next to it. She slid the book away from her, smiling sweetly at the patron on the other side.
"Thanks again for your support," she said. The patron bid her a friendly goodbye before scooping up the book and walking out the door. As the bookstore emptied, Maggie leaned back in her seat and flexed the tendons in her hand. Despite the ache in her wrist, her chest felt light. For her first book, she never anticipated the swarms of people who would come out and support her. She mindlessly thumbed through the books she still had left, which was significantly smaller than the tall stack she started with.
Before she had long to think, the bell of the door rang. Maggie's head snapped to attention, peering over at the figure who entered the bookstore. The man's broad shoulders filled the doorway before he quickly approached the table of Maggie's books. His body loomed over her, blocking out a great deal of the light in front of her. She shrank in her seat, although she kept her hand firmly planted on her stack of books. He stared down at her with his eyes obscured by sleek sunglasses. She opened her mouth to offer a greeting like she did with the other patrons, but he spoke first.
"I'm here on behalf of the president," the man said. "He mentioned you were an old friend. He regrets not being able to be here in person."
"The... president?" Maggie's heart hammered in her chest. She thought back to the newscast broadcasted on the screen of a local cafe she would frequent while writing her book. The face on the screen was one that haunted her, even now as she lived her life as a human. Although it had been years since they were objects together, his name still rattled in the back of her brain.
Sinclaire.
"Of course I remember him," Maggie said. A small smile spread across her face. "I never expected him to remember me after everything he's been up to."
"Well, I'm here to pick up one of your books," the man said. "And also give you this." The man pressed a sealed letter against the table and slid it closer to Maggie. She fumbled with the pen in her sweaty hand, wracking her brain for something to write inside the book. She felt the heat spreading to her face as his obscured eyes bore through her. She quickly scribbled something down along with her signature, and passed the book back to the man.
"It's on the house," Maggie said. "Let him know I hope he's doing well." The man nodded, although his expression did not change. He wordlessly picked up the book and left Maggie alone yet again. She swallowed, although her mouth had gone dry. Without the man's thick presence in the air, Maggie felt the heat slowly dissipating from her cheeks. She took a deep breath to steady her thoughts.
Sinclaire, after all he had done, still thought about her. Of course, she could admit that deep down, she knew they would all keep lasting memories of each other. After all, not many people had the opportunity to be objects in the same house in a previous life. Yet, something about Sinclaire occupied a special part of her brain. It was the same place in her brain that prompted her to move to Turkleman City, Florida in the first place. Despite her steady breaths, her heart still thudded in her ribcage. She glanced down at the envelope, sitting in front of her on the table. She picked it up and held it in her hands for a moment, taking some time to look around the store, first. Her book signing hours were almost complete at this point, and the store had thankfully cleared out, save for a few patrons browsing books in the back and away from her table. She took another deep breath and tore into the envelope.
The clean, white paper inside was neatly folded. It crinkled as she opened it. The text inside was written in black pen, in handwriting that was somehow neat and messy at the same time. Her eyes scanned over the words.
"Maggie,
I'm sorry that I couldn't come see you in person. Writing a book is quite the accomplishment! I was surprised to hear that you're in Florida, too. I'm in the area for a while and I'd love to catch up during dinner. Meet me at this address @ 7:00?
Yours truly,
Sinclaire"
Below the note was a sloppily scrawled address to a restaurant Maggie had never heard of. Her own blood tingled in her veins.
The president invited her to dinner?
None of their other fellow objects had even bothered to reach out to her before, let alone someone with a status like this. She folded the paper back up and shoved it into one of her pockets. She watched the clock carefully for the rest of the time she had left in her book signing, but Sinclaire's offer continued to weigh heavily on her brain, even long after she packed up her bags and left.
Maggie tugged at the bottom of her seafoam green skirt as she exited her car. The dress was a tad bit tighter than she remembered, and it insisted on riding up her thighs. She silently cursed herself for her choice in outfit, even if it was the only nice dress she owned. She pulled her bag over her shoulder and ushered herself inside with her heels clicking on the pavement. The restaurant was nicer than what she was used to, and the dim lighting cast a warm glow on her exposed skin. The hostess stared at her as she entered. A few more men dressed similarly to the man in the bookstore, whom Maggie presumed were guards, stood at attention nearby. Each eye on her made her skin crawl as she approached the front desk.
"I'm here to meet someone," she said. Her voice came out quieter than she anticipated.
"Name?" the hostess asked.
"Maggie," she said. "Maggie Glassbury ." The hostess nodded.
"Right this way," she said. Maggie followed closely behind her. She glanced around as they walked, attempting to drink in every detail of her surroundings. To her surprise, each table they passed was empty. Her heart continued to race.
It's just an old friend, she told herself for the millionth time that day. There's absolutely nothing to worry about.
After walking through what felt like a maze of empty tables in the dimly lit space, Maggie was finally led to a more private back room. Guards on either side stepped out of the way, nodding at Maggie in acknowledgment. She stepped inside to see a single occupied table in the back center of the room. Her stomach flipped when she laid eyes on a familiar face, obscured by clunky glasses and golden blond hair. He beamed when he saw her, although he waited for her to come closer to the table to speak.
"If it isn't Maggie," he said in a warm voice, laced with excitement. "Long time, no see." Maggie took her seat across from him, attempting to conceal her shaky legs and keep her skirt pulled down to an appropriate length at the same time. She thanked the hostess for seating her as she did her best to settle in. Sinclaire held out a friendly hand in front of him.
"Tell me," he said. "How have you been?"
"It's nice to see you again, Sinclaire," Maggie said. Despite the squeezing in her stomach, Sinclaire's same, old eyes had their way of warming her. Although he was now far from the sink she used to know, there was still something familiar about his face when he looked at her. "I've been doing well," she continued. She forced out a nervous laugh. "Although it's nothing compared to what you've been doing." Sinclaire scoffed, and waved his hand as if to wave off her comment.
"Nonsense!" he said. "Truth be told, I haven't been doing much at all. But you, on the other hand? You wrote an entire book! That's incredible."
"If you say so," Maggie said with a small laugh.
"I do!" Sinclaire said. He took a break to sip the glass of ice water that sat in front of him. "I haven't had much time to read much of it yet, but I must say, the first few chapters were enticing."
"I'm surprised you had any time to read it at all," Maggie said. Sinclaire blinked his eyes.
"I'm surprised, too," he said with a shrug of his shoulders. He glanced up shortly after, and Maggie turned her head to match his gaze. The server approached their table to introduce herself and ask for their drink orders.
"A dirty Shirley for me," Sinclaire said. " Extra dirty. As for the lady..." He glanced expectantly at Maggie. Her thoughts raced, realizing now that she had not yet looked at the drink menu. Instead of fumbling with the menu, she said the first thing that came to her mind.
"I'll have the same," she said. The server nodded and left the two of them alone once again.
"You've always been a woman of taste," Sinclaire said with a knowing grin. He brought his hand up to fumble with the knot of his tie. "I still love a good Shirley Temple."
"You really haven't changed much," Maggie said.
"Me?" Sinclaire said. "No, of course not. I'm the same old sink - I mean man." He shook his head. "I'm still getting used to that." Maggie chuckled.
"It definitely was an adjustment," she said. "Even for me. I can only imagine what it's been like for you."
"Weirdly enough, it feels really similar to what I was used to," Sinclaire said. "I don't feel like I've physically changed much at all." Maggie stared back at him, into a face that did little to resemble a sink outside of his square jawline. Dim candlelight reflected off of his pale skin, and highlighted his strong nose and pillowy lips. Although she recognized him, it was still strange to think there was a real man sitting in front of her rather than the sink she so desperately convinced him that he was. A faint shard of ice pierced her chest. It almost reminded her of a feeling she had not felt since the day she solved that mystery.
"...Right," she said, nodding along with what he said. The thickness of the air suddenly dissipated as the server returned to the table with drinks. She set one in front of each of them, eliciting a thank you from each before taking their dinner order. As she left once again, Maggie took a sip of her drink. She held herself back from recoiling as the alcohol burned her lips, suddenly realizing what extra dirty truly meant.
"Good, isn't it?" Sinclaire said, taking a sip of his own drink. "The bartender here really knows what he's doing." The burn from the vodka radiated through Maggie's sinuses and down her throat, but the second sip went down more smoothly. She nodded.
"It really is something," she said. She chased it with a sip of ice water, making a mental note to stay hydrated, lest she make a fool of herself. While she did pride herself on being able to handle her alcohol, she still admired how Sinclaire could drink such a potent drink without any sort of reaction. Fortunately, their food came shortly after, ensuring the alcohol would not be sitting on empty stomachs. They dug in, although Maggie kept a careful watch on Sinclaire to ensure her etiquette was not out of line.
"You know, I must say," Sinclaire said, sinking his fork into a sizable chunk of steak. "I was surprised to see you living in Florida. Turkleman City, of all places. That name really brings back memories, doesn't it?"
"Well, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little bit inspired," Maggie said. She felt her cheeks flush again. She could only hope he wouldn't notice in the dim lighting. "Your case really did stick with me, even after all this time." She twirled a bit of pasta on her fork to distract herself from the way he stared back at her.
"I thought some parts of your book sounded familiar," Sinclaire said. "I'm honored."
"I hope you don't mind, but I took some liberties," Maggie said. "Although I can't imagine what you were actually going through back then." Sinclaire adjusted his glasses before fiddling with his tie again.
"It was... traumatic, to say in the least," he said. "Actually, that was the other reason I invited you out here." Sinclaire's deep blue eyes bore through Maggie, even with the flickering candle on the table reflecting in his glasses. She felt her heart freeze like ice in anticipation. She subconsciously leaned forward.
"I was never able to thank you properly for all that you've done" he continued. "If it wasn't for you, who knows where I'd be? Wandering the streets of Turkleman City like a madman, I guess." He shook his head. "Really, I can't thank you enough."
"It's... I was just doing my job," Maggie said. Her face flushed harder, in a way that was definitely noticeable, even in the candlelight. "You don't need to thank me."
"No, I insist," Sinclaire said. "You listened to me when no one else would. You saved me, and I'll always be grateful for that." He smiled warmly, though a certain glint in his eyes sent a shiver down Maggie's spine. He shrugged his shoulders casually. "The least I can do is buy you dinner."
"I'm just glad we could catch up," Maggie said.
"It is nice to see a familiar face again," Sinclaire said. "-And might I add, you are looking beautiful as ever tonight."
"Oh," Maggie said. She shifted in her seat, suddenly aware of the subtle flick of his eyes studying the rest of her body. She remembered how the dress clung to her body in front of the mirror, hoping the lighting in the restaurant would be enough to conceal the imperfections in the fit. "You think so? To be honest, I didn't know what else to wear. It's a bit old; it hardly even fits anymore."
"Don't worry about it," Sinclaire said. He waved a hand to dissipate the tension. "I'm just honored you got so dressed up for someone like me."
"Well, you are the president," Maggie said. "I didn't want to be under-dressed." Sinclaire shook his head softly.
"I was never one for formalities," he said. "Even as the president, I never felt much different from before. In fact, I was more worried about impressing you . It has been a while, after all. I had to look like I belonged at dinner with a pretty girl such as yourself." Maggie met his gaze and stared into his deep blue eyes. Despite his usual confidence, there was a certain sincerity behind them.
"You know, Dorian was right about you," Maggie said with a small chuckle. "You really are charming." Sinclaire raised his eyebrows.
"Really, Dorian said that?" he said. "Huh. I guess I underestimated him."
"I distinctly remember it being not long after you called me a 'shapely glass'," Maggie said, laughing again.
"I really said that?" Sinclaire said. He shook his head, bringing a hand up to press his fingers against his temple. The pale skin on his cheeks grew redder. "You'll have to forgive me; I wasn't in the right mind." He sheepishly looked back at Maggie with a small smile. "I wasn't lying, though. I never said anything back then - at least to my knowledge - but you always were a looker. No pun intended." For the first time since settling into the restaurant, Maggie felt her pulse start to race again. Even after years passed since their realization, something about Sinclaire always stuck in her mind. She always told herself it was the significance in his case for her career, but something in the back of her mind lingered on his smooth voice, his sturdy hands, and his incredible knack for cleanliness. Even now, those features were still reflected in his poised stature, even if the face that stared back at her was flesh rather than porcelain. She leaned in closer to the table, leaning her cheek gently on the backs of her fingers.
"You're not so bad yourself," she said. "Realization looks good on you."
"Oh," Sinclaire said with a low chuckle. He leaned in as well. The candlelight cast a distinct flame in his eyes, even behind his glasses. "You really think so?"
"Of course," Maggie said. "Truth be told, I haven't been able to keep you off my mind." A slow smile spread across his face as she spoke. He put his fork down, as if to entirely focus on gazing at her. "I thought solving your case would be the end of it, but something about you really stuck with me, even after being realized." She paused. "I suppose seeing you on the news all the time hasn't helped, but I can't help but think..." Her sentence trailed off as her thoughts tumbled like uneven waves in her head. Her heart thudded almost painfully in her chest as she mulled over the words that could have stumbled out of her mouth without a single thought. Sinclaire eyed her carefully, studying each feature of her face.
"Think of what?" he asked. His voice was quiet, yet laced with a distinct hint of concern. "What is it, Maggie?" Maggie swallowed, attempting to organize the thoughts in her head like one of Jerry's drawers. Although Sinclaire's eyes bore through her, something deep down compelled her to relax.
"Sometimes I think about what it would have been like if we ever had a relationship," she said at last, somehow forcing her voice to stay steady.
"I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought about it, too," Sinclaire said. Despite the warmth in his voice, Maggie couldn't help but feel ice coursing through her veins. He extended one of his hands out, resting it on the table between them. "Could I... take your hand?" Maggie swallowed, trying to will away the blood rushing to her cheeks, and wordlessly extended her hand out as well. As soon as their fingers grazed each other, Sinclaire intertwined them. His hand was warm and inviting, and, despite the confident gleam in his eye, his palm was still slightly sweaty.
"I was always attracted to you," he said. "Though to be completely honest, I never thought I'd have a chance with someone as beautiful and intelligent as you."
"It's not too late, you know," Maggie said. "I know you're busy as the president, but I am free for the rest of the night." A deep flush filled Sinclaire's face. He let out a low chuckle and gently squeezed her hand.
"You know, I have a house nearby," Sinclaire said. He leaned in close, speaking only in a low voice, as if his words were meant to be heard by Maggie alone. "Perhaps you'd like to... come back to my place after dinner?" The phrase pierced through Maggie's chest, causing her stomach to flip. The heat from her cheeks migrated throughout the rest of her body. She shot him a knowing smile from across the table.
"I'd love to," she said.