“Maggie?”
My mouth moved before sense could stop it.
“I’m sorry. I don’t look like my photos anymore.”
He paused.
Not long enough to be rude.
Long enough for me to hear myself.
Then he said, “You apologized before you introduced yourself.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t look like my photos anymore.”
I laughed because there was nowhere else for my embarrassment to go.
“Sorry. Hi. I’m Maggie.”
His expression changed slightly at the second apology.
He held out his hand.
“Daniel.”
Behind me, my youngest daughter yelled that someone had taken her goggles. One of the twins shouted back that goggles were communal property. A towel slid down the stairs like a surrender flag.
He held out his hand.
