Count Your Lucky Stars (Written in the Stars, #3)(24)

“Oh.” Margot nodded slowly. “You guys are taking a yoga class. Together.”

Without her.

Elle frowned. “We’d have invited you, but you hate yoga.”

“I never said I hated yoga.”

“You said the class I took you to wasn’t for you,” Darcy said.

True. Darcy had dragged Margot to a Slow Flow yoga class, and the instructor had gone on and on about focusing on her flow and quieting her mind, and all Margot had been able to think about was how she wasn’t supposed to be thinking, chastising herself for thinking about thinking, wash, rise, repeat.

“Well, okay. Maybe I said that.” Margot stood. “But you still could’ve asked.”

One of Darcy’s brows rose. “Even though you’d have said no?”

Margot crossed her arms. “Okay, when you put it like that, it sounds stupid.”

She just wanted to be included. If she was going to opt out, she wanted it to be on her terms. Was that really so much to ask?

Elle smiled softly. “We’ll definitely invite you next time.”

“Thank you.” Margot turned and nudged Brendon with her elbow. “Want to go climbing tomorrow?”

Brendon ran his fingers through his hair and winced. “Uh, I would, but see—”

“It’s a couples’ yoga class,” Annie said, biting her lip.

Oh.

Margot dug her toes into the carpet. “You could’ve just said.”

Preferably before she’d made a fool of herself, but whatever.

“Sorry,” Elle blurted, blue eyes wide and apologetic. “We just thought—”

“It’s fine.” Margot waved her off with a breezy smile. “Like you said. I hate yoga anyway.” Not as much as she hated being left out, granted.

Elle frowned. “You could still come.”

“To couples’ yoga?” Darcy arched a brow.

“Sometimes people show up without partners,” Elle argued. “It’s like on roller coasters when they put two single riders together. Or a single rider with two people. We could trade off poses like we do teams on game night.” Elle smiled brightly. “Or the instructor could partner with you.”

Margot would rather die. “Really. It’s fine.”

Elle’s lips twisted to the side. “If you say so.”

Margot quickly changed the subject. “We’re still on for cake tasting, though, right? Saturday?”

Everyone nodded, slowly migrating in the direction of the door. Margot trailed behind Brendon and Annie, letting them go on ahead.

Elle leaned against the open door. “Are you sure everything’s good with you and Olivia?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I don’t know.” Elle shrugged. “Just, you never mentioned her, and I was . . . wondering if there was a reason for that.”

Not one that Margot wanted to discuss.

Rather than fib, Margot sidestepped Elle’s question altogether. “We’re fine, Elle. If something happens and that changes, I promise you’ll be the first person I tell.”





Chapter Seven




Incoming call: Brad



A pit formed in Olivia’s stomach, somehow hollow and heavy at the same time.

Her thumb hovered over the screen. It would be so easy to swipe the call away, send Brad to voicemail. But knowing Brad, he’d just keep calling, even though it was after ten p.m.

Almost a year after their divorce had been finalized, and Brad still called her when he’d had too much to drink, and other times when he couldn’t remember the name of the electrician they used or which company to call to service the heater. These were all things he should’ve known or been able to find out on his own, but he came to her instead, acting as if they were merely on a break, one more off patch in the history of their on-again, off-again relationship.

She took a deep, bracing breath and lifted the phone to her ear. “Brad.”

For a second, there was nothing but heavy breathing and then, “Livvy? Hey.”

She cringed at his co-opting of Dad’s nickname for her. “What are you calling for, Brad?”

More heavy breathing. “I miss you.”

Six months ago, Olivia might have felt a pang of . . . something. Bittersweetness. Nostalgia for what they’d had, a remembrance of early days, when Brad had still acted like he cared and she had believed they would grow old and gray together.

Now she was just annoyed. Not as annoyed as Brad would be when he woke up, hungover, but still pretty damn annoyed.

Brad wasn’t happy when he’d had her, and now he wanted what he couldn’t have.

“How much have you had to drink?”

“Not that much, Livvy,” he slurred.

She rubbed her eyes. “You can’t keep calling me like this. Drink some water and go to bed.”

“I miss you, though. I just—I need someone to talk to. You’re the only one I can talk to.”

A spike of irritation ratcheted her pulse. She should just block Brad. Block his number and spare herself this frustration. But she couldn’t. Not when there was always the chance that Brad would be calling because something had happened to Dad. Because Brad was a lot of things, selfish and arrogant and moody and not the person for her, but he’d always liked Dad, always gotten along with him. And he’d promised. Promised to let her know if anything happened. Olivia was obviously Dad’s emergency contact, but he was so tight-lipped, so reluctant to make her worry. He’d driven himself to the damn hospital when he’d started having chest pains at work, and she’d only found out when she had because a nurse had called her.