Drunk on Love(52)

“To Luke, your neighbor,” he cut in. “And maybe even your friend?”

She gave him a faint smile, but it was a smile, nonetheless.

“To Luke, my neighbor. And my friend,” she said. She looked at him sideways.

“Speaking of friends—you mentioned Avery. You two are close?”

He pushed the next question he was about to ask her away.

“Yeah, she’s one of my best friends,” he said.

She raised her eyebrows at him.

“Your mom seemed to think there was more going on there.”

Oh God, what had his mom said to Margot while he hadn’t been there? He made himself laugh.

“My mom would think that. We dated for something like three weeks back in high school, and then we realized we were much better as friends. But my mom has wanted us to get back together for years. I’ve tried to tell her it’s never going to happen, but she won’t believe either of us.”

Was he just imagining it, or did she relax against her seat when he said that?

“Avery told me she just had a hard breakup? How’s she doing?”

Avery must have mentioned that at their breakfast.

“I think she’s doing okay, but with Avery, you never know. I couldn’t stand that guy, she’s way better off without him, which—”

“You didn’t say that to her,” Margot said.

“Which I made the mistake of saying to her right after they broke up,” he said. “I didn’t realize exactly how much of a mistake that was until she said, ‘Do you know how stupid that makes me feel?’ and then burst into tears. And while you may not realize what a big deal that is, I’ll tell you that in the almost fifteen years we’ve been friends, I think I’ve seen Avery cry exactly once before this. I felt . . . so terrible.” Avery had forgiven him pretty quickly, at least. “That was partly why I moved back here—she seemed like she could use a friend around. Granted, she didn’t say that—she said now that I wasn’t working, I should move somewhere else for a while, maybe I’d learn how to relax. Which is funny, because I don’t think she’s ever relaxed a day in her life.”

They both laughed.

“So have you?” Margot asked. “Learned how to relax, I mean?”

He shook his head. “Absolutely not.”

Margot grinned at him. “I didn’t think so.”

Luke knew he was smiling, far too big, but he couldn’t make himself stop. He knew, actually, that he shouldn’t even be doing this right now. It was his fault, this warm, close, intimate conversation he and Margot were having, where they’d both shared so much with each other, things neither of them meant to say. He’d started it, with that whole in this car, we’re just Luke and Margot thing. Because the problem was that they weren’t just Luke and Margot, and they both knew it.

He was just happy, right now, in this moment, with Margot sitting next to him, so close to him, and smiling at him in that way that had attracted him from the very first moment he’d seen her.

They finally passed the accident that had made the delay so intense for the past forty-five minutes, and the traffic got a lot lighter. They talked about other things, less heavy things, for the rest of the drive—their last vacations, favorite restaurants, what they’d both been reading. And all too soon, he pulled off the freeway.

Margot lifted a hand and pointed.

“To get to my house, you turn—”

“I know how to get to your house,” he said.

“Oh. Right.” After what she’d said about Elliot, he’d worried that she was embarrassed by what had happened between the two of them. But she still had that smile in her voice, and—he saw when he glanced over at her—on her lips.

A few minutes later, he pulled up in front of her house. And then he turned to face her, to see her smiling at him. But her smile was different from what he’d seen before. Not flirtatious and confident, like the night they’d met; not cool and professional, like at work; not even that friendly smile she sometimes gave him at work, when they managed to be normal and relaxed with each other. The smile on her face now was warm, trusting, open. It was his favorite way she’d ever looked at him.

“Thanks for the ride,” she said. “And . . . for listening.”

“It was my pleasure,” he said. “Really. And thank you, too.”

She didn’t move to get out of the car. They both just sat there, looking at each other, until he lifted his hand and cupped her face. God, her skin was so smooth. He made himself drop his hand, before she could pull away. Everything in him wanted to kiss her.

“I hate this, you know,” he said.

“I hate this, too,” she said in a low voice. And then she turned and got out of the car without another word.





Thirteen


MARGOT PULLED ON HER black wrap dress on Monday morning, this time with flat caramel sandals, a denim jacket, and simple gold jewelry. It would be too hot for the jacket by eleven, but for now it was still just overcast and cool enough that she needed it. It was going to be a busy day today; she had a bunch of calls, appointments back-to-back all day, and a few tours, one of which she’d let Marisol do, and another she might let Luke do.

Luke. She sighed. What had she been thinking the day before, telling him all of that about her and Elliot? Talking to him like she had? Looking at him, right before she got out of the car, like she knew she had.