Count Your Lucky Stars: Chapter 11

Oh.

Oh, wow.

Margot’s breath caught as stared at a slightly blurry selfie of Elle and Darcy beaming at the camera. In it, Elle had her hand held up in front of her, displaying a dazzling round-cut diamond that gleamed brightly from her ring finger.

Margot’s phone rang, and she took a deep breath, smiling when she answered because she’d read somewhere that people could pick up on that sort of thing in your voice. “Hey—”

A piercing screech made Margot wince and tug the phone away from her ear.

“Did you see? Did you see it?” Elle demanded. “Margot! I’m engaged!”

A genuine laugh escaped her. “I saw it, Elle. Congratulations!”

Elle let loose a softer, slightly more subdued but equally as joyful squeal. “Darcy took me up to the observatory and it was—God, Mar. It was perfect. And this ring! Oh sweet Saturn. Darcy said she wanted to get me my birthstone, but apparently amethyst isn’t very durable. Something abouts a Mohs’ scale? I don’t even know. But then she found this! The halo’s shaped like a star, and get this—the band is inlaid with actual meteorite. From fucking space.”

Margot chuckled at Elle’s out-of-control enthusiasm. “It sounds perfect, Elle.”

“It is, it really is.” Elle gave a happy-sounding sigh. “Darcy’s on the phone with Brendon right now, and I know I should’ve probably called my parents but . . . you’re the first person I wanted to tell.”

A knot formed in Margot’s throat, the backs of her eyelids stinging. “I’m glad you called.” She swallowed before her voice could crack. “I’m—like I said, I’m so happy for you.” She laughed. “Fuck. I mean, damn, Elle. You’re engaged.”

Engaged to be married. Holy shit.

Margot’s bedroom door inched open and Cat peeked inside. She inspected her surroundings with curious sniffs as she wandered further into the room, detouring to Margot’s closed closet door and smacking it with her paw. When it didn’t budge, Cat headed over to Margot’s bed. Margot tucked her feet up under her and frowned when Cat let out a demanding little trill.

“Margot?”

“Sorry.” She cringed. “I, um, got distracted. You were saying?”

“I asked if you’ll be my Maid of Honor, silly.” Elle laughed. “Darcy’s making faces at me—hold on.” The line went muffled, Elle’s voice distant. “Sorry, Darcy says I should’ve asked you in a note or a gift box or something.”

“Oh!” She pressed the heel of her hand into her chest as if she could massage away the ache inside. “I, uh, don’t need a gift box.”

“I could buy you a box of wine?”

Margot laughed. “I won’t say no to wine.”

“So?” Elle asked, sounding impatient but mostly just eager.

“So of course.” Warmth bloomed between her ribs. “I’d be honored.” Her lips quirked. “Ba-dum-tss.”

Just like she’d hoped, Elle chuckled. “I’m glad. Oh, this is going to be so great. It’s March, and obviously nothing’s set in stone, but Darcy and I were thinking about a winter wedding, so that would mean . . .”

Cat crouched low and leaped onto Margot’s bed, landing gracefully on all fours, the duvet barely depressing beneath her weight, which was made of mostly fur and sass. She stomped around, pawing at Margot’s pillows before stopping directly in front of Margot.

And staring.

“Mar? Are you still there?”

Margot sighed. “Yeah, I’m so sorry. I am. I’m just—this cat keeps staring at me and I don’t know if it’s a friendly stare or an I want to eat your face look.” Margot had woken up at four in the morning to the unsettling feeling of being watched. She’d rolled over, and sure enough, somehow Cat had found her way into Margot’s room, Margot’s closed room, hopped up onto Margot’s bed, lain down, and proceeded to purr like an engine. Whether that meant Cat was warming up to her or simply studying her, lying in wait for the right moment to attack, Margot had no fucking clue. “But I’m totally listening.”

Elle went quiet before clearing her throat. “Are you sure you’re okay? You sound a little . . . off.”

Off. Fuck. Margot dropped her head into her hand and swallowed a sigh. The last thing she wanted was for her—her weirdness and messy, all-over-the-place feelings to get out. She was dealing, working through them. Talking to Olivia had helped, but Margot wasn’t going to magically feel less like her friends were leaving her behind, and it definitely wasn’t going to happen overnight. It was going to take time and, honestly, seeing proof that just because everyone was getting married didn’t mean everything would change.

For Elle’s sake, for the sake of their friendship, Margot needed to pull her head out of her ass, stat. “You want to know the truth?”

Elle sucked in a sharp breath. “Hit me with it.”

“Darcy already told me she was planning to propose. She pulled me aside and told me after the cake tasting, so—so that’s why I sound off. I was trying to act surprised, and you know me, I can’t act for shit.”

Elle laughed, obviously relieved. “You had me worried for a second. Geez. Okay, I can see that happening. So you’ve known since Saturday?”

“Mm-hmm.” Margot scratched her jaw, eyes flitting to Cat and away. Cat kept staring, little head cocked slightly to the side, her small body forming a squat triangle as she sat. Her front paw reached out, patting the bed in front of Margot’s knee, and she meowed. Margot frowned. “Look, I absolutely want to chat more about this, okay? Maybe when we’re up at the lodge tomorrow for the bachelor-bachelorette trip, yeah? We can sip spiked cider and you can tell me all about it. Right now, I’ve got to figure out what this cat wants.”

“Good luck.” Elle snickered, then gasped. “Wait! Do you think Olivia could help with our wedding?”

Cat meowed louder, stomping closer, getting all up in Margot’s space, stepping on Margot’s socked feet with her front paws.

“Um, I don’t see why not. You should definitely ask her.”

“Okay, you go take care of your catastrophe.” Elle chuckled at her own joke. “I’ll talk to you later, ’kay?”

“Later.” Margot ended the call and tossed her phone down beside her with a groan. She looked at Cat and frowned. “How do you think I sounded? Pretty convincing?”

Cat sneezed.

Huh.

“Okay, whatever that’s supposed to mean.” Margot sighed. “I am happy for Elle, you know? I’m just . . . conflicted. Which is normal, I guess. I just need to—to get a grip. Pull it together. Because that’s what good friends do.”

Cat cocked her head, whiskers twitching. She patted at Margot’s leg—claws mercifully retracted—and meowed.

If only she knew what the cat was saying—oh, wait. She’d downloaded an app, the one that apparently translated cat-speak into English. It sounded suspect, the science behind it pretty much nonexistent, but there was no harm in trying.

Margot opened up the app and hit the record button.

Cat stared at her, silent.

“Meow?” Margot tried.

If she wasn’t mistaken, she could’ve sworn Cat’s eyes narrowed, judging her.

“Come on. Now you want to be quiet?”

She closed the app with a sigh.

Almost immediately, Cat gave a soft, kittenish-sounding mewl.

“You’re kind of an asshole, you know that?” Margot smiled. “It’s okay. I can be a little bit of an asshole sometimes, too.”

Cat’s tail swished from side to side. She stood, stretched, then hopped off Margot’s bed, sauntering across the room. She stopped just shy of the door and looked back over her shoulder, giving a sharp, insistent meow that made it clear she wanted something.

Margot sighed and stood. “What is it? Did Timmy fall down the well?”

Cat’s eyes narrowed into green slits.

Yeesh. Tough crowd. “Okay, to be fair, I’ll admit that a dog joke might’ve been in poor taste. But most of my cat jokes are in equally poor taste, so it was kind of a lose-lose.”

With a swish of her tail, Cat left the room, looking back once, as if making sure Margot followed.

Instead of turning left toward the living room, Cat went right, turning the corner into Olivia’s room. Margot’s footsteps faltered.

Because of Cat, Olivia kept her door open at all times, even when she wasn’t home. Like now. Olivia was downstairs in the basement, doing a load of laundry.

Cat gave another sharp screech, looking at Margot as if wondering what was taking her so long. Assuming that’s what that cat wanted. Margot didn’t know. It was all a guessing game.

“You need to wait until your . . .” She trailed off. Cat mom? Handler? Human? Hell if she knew. “You’ve got to wait ’til Liv comes back, you little monster.”

Margot couldn’t just waltz inside Olivia’s bedroom, even if the door was open. There were boundaries. Having sex didn’t automatically negate their need for their own space. Privacy. They’d never said bedrooms were off-limits, but wasn’t it implied? Margot couldn’t just—

Cat wailed like a banshee, hitting a pitch that shouldn’t have been possible. Margot cringed and—fuck it. If ever there was a time to throw caution to the wind, it was now, her eardrums practically bleeding as Cat freaking caterwauled. It wasn’t like she’d be snooping through Olivia’s belongings. All she wanted was to figure out what the hell was wrong with this cat and make her stop screaming. Olivia would understand.

Margot stepped inside the room and flipped the lights. She cast a glance around the room, gaze stutter-stopping at the corner near Olivia’s closet. Cat sat beside her litter box with a subtle yet discernible frown on her already scrunchy face. Her ears were down and flat, and she wailed once more.

Margot held her breath and stepped closer and—

“Are you shitting me right now?”

Cat blinked, utterly unrepentant.

Margot pulled her shirt up over her nose. Cat hadn’t bothered to cover her business. Just left it there, bold as could be, in the center of the litter box.

“I’m not cleaning that,” Margot muttered. “You can wait until Olivia comes back.”

Cat looked up, doing her best damn impression of Puss in Boots, all wide, innocent eyes. A sad little mew escaped her. Margot shook her head, turned on her heel, and—

Another one of those banshee-like screams filled the air.

Margot shut her eyes.

This was her life now. Being led around by a cat, a cat who had destroyed her favorite vibrator, and now demanded she clean up her poop. Oh, how the mighty had fallen.

Margot huffed and spun on her heel. “Okay, fine. Just this once. This is not going to become a habit, you hear me?”

Cat stared.

Pooper scooper . . . pooper scooper . . . where would Olivia keep a scooper? Margot checked beside the litter box, finding a stash of lightly floral-scented bags for depositing Cat’s business in. But no scooper. She crouched low and checked under Olivia’s desk. Squat. Beside the door. Nope. Unless it was right in front of Margot’s eyes and she’d missed it, the pooper scooper was nowhere to be seen.

Cat let loose another aggrieved-sounding meow as if this was taking too long.

Margot took a deep, bracing breath and shook open one of the pastel pink bags. A sweet lavender scent filled the air, masking the odor coming from the litter box. Margot shoved her hand inside the bag and crouched in front of the box.

“I can’t believe I’m actually doing this,” she muttered.

Cat stood and circled the box, taking a seat directly beside Margot, watching. Inspecting. Judging.

Hand encased in a thin layer of plastic, Margot carefully reached inside the litter box, fishing out the piece of poo.

“This is degrading,” she muttered under her breath. “And demoralizing.” She glanced at Cat, who had her little head cocked up at Margot, eyes wide, whiskers twitching. “Wipe that self-satisfied smile off your face.” Cat leaned in and bumped Margot’s arm with her head, starting up a low, rumbling purr. Margot’s insides melted. “Oh, Jesus, you’re too cute. You played me like a fiddle, didn’t you? Ugh. I bet you’re laughing inside, aren’t you? Ha, humans have thumbs, but look at you, shoveling my shit. Who’s the smarter species now?”

“Margot?”

Oh, shit.

Margot shuffled on her knees, pivoting to face the door. Olivia stood, laundry basket propped against her hip, a frown furrowing her brows.

“Um.” Margot lifted a hand, the one protected by a thin layer of plastic, holding Cat’s poo. “This isn’t what it looks like?”

Olivia pressed her lips together, looking like she was trying not to laugh. “Honestly? I don’t even know what this looks like.”

Margot dropped her chin and chuckled. “Okay. Your cat kept whining and she—she pulled a Lassie and led me in here and there was”—she waved her hand and, okay gross, that was a bad idea—“this. I couldn’t find your litter scooper, so I . . . improvised?”

“You improvised.” Olivia’s shoulders shook with silent laughter.

“People pick up their dogs’ droppings with little plastic bags all the time. This isn’t any different.”

Except for the mortification. That was exciting and new.

Olivia set her laundry basket down and crossed the room. She stepped on the foot pedal of the trash can against the wall and pointed at a handy-dandy compartment tucked inside the lid, where the pooper scooper was hidden out of sight. “It keeps everything nice and odor-free.”

“Right.” Margot’s face warmed as she stared at her hand full of cat poo. “This isn’t awkward at all.”

Olivia laughed. “I, um, appreciate the effort.”

Carefully, Margot slipped the plastic down her arm and over her wrist, turning the bag inside out. She tied it off and tossed it in the open can, Olivia’s foot still depressing the pedal for her.

“I’m going to go scrub my hands,” she mumbled, slipping out into the hall and into the bathroom.

Olivia followed a few seconds later, Cat cradled in her arms like an overgrown furry baby. She leaned against the doorjamb, watching as Margot pumped hand soap into her palms, coating them in a liberal lather.

“I really do appreciate it,” Olivia said, hiking Cat a little higher. “You could’ve waited until I came back.”

Not really, with Cat practically howling her displeasure.

Margot shrugged and turned off the tap, flicking excess water from her fingers before reaching for the hand towel. “It’s fine. I hope you don’t mind I went into your room.”

“Why would I mind?” Olivia bent down and set Cat on the floor when she started to wiggle.

Margot turned and leaned her hip against the sink. “I don’t know. I guess I didn’t want you to think I was invading your . . . I don’t know, privacy or something. I wasn’t in there snooping. Strictly shoveling poo.”

Olivia stepped closer, stopping when their toes bumped, both wearing socks. Olivia’s were white with a pink stripe across the toes, Margot’s basic black. Olivia smiled. “It’s not like I have anything to hide. And besides”—she rested a hand on either side of the sink by Margot’s hips, boxing her in—“I trust you.”

Margot’s heart bungeed into her throat. “Cool. That’s . . .”

Olivia’s lips twitched, eyes roving over Margot’s face.

She swallowed hard. “I trust you, too.”

A broad smile lit up Olivia’s face. The hands on either side of Margot closed in, sliding over the sink, settling against Margot’s hips and squeezing softly. Olivia’s fingers skimmed the highest point of Margot’s ass, and then she leaned in, head tilting to the side, the tip of her nose brushing Margot’s, breath wafting warm and sweet against Margot’s mouth.

It was almost embarrassing how weak her knees went from such a chaste kiss. A sigh escaped her as she gripped Olivia’s arms, losing herself in the softness of Olivia’s mouth and the sweet, subtle perfume of her skin.

Olivia drew back, ending the kiss before Margot was ready, a tiny wrinkle between her eyes. “Was that okay?”

“Yes? I mean, a little brief for my taste, but—”

Olivia ducked her head and laughed. “No, I meant kissing you. Is it okay if I do?”

Color her confused. “Why wouldn’t it be okay?”

“We didn’t really talk about it.”

No, no, they hadn’t.

As soon as the sweat had started to cool against her skin and her heart rate was no longer racing, Margot had—in what wasn’t one of her finest moments—panicked.

The one thing she wasn’t supposed to do, a line she wasn’t supposed to cross, and what had she done? She’d taken a running leap and hurled herself over it, headfirst.

But then again, it wasn’t sex that had complicated everything between them the first time. It was that Margot had had feelings.

The only reasonable solution was to take feelings completely off the table. Prevent them from forming in the first place. To keep things between them casual.

“I don’t want to overstep or do anything that makes you uncomfortable,” Olivia added.

Short of pushing Margot away or leaving, there was nothing Margot could imagine Olivia doing that would make her uncomfortable.

“You won’t,” Margot said.

“So, I can kiss you?”

Margot nodded. “You can kiss me whenever you want.”

Olivia’s lips curved. “Careful. I might get greedy.”

Please do.

Margot laughed. “Somehow, I don’t see myself complaining.”

“Good.” Olivia leaned in, pecking Margot quickly.

“You have plans tonight?” Margot bit her lip and snuck her hands under the back of Olivia’s tee, trailing a finger up her spine and biting back a smile when Olivia shivered.

Olivia’s hips jerked forward, a soft, sweet laugh escaping her lips. “Other than folding laundry?”

“Screw laundry.” Margot reversed the course of her hands, tucking them under the waist of Olivia’s jeans. Her thumbs traced circles along the dimples at the base of Olivia’s spine, touching sensitive skin that made her press even closer. Olivia’s grip on Margot’s hips tightened, fingers biting into Margot’s ass, making her grin at how easy it was to elicit a reaction from Olivia.

Or maybe Margot was just that good at it. Yeah, she liked that option much better.

“Mmm. Aren’t you supposed to say something like why do laundry when you can do me instead?”

“You know me so well.” She leaned in, pressing her lips to the velvety-soft skin just beneath Olivia’s ear.

Leaning her head to the side, Olivia bared her neck, giving Margot more room to work with, more skin to worship. A soft hum escaped her throat before the hands grasping Margot’s hips squeezed and Olivia stepped back, her hum of content morphing into a regretful groan that Margot couldn’t help but echo. “Before I forget. Brendon texted me.”

“Okay?”

“He invited me up to Snoqualmie for his and Annie’s joint bachelor-bachelorette trip,” Olivia explained, thumbs inching under the hem of Margot’s shirt. “Is that okay?”

Olivia’s fingers made maddening little circles against Margot’s sides. Goose bumps erupted across her skin, and for a split second her brain went fuzzy, lost in the sensation. “Um. Why wouldn’t it be?”

Olivia shrugged. “They’re your friends.” And Margot was ninety-nine percent sure Brendon was trying to adopt Olivia into the fold. “I don’t want it to be weird.”

“Zero weirdness,” Margot said. “At least not for me?”

Olivia drew her lip between her teeth. “Have you, um, told them . . . ?”

About what? Saturday? Or years before?

Margot shook her head. She was going to assume Olivia meant the former, otherwise she probably would’ve brought it up before now. “It hasn’t really come up. With the wedding and everything.”

“Right.” Olivia nodded quickly. “Makes sense.”

Plus, there was that whole thing where Margot didn’t know how to begin explaining this to her friends. The past, the now, none of it. Knowing Brendon, he’d probably get it in his head that casual was a pit stop on the way to falling in love. He’d take it upon himself to play Cupid, to make their relationship into more.

He’d hassle her, his heart in the right place, but the road to hell was paved with good intentions. This, her and Olivia, felt precarious enough without added meddling. Even if it was well-meaning.

“This is kind of a weird ask, but . . . do you think we could keep this quiet?” Margot winced. “That sounds terrible. Jesus. It’s just, you’ve met Brendon. You’ve seen how he can be, and that’s only in the handful of interactions you’ve had.”

Olivia nibbled on her bottom lip, staring over Margot’s shoulder into the mirror. “They’re your friends, Mar. You can tell them or not tell them whatever you want.” She flashed Margot a smile and shrugged. “I’m just their wedding planner.”

And the wedding was in under a week. Olivia would no longer be just their wedding planner. Hell, she was already more than that. Margot’s roommate, Margot’s friend, Margot’s—something.

“It doesn’t have to be forever,” Margot said, her stupid voice cracking on the last word. Forever. Wow, way to imply that this thing between them had longevity. Fuck. Margot’s stomach knotted. Something else to talk about.

“I guess it wouldn’t hurt to, um, keep things under wraps until after the wedding,” Olivia said. “Keep things focused on Brendon and Annie.”

“Right.” Margot nodded quickly. “And, um, we can decide to tell them or not after.”

“Sure.” Olivia smiled and resumed tracing shapes into Margot’s skin. “The grocery store down the street is open twenty-four hours, right?”

“No. Only until midnight. Do you need something?” Something that couldn’t wait?

“Cat’s out of food. I thought I had another can in the pantry, but I don’t.” Olivia’s lips twisted to the side. “That, and I know Annie and Brendon said no gifts at the bachelor-bachelorette party, but I don’t want to show up empty-handed. I was thinking I’d bake cookies, and you have no sugar.”

Typical Liv, needing to bring a hostess gift. Margot smiled. “You know, most people bring alcohol or . . . I don’t know, a dip.”

Olivia’s brows rose. “A dip?”

“Yeah. You know, sour cream or hummus or—I don’t know. Dip.”

Brendon was the first of her friends to get married. The whole of her knowledge of bachelor and bachelorette parties came from movies like The Hangover and Bridesmaids.

Olivia smiled. “I guess I’m not most people, then.”

“No,” Margot agreed, warmth spreading through her chest. “You aren’t.”

Olivia ducked her head, but there was no mistaking the way her smile began to curl. “If I’m baking cookies, I need sugar. A few other odds and ends, too.”

“We’ve got break-and-bake dough in the fridge,” Margot said, erring on the side of simplicity. That, and it was hard, though not impossible, to fuck up premade dough.

Olivia wrinkled her nose. “I want to make real cookies. My grandma’s cookies.”

Oh, shit. “You mean the chocolate cookies with—”

“White chocolate chunks?” Olivia nodded. “Yup. My grandma’s tar cookies.”

Margot’s mouth watered. She stepped away from the counter and fished her phone out of her pocket. “It’s only after ten.”

Olivia cocked her head. “Want to go with me? Keep me company?”

Margot shrugged. She wasn’t doing anything. “Sure. Let me grab my jacket.”

Three minutes later, they were out on the rain-splattered sidewalk. Margot tugged her hood over her head and crossed her arms against the chill, setting off down the street in the direction of the QFC.

A blast of heat blew her hood back as soon as they stepped through the automatic doors and into the grocery store. Bypassing the carts, Margot paused in front of the bank of registers. “I’m going to head to the freezer section. Meet you by the self-check?”

Olivia nodded, already shuffling in the direction of the aisle marked pet care. “Sounds good.”

Margot meandered toward the ice cream, stopping to snag a bag of Reese’s off the endcap of an aisle, grabbing a box of Sour Patch Kids, too, because Olivia had an affinity for things that were sour and sweet and—huh. A snort escaped her, earning her a sideways look from a woman wearing a fur coat pushing a cart full of mayonnaise. Thirteen jars of Kraft mayonnaise and not a single other item in her cart, though it looked like she was seriously considering the bag of Pop Rocks in her hand.

Capitol Hill after dark was an interesting place, that was for sure. Margot loved it here.

Ooh, Ben & Jerry’s had a new flavor featuring peanut butter cups and peanut butter swirls. Margot cracked open the freezer, a chilly blast of air nipping at her face as she bypassed the closest pint and grabbed the second out of habit. She was still bitter that they’d discontinued her favorite flavor, sending it to the flavor graveyard, because apparently some people had no taste and couldn’t appreciate a good thing. This was a small concession, one she was eager to try.

“Hey.” Olivia ducked her head around the aisle, arms laden with sugar, cocoa powder, chocolate chips, and several cans of Friskies cat food in delightful flavors like—Margot squinted—chicken griller and cheesy ocean feast. Yikes. Margot would stick with peanut butter swirl, thanks. She smiled ruefully. “I forgot a basket.” A smile played at the edges of Olivia’s mouth when she spotted the Sour Patch Kids in Margot’s other hand. “Are those for me?”

“These?” She wrinkled her nose. “Oh, I was about to put these back on the—”

“Shut up.” Olivia laughed and stepped closer, crowding Margot up against the glass door of the freezer, earning a glare from the woman with the cart full of mayo and, now, Pop Rocks, who was perusing the Magic Shell fudge sauce at the end of the aisle.

Margot pressed her lips together, muffling a snicker. She dropped her voice to a whisper. “Look at her cart. Think she has big plans for tonight?”

Olivia’s eyes darted to the left, doing a double take at the contents of the cart. “Holy—okay, I don’t want to yuck anyone’s yum, but some things aren’t okay.”

“Right?” Margot muffled another laugh when the woman grabbed every single jar of fudge sauce, easily six, off the shelf and added them to her cart.

“I mean, Kraft?” Olivia tutted. “Hellmann’s or bust.”

Laughter bubbled up Margot’s throat and past her lips. “Liv.”

Olivia beamed at her, hazel eyes crinkling. She leaned closer, breath warm against Margot’s mouth. The very tip of her nose brushed Margot’s once, twice, three times before she pressed a kiss to the corner of Margot’s mouth.

“Tease,” Margot muttered, breathless, practically vibrating from holding still, letting Olivia come to her.

“Not if I follow . . .” Olivia frowned. “I’m buzzing.”

Margot chuckled. “You give me tingles, too, Liv.”

Olivia burst out laughing. “No. I mean, yes, but I meant my butt’s buzzing.” She stepped back and turned, looking at Margot over her shoulder. “Could you grab my phone? My hands are full.”

Oh. Margot wiggled her fingers into the tight back pocket of Olivia’s jeans, prying her phone free. The name on the screen caught her eye. “Why the hell is Brad calling you?”

Saying his name put a funny taste in Margot’s mouth, bitter like she’d drunk coffee that had gone cold and stale. Admittedly, she’d never been Brad’s biggest fan, and not only because he’d dated Olivia. When he hadn’t ignored Margot, he’d called her Cargo, a childish taunt that had butchered her name and implied she was Olivia’s sidekick, her baggage, all in one fell swoop. Of course, he’d only called her that when Olivia wasn’t around because he was also a coward of the highest order, but whatever. The past was the past, and that was the whole point.

Olivia’s eyes widened. “Um. I don’t know.” She juggled the cans in her arms, dropping one. It clattered against the floor, rolling down the aisle and under the freezer. Olivia frowned at it. “He just . . . does sometimes.”

Margot goggled at her. “As in, he does this on what? A regular basis?”

Olivia’s throat jerked. “Define regular.”

“Jesus,” Margot murmured. Olivia’s phone continued to vibrate against her palm. “You answer?”

Olivia cradled the remaining cans, eyes flitting between Margot’s face and that lost can. “I . . .” She cringed sharply and gestured to the phone with her elbow. “Could you just . . .”

“Are you serious?” Margot stared at her. “You want me to answer it?”

Olivia cringed. “I’ll be so quick. Just . . . hold it up to my ear?” She stared at Margot with wide eyes and—ugh, Margot couldn’t believe she was doing this. A testament to how little she wouldn’t do for Olivia.

She swiped at the screen and held the phone against Olivia’s ear.

“Brad?” Olivia rolled her lips together and shifted her weight from one foot to the other, looking as uncomfortable as Margot felt. “Now isn’t a good time.”

Margot bit down hard on the inside of her cheek.

Olivia shut her eyes. “No. It’s in the junk drawer.” She sighed, forehead creasing in irritation. “The junk drawer, Brad. The catch-all drawer in the kitchen. The one below the coffee maker. The one that sticks when you—yes, that one. It’s in there. Check in the back.” Olivia’s shoulders slumped, and Margot was tempted to hang up the phone for her. “No, Brad. I have to go. Good n—”

Margot ended the call with a little more gusto than strictly necessary, jamming her finger against the screen. She reached around Olivia and slid the phone back into her pocket, then stepped back, crossing her arms. “How often does Brad call you, Liv?”

One of Olivia’s shoulders rose and fell, too jerky to be casual. “Sometimes. I don’t . . . It’s not like I’m keeping track. It’s enough to be a nuisance, but not enough to be a problem.”

A nuisance was a problem. Anything that put a frown that severe on Olivia’s face was a problem, and she shouldn’t have to put up with it.

“What’s he even calling you about at”—Margot dug inside her pocket for her own phone—“eleven at night, anyway?”

Olivia rolled her eyes. “He was looking for the spare garage door opener.”

“And he called you?”

A can of cat food teetered, stacked precariously atop the rest. Margot snatched it just as it fell, holding on to it for Olivia.

Olivia nibbled on her lip and nodded. “It’s—it’s always stupid little things, Mar. I just shrug it off. It’s not worth getting up in arms about. Trust me.”

“Why haven’t you told him to fuck off?” Or, better yet . . . “Why do you even take his calls? Just block his number.”

“I asked him to stop.”

“You asked him.” Margot’s tongue bulged against the side of her cheek.

Olivia blew the hair out of her face with a weary sigh. “It’s not that simple.”

Margot bit her tongue against the urge to blurt out that it sure sounded simple to her. Cut-and-dried. Fuck off. Two little words, but . . . she wasn’t in Olivia’s shoes. “Help me understand what makes it complicated, then.”

Olivia stared at her for a second, eyes flitting over Margot’s face as if weighing the sincerity of Margot’s request. After a moment, her gaze dropped to ground between them, her voice quiet but steady. “It’s not like I want to take his calls, but I can’t just block his number.” Her jaw ticked, a muscle beneath her ear jumping. “I’ve asked him not to call me unless it’s about something serious.”

Margot was trying to understand, but it didn’t make sense. Olivia and Brad had been divorced for a year, and from the sound of it, they didn’t share close mutual friends. They didn’t have pets or kids to shuffle from one house to another. And they hadn’t exactly ended on the best of terms, what with Brad being a cheating ass. The longer she puzzled through this in her head, the less it made sense and the more frustrated she got on Olivia’s behalf, her blood pressure rising. “Okay. What would possibly be serious enough for Brad to need to contact you?”

Olivia shrugged, sending another can tumbling. It rolled across the tile floor all the way to the end of the aisle, stopping against the wheel of the cart belonging to the woman with all the mayo. The woman nudged the can back toward them with a kick. It stalled out midway down the aisle, and Margot left it there. She’d pick it up later.

“I told you about my dad. About his heart attack last year,” Olivia said, staring down the aisle at the can. “He’s doing okay, but . . . I know he doesn’t like me to worry. But it’s not like I worry for no reason. Dad’s not always the most forthcoming. He drove himself to the hospital when it happened. He only let the nurse call me when he found out he was going to be admitted overnight.” Her voice cracked and she sniffed hard. “When he tells me he’s fine, I can’t help but worry that his definition of fine and mine aren’t the same.” Olivia gave another one of those bone-weary-sounding sighs that made Margot want to bundle her up and take her back home. It had only been a couple weeks, but already Margot’s brain had made the transition to thinking of the apartment as theirs and not just hers. “So I asked Brad to let me know if he hears anything. Dad’s still friendly with Brad’s parents. He and Dad run into each other sometimes. They go to the same football watch parties. It’s a small town. People hear things I don’t from fifty miles away.”

“Do they ever,” Margot muttered under her breath. “My dad’s the resident busybody, apparently, remember?”

Olivia cracked a smile, the first in too long.

Margot inhaled deeply and nodded slowly. “Okay. So you asked Brad to keep you posted if something happens to your dad.” She couldn’t say she agreed with that plan, but she could understand where Olivia was coming from. “But he calls you out of the blue. About garage door openers?”

“Stupid things,” Olivia agreed, head bobbing. “Like I said, I’ve asked him to stop, but it’s not worth getting upset over. I answer, I try to keep it brief. You heard. Then I let him go.” Olivia’s lips flattened. “It’s irritating, but I can’t block him. What if he calls and it’s actually something important?”

A throat cleared. The woman wearing the fur coat with the cart full of mayo stood, brows raised impatiently as she stared at the freezer behind them. “You’re blocking the frozen yogurt.”

“Shoot, sorry.” Olivia offered a smile and stepped out of the way. Rather than merely shuffling to the side, she nodded toward the front of the store. Margot followed after her, swiping the can off the floor on the way to the checkout.

“I’ll get it.” Margot waved Olivia off, paying for the cat food in addition to the ice cream, candy, and ingredients for cookies.

Olivia tucked her wallet away with a smile. “Thanks.”

It wasn’t until they were back out on the street that Margot circled back around, not ready to drop the subject. “It sounds to me like you’ve requested a boundary and Brad continues to ignore it. That’s not okay, Liv. I know you care about your dad, I . . .” Margot swallowed, the next words out of her mouth almost I love that about you.

Margot’s heart skipped a beat before crashing hard against the wall of her chest. All the blood in her head seemed to drain south, leaving her dizzy. Where the hell had that come from? She didn’t love Olivia. No. If Margot loved anything, it was Olivia’s endless capacity to care about people, strangers and friends and family and stray cats alike.

She sucked in a lungful of air. It wasn’t anything worth freaking out over. Even if she did love Liv, Margot loved lots of things. Ice cream. Tequila. Her air fryer. Her friends. No big. Olivia cared, and so what if Margot loved that about her?

It wasn’t like she was in love with her.

“It just pisses me off,” Margot said, picking up as if she hadn’t stopped midsentence and gone silent for a beat too long, too telling. “I am—I am incensed on your behalf because . . . damn it, Liv. You deserve better than Brad trying to con you into talking to him for whatever bullshit he calls you about. He is a grown-up. He can find a garage door opener without having to resort to calling his ex-wife. The ex-wife he took for granted. I guarantee you he knows why you answer, and he’s counting on that. He’s counting on you being kind. Counting on you wondering and worrying, and if on the off chance he isn’t? If he’s just selfish and oblivious? That’s not any better. That’s not an excuse. Your boundaries and your feelings and what you want matter. You deserve better, Olivia.”

By the time she’d finished speaking—ranting—she was practically panting on the street corner, her face flushed so severely that she was surprised the misty rain falling around them didn’t turn to steam against her skin.

Olivia blinked, spun-gold lashes clumping together. Light from the streetlamp reflected off her eyes, bringing out the flecks of gold in her irises and turning the center ring of deep forest green that hugged her pupil into a brighter, brilliant shade of emerald.

The smooth column of Olivia’s throat jerked as she stepped forward, resting her hands on Margot’s waist. Margot held impossibly still as Olivia leaned in, pressing an achingly sweet kiss against Margot’s bottom lip. Olivia drew back but didn’t go far, staying close enough that Margot could make out the tiny drops of rain clinging to her lashes. “Thanks, Mar.”

It took a second to make her muscles move, to nod. “No need to thank me. I was just being honest.”

“What did you think I was thanking you for?” Olivia’s lips tipped up at the corners, and Margot’s heart stuttered. “What you said—all of it . . . that means a lot to me. That you feel that way.”

Swallowing took effort as did her shrug. “Just—think about what I said.”

“I will.”