Count Your Lucky Stars: Chapter 8

The Sweet Spot, a perfectly innocent bakery with a very naughty name—or maybe Margot just had a dirty mind—usually closed at six, but had been willing to accommodate Brendon and Annie’s schedules, staying open late for their cake tasting.

A sampling of petit fours had been presented on pedestal stands, five of each of the six flavors Brendon and Annie had selected for tasting, flavors ranging from a traditional vanilla to lavender honey. Margot picked at the ultra-thick, sugary-sweet fondant covering a coconut—gag—mini cake and stared surreptitiously across the table while Olivia went to town on her pink champagne petit four.

A fleck of edible gold leaf clung to the center of Olivia’s bottom lip. Her tongue darted out, only managing to nudge the shiny fleck closer to the corner of her mouth. Olivia either thought it was gone or hadn’t realized it was there in the first place, because she scooped up another forkful of cake, bringing it to her lips. Her mouth closed around the fork, and her lashes fluttered softly against the smooth skin beneath her eyes. The tines of her fork made a gradual reappearance and a soft hum of contentment slipped from her lips as she chewed slowly, savoring the bite. Eyes open but lids low, Olivia lifted the fork back to her lips, lapping at the frosting that clung to the space between the tines.

A breathy groan filled the air, more desperate than satisfied.

Four curious sets of eyes locked on her.

Motherfucker, she had made that noise, all pleading and pornographic and—ugh. The tips of Margot’s ears burned so badly she feared they would pop right off like little turkey timers signaling she was well past done. She coughed, as if doing that could possibly pass that groan off as . . . congestion and not a desire to get up close and reacquainted with Olivia’s tongue.

She shivered. Nope. Bad Margot.

“Mar?” The corners of Brendon’s eyes crinkled with concern. “You feeling all right?”

“Mm, yep.” She reached out, knuckles knocking into her glass of ice water, skin slipping against the condensation. A drop of water slipped down the back of her hand and circled her wrist as she took a long drink, studiously avoiding looking anywhere near Olivia. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” Annie frowned. “You’re looking kind of flushed.”

Christ on a cracker, couldn’t a girl be horny in peace?

“It is a little warm in here,” Darcy said, earning herself top billing on Margot’s list of favorite people. “I think they’ve got the heat set a touch too high.”

Darcy’s eyes darted from Margot to Olivia and back to Margot, a dimple forming at the corner of her mouth when she smirked. That was, without a doubt, a look to file away for closer inspection later.

“So.” Brendon set his napkin beside his plate, eyes focused on her. “What do you think, or do you not care?”

“I care,” Margot blurted. “I totally care.”

Brendon’s face twisted, half frown, half smile, one hundred percent amused. “Okay . . . so, thoughts?”

Margot winced. Shit. “Um, what was the question?”

Everyone chuckled, Olivia included, her laughter ringing out like a bell, pretty and sharp. Margot’s heart stuttered then sped. It was difficult to get up in arms about being made fun of when Olivia’s smile made her eyes brighten.

“You care, but you don’t know what it is you care about?” Darcy’s brows rose.

“I personally think it’s a testament to my boundless capacity for caring, that it’s not even a prerequisite knowing what it is I care about.”

Darcy grinned. “And I personally think it’s a testament to your ability to bullshit that you were able to say that sentence with a straight face.”

Across the table, Olivia pressed her fingertips to her mouth, stifling her smile.

“Fine, you caught me. I spaced out for a second.”

Margot tossed her napkin down beside her plate and slouched back in her chair, ankle accidentally brushing against Olivia’s beneath the table. Olivia’s whole body twitched at the contact, her eyes flitting up, gaze locking on Margot’s. Whoops. Margot slid her foot away and Olivia broke eye contact, dropping her eyes to the table. A few seconds later, Olivia’s foot bumped up against Margot’s and didn’t move.

Margot swallowed hard. Okay. She was officially Victorian-era-level horny if a—potentially?—accidental game of footsie was making her sweat.

None the wiser, Brendon smiled. “Cake flavors, Mar. You got a preference?”

“They were all pretty tasty,” she hedged, not wanting to put her foot in her mouth and perform a repeat of the time she’d told Brendon—gently—that “At Last” by Etta James wasn’t, in her opinion, the right choice for his and Annie’s first dance.

That was the song you dance to when you’re . . . you’re fifty or on your second marriage. Brendon was younger than Margot, only by a year, but still. At last his love had come along? Sure, he’d crushed on Annie long before they got together, but come on. He hadn’t waited that long.

They’d selected a different song, a song that was a much better fit for them in the end, but Brendon had been bummed. The last thing Margot needed was to inadvertently insult his or Annie’s favorite flavor in the name of being honest.

Margot shrugged. “Can’t go wrong with any of them.”

Unless they picked lavender honey or coconut or—ew—pistachio. Cake was supposed to taste like cake, not like the ingredients in a DIY face mask or potpourri. But, hey, it wasn’t her wedding, and the last thing she wanted was for someone to accuse her of being anything but supportive. She’d force down a whole slice of lavender-pistachio-coconut grossness with a smile on her face if it kept her friends happy.

Across the table, Olivia stared at Margot dubiously.

Brendon shrugged. “Huh. Okay.” He turned and looked at Annie. “Um—”

“Margot likes the peanut butter chocolate,” Olivia said, smiling. “She’s always been a sucker for that combo.” Her eyes dropped to Margot’s empty plate, the one where the peanut butter–chocolate petit four had been before Margot had devoured every last crumb, almost licking the plate before ultimately deciding that would’ve been rude. “I guess some things don’t change.”

Her body didn’t know what to make of that; her chest went pleasantly warm, touched by the sentiment, but a tendril of heat slithered down, pooling low beneath her belly button, affected by the way Olivia’s voice had lilted, almost flirtatious.

“Yeah?” Brendon sat up straighter. “You liked that one?”

Margot nibbled on the edge of her lip. She had . . . but not as much as she’d liked watching Olivia enjoy the pink champagne cake.

“Maybe you should stick with something less likely to pose an allergy risk,” Margot said. “I liked the pink champagne cake, too.”

“That’s a good point,” Annie said. “About possible allergies. I wasn’t even thinking that, but you’re completely right.”

“You could do extra cupcakes,” Olivia suggested. “One layer cake, so you have something to cut for photos and so you can save the top tier for your anniversary, if that’s a tradition you want to follow. Or, instead of cupcakes you could have a separate groom’s cake.”

Brendon cringed. “No groom’s cake. It makes me think of the red velvet armadillo cake in Steel Magnolias.”

Margot shivered. “Please, no.”

“No red velvet, either,” Darcy said, wrinkling her nose. “It’s pretentious chocolate.”

“And you don’t like it?” Margot teased. “Color me surprised.”

Darcy’s eyes narrowed, lips twitching at the corners. “Cute.”

“I try.” Margot flipped the ends of her hair.

Olivia grinned, eyes flitting around the table. “No groom’s cake. And no red velvet. This is good. We’re narrowing our options down.”

“Cupcakes do sound nice,” Annie mused. “We could have more flavors that way, too. Make picking a little easier.”

“So, peanut butter chocolate for some of the cupcakes,” Olivia said. “And—”

“Pink champagne,” Margot blurted, the image of Olivia tonguing her fork baked into her brain.

Annie nodded. “I liked that one.” She picked up her fork. “I think I’m going to need to taste a few of these again.”

Darcy snorted. “Make picking a little easier.”

“Shut up.” Annie laughed and elbowed Darcy.

Brendon leaned his elbows on the table. “So, Olivia.”

She still hadn’t moved her foot from where it was pressed snug against Margot’s. “Mm-hmm?”

“I forgot to ask this the last time I saw you—first time I saw you.” Brendon’s smile went lopsided. “What made you want to go into event planning?”

Margot could answer that. Growing up, Olivia had wanted to be a professional mermaid, an ice dancer, a paleontologist, and an event planner, in that order. All but the last had been phases, short-lived. Event planning had stood the test of time, Olivia the first to volunteer to plan sleepovers and camping trips, later joining the student council and spearheading everything from spirit week to bake sales to prom. Olivia had an eye for detail, a hard-on for checklists, and the patience to bring her exact vision to life. Margot couldn’t imagine a more perfect job for her.

“I can’t really remember a time when I didn’t want to be a party planner,” Olivia said. “I’ve always enjoyed planning events. Birthday parties for myself when I was little, school dances when I was older.” She smiled and shrugged. “I guess I just really love the idea of bringing a vision to life and maybe making someone’s day, or, when it comes to weddings, making someone’s dreams come true.”

Predictably, Brendon looked completely sold, his smile bright and his eyes huge. “I love that. That’s why I started OTP.” He laughed. “Not the first part, but making someone’s dreams come true.”

Margot smothered her smile with a sip of ice water. She hadn’t ever thought about it until now, but she had a habit of surrounding herself with altruistic optimists. First Olivia, then Elle, then Brendon.

“I’ve heard only wonderful things about OTP,” Olivia said, shuffling her plates to the side, clearing room to rest her hands on the table. She nudged her chocolate–peanut butter petit four toward Margot with a quick wink.

Margot flashed her a smile and slid the plate closer, reaching for her fork. She mouthed a quick thanks before digging in, swallowing a bite of cake and, with it, a moan. Shit, that was good stuff.

Brendon shrugged, somehow striking the balance between casual confidence and humility. There wasn’t a disingenuous bone in Brendon’s body, which helped keep his words from toeing into humblebrag territory. “I like to think we’re doing a good thing.” His brow furrowed softly, eyes narrowing as he chewed on his bottom lip. “Say, Olivia, are you seeing anyone?”

“No, no.” Margot set her fork down, shaking her head brusquely. “Do not answer that question, Liv.” She turned to Brendon, leveling him with a hard stare. “We do not ask strangers if they’re single. It’s invasive.”

Brendon held up his hands, face the picture of innocence, all wide who me? eyes and lips parted, ready to spout an excuse. “Olivia’s not a stranger. She’s our wedding planner, and she’s your friend.”

“It’s not your business, Brendon,” Margot said, jaw clenching. “Butt out.”

“It’s fine.” The shiny gold hoops in Olivia’s ears danced against the sides of her neck when she shook her head. “I’m not currently seeing anyone, no.”

Brendon smiled. “Would you like to be?”

“Jesus,” Margot muttered.

Annie bumped Brendon’s shoulder. “Babe, maybe ease off?”

Brendon’s lower lip jutted out.

“You’re giving off we saw you across the bar and really like your vibe, energy,” Annie said.

He frowned. “We do like her vibe.”

Annie whispered something in Brendon’s ear that made him blush.

“For the record, that was not a proposition,” Brendon clarified, scratching his jaw. “It was a general question.”

Olivia tucked her hair behind her ears. Her face had turned a soft shade of pink, her neck slightly darker, her flush working its way north. “I—”

“You do not have to answer. Plead the fifth,” Margot said, rolling her eyes. “Brendon, as much as we adore him, hasn’t quite grasped the concept of boundaries.”

“I think he understands boundaries perfectly well,” Darcy said. “I think he simply chooses to ignore them.”

Brendon clutched his chest, expression wounded. “I came here to have a good time, and I’m honestly feeling so attacked right now.”

“2014 called and they would like that joke back.” Margot softened the jibe with a smile.

“Olivia.” Brendon turned to her, still clutching his chest. “Do you see what I go through? These people call themselves my friends.”

“I’m your sister,” Darcy said, tapping away at her phone, probably texting Elle, who hadn’t been able to make it to the cake tasting, having agreed to babysit last minute for her older sister. “I’m stuck with you.”

He turned his puppy-dog stare on Annie. She patted him on the cheek. “You know how I feel about you.”

Margot grinned and gestured at her plate. “I’m just here for the food.”

Olivia chuckled. “It’s fine, Brendon. If I didn’t feel comfortable answering, I’d tell you precisely where you could stick your question.” Her smile went impish. “Politely, of course.”

Brendon, Annie, and Darcy burst out laughing, Olivia’s frankness clearly taking them by surprise. Margot grinned, well aware of how clever Olivia could be. It was nice to see her opening up, shaking off the stiffness Margot wasn’t used to, relaxing and settling into her skin the way Margot had remembered. She’d missed Olivia’s easy smiles and raunchy jokes and—she’d missed Olivia.

Missed her, full stop.

“Good to know,” Brendon said. “So . . . ?”

Olivia clasped her hands together atop the table. “I just got divorced last year. And while I’m not heartbroken—I’m over it—I was married for almost ten years, so I’ve been enjoying having some time to myself. Getting my career off the ground has been my number one priority.”

Brendon nodded along. “All good points.”

Margot narrowed her eyes, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“But if the right person were to come along, would you be open to dating?” Brendon asked.

“I mean . . . I guess?” Olivia shrugged. “If it was the right person at the right time, I wouldn’t say no to, um . . .” She rolled her lips together as if searching for the right word. “Seeing what could happen?”

Brendon grinned. “What would you say your type is if, on the off chance this person were to come along, so, you know, I could send them your way?”

Margot rolled her eyes and shoved her chair away from the table. “Bathroom,” she explained when everyone looked up at her.

It wasn’t so much that she needed to pee as she wasn’t in the mood to hear Olivia describe her perfect person. Some clone of Brad, only better, without the douchebag personality. Not Margot. Margot was good for a week, for a rebound fling, nothing more.

She shut herself in the single-stall bathroom in the back of the bakery and locked the door. Jesus, did she sound bitter. She closed her eyes. Eleven years later, and she should’ve been over this. She was over this—at least, last week she was—and then Olivia had tumbled back into her life and there were all these feelings she could’ve sworn she’d worked through rising to the surface.

Maybe Margot hadn’t worked through her feelings about what happened in high school as much as she’d buried them, pushing them away via repression and self-recrimination. Not the healthiest of coping methods, admittedly, but Margot was nothing if not a work in progress.

So, maybe she wasn’t as over it as she’d claimed to be. Thinking about how she and Olivia had ended, grown apart, whatever put a bitter lump in her throat and an ache in her chest, and Margot didn’t know what to do with this, this feeling.

Only that she needed to do something because her friends weren’t stupid and neither was Olivia and sooner rather than later someone was going to pick up on the fact that Margot was less fine than she was letting on.

The timing was shit, that was for sure. She couldn’t exactly hole up in her room with a wedding to plan, a wedding to attend, and Olivia living right down the hall. Margot would laugh if she weren’t so entirely screwed by circumstance.

She set her glasses beside the sink and splashed cold water on her face, avoiding her eyes, her liner actually even on each side for once. An odd twist. Her life went belly-side up, and she managed a perfect cat eye. Go figure.

Having stalled for long enough, she slipped out the bathroom, footsteps slowing to a crawl as Brendon’s voice carried down the hall.

“. . . Margot like in high school?”

Margot tiptoed closer, wanting to hear what Olivia said when she wasn’t around. When Olivia didn’t know Margot could hear her. Maybe it wasn’t the most virtuous thing to do, listening in, but hey, work in progress.

“What she was like in high school?” Olivia laughed. “Gosh, Margot was . . . pretty quiet, actually.”

“Margot?” Annie sounded incredulous. “Are you sure we’re talking about the same person?”

Everyone laughed, and Margot rolled her eyes, creeping a little closer and stopping just at the inside of the hall, tucking herself behind a ginormous rubber fig.

“She wasn’t a wallflower or anything like that. Margot was just always really comfortable in her own skin. She had this quiet confidence I always admired, and I guess she never felt like she needed to be the loudest voice in the room in order to be taken seriously,” Olivia explained.

Margot’s face warmed.

“And she was always intensely loyal. You should ask her where she got the scar on the backs of her knuckles from.” Olivia laughed and Margot ducked her chin, smiling at the floor.

Brendon chuckled. “Sounds like Margot.”

“She was—she was my best friend,” Olivia said softly.

Margot swallowed hard and pressed the heel of her hand into her sternum as if she could massage away the ache inside.

“I’m sure you’re happy that your paths crossed,” Brendon said.

“I am,” Olivia agreed. “I count my lucky stars, that’s for sure.”

Margot dropped her face into her hands. Damn.

“Margot?”

Margot jumped, clapping a hand over her chest. Beneath her palm, her heart thundered. “Darcy. Fuck. You scared me.”

“What are you doing hiding back here?”

“Hiding? Psh. I’m not hiding.”

Darcy’s lips quirked. “You’re crouched behind a potted plant.”

Margot crossed her arms. “I will have you know that I was . . . was . . .”

One of Darcy’s brows arched.

“I was about to . . . to . . .”

Darcy’s left eyebrow rose, joining the right. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

Margot’s cheeks burned. “Shut up. Did you come back here for a reason or just to call me on my shit?”

“I did want to talk to you. If you have a minute.”

Margot made a show of tilting her head from side to side in mock consideration. “I’m in high demand, but I guess for you, I could spare at least that.”

Darcy braced her shoulder against the wall. “I wanted to talk to you about Elle, actually.”

Margot waited.

“I’m going to ask her to marry me.”

Margot sputtered, choking on air. Darcy frowned.

“I’m fine. Just swallowed my spit funny.” She flapped her hand in front of her, waving off Darcy’s concern. “I could’ve sworn you just said you were going to ask Elle to marry you.”

“I did.” Darcy laced her fingers, wringing her hands. “What? Do you think it’s too soon?”

“Um.” Margot scrambled for a slightly more diplomatic answer than her gut response of fuck yes. “I mean.” God, she was drawing a blank. “You’re hardly U-Hauling it.”

Darcy nibbled on her bottom lip, looking less than reassured.

“If you’re worried whether she’s going to say yes, don’t.” Margot nudged Darcy with her elbow. “Elle will absolutely say yes.”

Darcy smiled, small and wobbly but a smile nonetheless. “You think?”

“I’m sure of it.” Margot scratched the side of her neck. Did this bakery sell alcohol? “Have you thought about how you plan to ask? I know Elle’s partial to Ring Pops. Or, hear me out. Prize in the bottom of her cereal box. She’d love that.”

“I was thinking I’d take her up to the observatory at UW. It’s where we had our first real date, under the stars. I thought it was fitting.”

Margot didn’t know what to say because damn. Darcy had put thought into this. This wasn’t a hypothetical. She had plans. Hell, knowing Darcy, there were probably checklists and spreadsheets and risk assessments involved. She was serious. This was serious.

Margot shifted on her feet, feeling out of her depth and underprepared. This was like one of those stress dreams she still had about college. Nightmares where she’d realize she’d signed up for a class, completely blanked, and never attended or turned in any of the assignments, and her entire GPA hinged on acing a final on organic chemistry or astrophysics, something so advanced she had zero chance of bullshitting her way through. “That’s . . . Wow. When do you think you’re going to pop the question?”

“I was thinking after Brendon and Annie get back from their honeymoon.”

Next month. Holy shit.

“But then I decided I don’t want to wait and, besides—Brendon would probably consider me getting engaged to be a wedding present to him, considering he’s the one to thank for introducing me to Elle in the first place.” Darcy wrung her hands together and smiled. “I want to do it before we head up to Snoqualmie for the bachelor-bachelorette party.”

They were leaving in four days. Four. Days.

“It—wow. It sounds like you’ve got it all figured out, Darce.”

Like she didn’t need anything from Margot at all.

Darcy shrugged. “I wanted to make sure I wasn’t completely deluding myself, hoping that she’ll say yes.”

“Trust me. I’d be the first person to tell you if you were delusional.”

“That’s what I was counting on.”

Margot cleared her throat. “Well, I think it’s great. I’m—I’m really happy for you. You and Elle . . . I couldn’t hope for a better person to have fallen in love with my best friend.”

Darcy ducked her chin, her smile small and achingly fond. “Thanks, Margot. That means a lot to me.” She coughed lightly and blinked fast before tilting her head to the side, brown eyes scrutinizing as they danced over Margot’s face. “So. You and Olivia.”

Margot’s throat went dry. “Me and Olivia what?”

Darcy stared at her like she could see all the little cracks beneath Margot’s skin. “Margot.”

Fuck. Margot palmed her forehead, a frazzled laugh slipping out, too loud in the narrow hallway. “Am I that obvious?”

Darcy bobbed her head from side to side. “Obvious? No, not really. Can I tell there’s something you aren’t saying? Yes.”

Margot puffed out her cheeks. That wasn’t quite so bad. At least she didn’t have her feelings stamped across her forehead for everyone to see. “I’m, uh, working through some . . . things. Feelings and shit.”

Darcy’s lips twitched. “Feelings and shit?”

If only Darcy knew what Margot was dealing with, she wouldn’t give her grief over her ineloquence. “Shut up.”

“No, no, now I’m curious.” Darcy grinned. “Are these pants feelings or chest feelings?”

Margot was in hell. “Elle is seriously rubbing off on you if you’re using the words pants feelings unironically.” She sighed. “And yes, I realize I just said rubbing off. My life is ripe with innuendo.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Darcy agreed. “Cats and vibrators and rubbing off. It’s a gold mine.”

“I’m dealing with a blast from my past and all the many, varied emotions that have reared their head thanks to it. Cut me some slack if I’m not on top of my game.” She raked her fingers through her hair, tugging at her ends until her scalp stung.

Darcy sobered. “Look, if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine. Unlike my brother, I won’t push.”

Margot nodded, shoulders lowering from where she’d had them hiked defensively by her ears.

“But if you do decide you want to talk about it, you know where to find me,” Darcy said. “Or Elle. You know she’d listen.”

Elle would probably tell Margot all of this was fate and that everything would fall into place if Margot just followed her heart. Only, following her heart had fucked everything up once; Margot would be damned if she let that happen again.

“Thanks, Darcy,” Margot whispered. “I appreciate the offer. I’m not . . . there yet, but maybe I’ll take you up on it some other time. But only if there’s wine involved.”

Darcy batted at the air and scoffed. “Obviously.”

“Good.” She narrowed her eyes. “Until then—”

“My lips are sealed. I heard nothing.” Darcy mimed locking her lips and throwing away the key.

“Good.” Margot nodded decisively. “Because if you do go and blab—”

“You’ll what? Break into my apartment and move everything three inches to the left and fuck with my flow?” Darcy laughed, reciting a threat Margot had made when Elle and Darcy had first started dating. “Your bark is a whole lot worse than your bite, you know that?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Margot grumbled. “Not that this heart-to-heart hasn’t left me feeling all warm and fuzzy inside, but we should probably head back out there.”

Margot shoved away from the wall and made it two steps down the hall.

“Word to the wise, Margot?” Darcy called out quietly. “If you don’t reckon with your feelings, sooner or later your feelings are going to reckon with you. Just something to keep in mind.”