“Okay…”
She’s obviously not happy about this. Was she expecting an actual pony?
“But then he took it back when he realized that I was wearing closed-toed shoes.”
I frown at her, but she’s too busy taking her anger out on the screw to notice. “What does that mean?”
Finally, Margot looks up at me. She sits back on her heels and sighs, giving the poor screwdriver a break. “When we were messaging back and forth, he suggested that I wear sandals on our date. It was a little weird, but I figured it was just a joke or something.” She pauses, her cheeks heating with color. “It wasn’t. Apparently, he has a foot fetish, which the entire movietheater lobby was made aware of when he lost his mind over my choice of shoes. It was pretty embarrassing.”
“I’m sorry,” I say softly. “That’s a terrible first date.”
“I’d hardly call standing in the lobby of a theater while a grown man waves a toy unicorn around in a fit of rage a date. I walked out and went home right after that.”
“Good girl.”
The words slip out of my mouth. Normally, I would never say them to a woman outside of the bedroom, and only if I sensed that she was into that sort of thing. But judging by the way Margot’s spine straightens and her fingers fumble with the screwdriver, I would say she’s into it, whether she knew it before or not. I wonder if her blue aliens have something to do with that.
Her eyes flick up to mine, pupils blown wide, then she quickly looks away. The blush in her cheeks grows a shade darker.
Whether we define ourselves as co-workers or friends, one thing is clear: I’m amassing too much knowledge of Margot’s sexual preferences. And because my dry spell has lingered on for another week with no end in sight, it’s getting to me.
I’m not normally like this with women. I know what to say. I know how to be charming. It’s not disingenuous either. On some level, I care about every woman that I sleep with. I want them to enjoy it—not just the sex, but the date, the conversation, everything that leads up to it. I try to be the best date that I can be, as long as the woman I’m with understands that one date is all I can ever be to them.
But Margot is different. First of all, we’re not dating… obviously. Second of all, there’s no bullshitting her. She knows me far too well.
“What about you?” Margot asks after a long stretch of silence. “Do you have any dates lined up for the weekend?”
I shake my head. “No, I figured I’d be pretty busy getting this place set up and helping them move in.”
Margot looks up at me, giving me a hesitant smile. “It’s really nice of you to do all this for your sister-in-law.”
There’s an unspoken question behind her words. It takes me a minute to decide how to answer it, or if I want to answer it at all. If I don’t, it might just lead to more questions.
“My brother, Silas… he’s had some problems,” I say.
Margot’s only response is a soft, sympathetic “oh.” Her lack of surprise tells me that she already knows something. Emma has probably mentioned Silas at some point. I just hope she didn’t say too much.
Part of me wants Margot to know everything. It would be nice to have someone to talk to about it besides Garrett, who isn’t exactly the most insightful human. But the other part of me hates the idea of her knowing about my messy past.
The situation is complicated, and quite frankly, a little embarrassing. When everything happened, I left my old job and started working at True North. It wasn’t necessarilybecauseof what happened, but the timing was serendipitous, to say the least. For obvious reasons, I had never explained to my old co-workers that I married Rachel because she was pregnant with my brother’s baby and needed health insurance. As far as they knew, our marriage was real. So when she moved away with Sophia, there was no simple explanation. Doing a disappearing act of my own was easier, so that’s exactly what I did.
When I started at True North, I never mentioned it. I tried to erase that part of my life and move on. The only person at the company who knew about my marriage was my brother, and Garrett isn’t exactly a chatterbox. He’d keep my secret without me having to ask.
Then he met Emma. I know she knows. It’s been a running topic of the family group chat ever since Rachel floated the ideaof moving back. My parents thought it was a great idea. They’d love to spend more time with their only grandchild. Garrett thought it was a terrible idea because… well, he’s Garrett. Surly and skeptical by nature, especially when it comes to Silas.
Emma is Margot’s best friend, which is why I have to ask…
“I take it Emma’s told you about Silas?” My voice and my shoulders are both rigid with tension.
Keeping her eyes fixed on the chair she’s assembling, she replies, “Um, only a little.”
“Like what?” I press.
The question comes out a little too harshly. Margot notices and lifts her gaze to mine. She looks every bit as tense as I am when she presses her lips together and contemplates her answer.
“Emma mentioned that you and Garrett had a difficult childhood. She’s never given me a lot of details, but I’ve pieced together that your family had some hard times. It sounds like Silas got caught up with drugs or something along the way.”
I study Margot’s face for a few seconds, searching for any hint that she might know more than she’s letting on. When I’m satisfied that she doesn’t, the tension in my shoulders gives a little and my jaw relaxes.