I smile, watching her. “That’s the Roaring Fork River.”
“Ethan,” she says, dropping her chin and suppressing her smile like she’s about to say something very serious. “There’s like an eighty percent chance that you’re going to have to call in a SWAT team to drag me out of here. I could seriously spend therest of my life sitting in that chair reading a book.” She motions to a wood lounge chair with a thick blue cushion at the edge of the property.
I can see it: Margot and I sitting out here together as lazy mornings turn into blissful years.
“I’m glad you like it,” I say, walking up behind her and wrapping my arms around her. We both look out past the river at the sun setting over the mountains. “I wasn’t sure you would. Never really pegged you for the outdoorsy type.”
She laughs. “I’m definitely not. We used to go camping when I was a kid. Big family, you know? It was easier to cram six kids into a tent and cook a package of hot dogs over a campfire than to pile us all into a hotel room or a nice restaurant. But I haven’t been camping in years. Jeremy wasn’t really a fan of nature or the great outdoors.” I feel her wince slightly at the mention of her ex-boyfriend, but she recovers quickly, laughing as she adds, “But let’s be honest, this is a far cry from roughing it in a small tent with eight people.”
“It is,” I smirk. “And much more private.”
Margot turns to face me, wrapping her arms around my neck. Her eyes meet mine with a playful look. “I noticed.”
Then my mouth is on hers, hungry but unhurried. We move together, never breaking the kiss as we head inside. I pull her down to straddle my lap on the brown leather sofa in front of the fireplace. With a click of a button, the gas fireplace turns on, casting an orange glow across the room while the sun begins to set out the picture window.
“I’ve always wanted to have sex on this sofa,” I say, grinning against her mouth.
She laughs against mine. “Why haven’t you?”
“Because you’re the first woman I’ve ever brought here.”
“Really?” Margot tilts her head back to look at me.
“Really.”
She pulls her shirt over her head and flings it to the floor. The look she gives me is wild and mischievous. “Well, let’s christen the couch then.”
***
The next afternoon, Margot is lounging in a chair overlooking the river reading a book. She’s traded her signature wool skirts and black booties for a comfortable pair of jeans and some white sneakers, but the oversized mustard yellow sweater is distinctly Margot.
Instead of half-naked aliens or domineering bosses, this book cover features a couple who look like they just dropped three grand on cheesy engagement photos in a field of wildflowers.
“Any good scenes in that book you’d like to reenact?” I ask anyway, winking at Margot as I take a seat beside her.
She smiles over at me, squinting against the sun. “It’s not really that type of book. It’s a slow burn about a divorced couple who find their way back to each other years later.”
Well, there’s something I have zero interest in reenacting.
I pull a face. “Sounds terrible.”
It’s meant to be a joke, but I can tell by the flicker of disappointment in Margot’s expression that it didn’t land right. And I get why: I still haven’t told her about Rachel. Without that important bit of context, it sounds like I’m cynical about marriage in general. There was a time not so long ago when I was. But now, I’m not so sure. I know Margot wants marriage, children, the whole thing. Part of me thinks… maybe I want that too. Not right now, but maybe sooner than I would’ve thought.
Margot closes her book, resting it on her lap. She looks at me then pauses like she’s second-guessing whatever she’s about to say. Even as her lips part, she hesitates for a beat before asking, “You really don’t ever want to get married?”
Here it is, my chance to come clean. Everything up to this point has been a lie of omission. I’m not proud of that, and it’s time to make it right.
Pulse spiking in my veins, I take a deep, steadying breath and sit forward in my chair. “Margot, there’s something I need to talk to you about.”
She sits up straighter. Curiosity mingles with concern in her expression. “Okay…”
For the first time, it occurs to me that Margot may not take this very well. She might be pissed, and I suppose that would be a reasonable response. I never meant to keep such a big secret from her. This whole thing with Margot just snuck up on me. I’ve spent so much time thinking about her, and so little time thinking about my past that it barely occurred to me that the two were bound to collide at some point. Running my hand through my hair, I search for the right words. The words that might make this situation seem not as bad.
“I’ve actually been—” I start. Then my phone starts to ring, cutting me off.
Fishing my phone out of my pocket, I see Garrett’s name on the screen. Perfect timing, brother. I don’t hear from him for weeks at a time with this new job of his, and now, this.
For a split second, I consider answering. My brother doesn’t call just to chat. But then I glance up at Margot, watching me with pinched brows and tense shoulders.