“Not soft,” Leslie insisted. “Softer, maybe. But you’re still plenty cynical, sweetheart, trust me. People around here still talk about how intimidating you are.”
“Thank you, Aunt Leslie.” Margot sniffed. Stan, on the other hand, simply stared at her, frowning and saying nothing. Margot deflated just a little bit more. How disappointing for him, to find out the daughter who’d devoted all her time to her career was failing at keeping that career. She knew she shouldn’t have said anything in front of him.
“You know what I’ve learned?” Stan asked.
Margot lifted her head and saw that, yes, it was her father who had just spoken and not some helpful bystander. “No, Stan, what have you learned?”
“Sometimes life just stinks like a bass in your couch,” Stan said. “It’s not fair. And sometimes it doesn’t get better. And sometimes there’s no reason for it. It just stinks. You can either lean into it and try to ride it out, or you can fold under the weight.”
Margot didn’t mean to frown at her father, she really didn’t. But who was Stan to lecture her on pulling herself up by her bootstraps when he was living in a sleeping cubby at a funeral home? She almost opened her mouth to ask Stan to leave her with Aunt Leslie to discuss the matter, but he followed up with “I know I haven’t spent much time around ya. But I don’t think you’re a ‘fold under the weight’ kind of gal. So you misunderstood an e-mail, big deal. You got embarrassed in front of a bunch of interns. Who cares? In a couple of months, some other catastrophe will catch their attention and they won’t even think about your flamingo problem. You just keep plugging along. You’ll be fine.”
Margot mulled that over for a moment or two and nodded. “Thank you.”
“Well, you don’t have to be a smartass about it,” Stan snapped.
“No, really, I appreciate it. That was helpful.”
Stan seemed confused for a moment, like Margot was going to take it back. “Any time.”
Stan didn’t smile. There was no affectionate ruffling of her hair as he slid off the stool and carried the huge jug of Leslie’s coffee down the dock toward the funeral home.
Leslie placed a tall Coke with lots of ice in front of Margot. “Here, hon, you’re looking sort of pale.”
Margot took a long draw from the foam cup.
“You sure you’re all right?” Donna asked.
“I just had a conversation with a parent that didn’t end in yelling or recriminations,” Margot said. “It only took me thirty years.”
“Oh, honey, most people don’t get that until they’re in their fifties.” Leslie reached over the counter and patted Margot’s hand. Margot grinned at her, shaking her head.
“What exactly am I supposed to be eating?” Margot asked, poking at the large fried dough ball on her plate.
“You know those chocolate cupcakes with the little white swirls on top?”
“You deep-fried a Hostess cupcake?” Margot marveled.
Leslie giggled. “Well, sure, if it works for Twinkies, why not?”
“Prepare yourself,” Donna warned her.
Margot pushed her fork through the dough ball, eyes widening as a chocolatey ooze emerged from the center. The first bite was warm and crispy and sweet, like a doughnut and a hush puppy had a beautiful baby.
“This should not be as good as it is,” Margot said with a sigh, digging in for a second bite.
Leslie smiled brightly. “See?”
MARGOT WAS WARY of opening her personal e-mail account for almost a week after the prank interview. She didn’t want to be tricked into being an object lesson twice. She wondered if word of her “misunderstanding” had spread to her former colleagues. Was she even more of a laughingstock than she had been before?
Maybe she would end up staying in Lake Sackett long term after all. Her job search was still pretty much at a standstill, but was that such a terrible thing? She was getting used to her little cottage. She was getting used to driving twenty minutes when she forgot milk. The cost of living was low. She had pretty decent job security and a comfortable living situation. She was starting to appreciate her work at the funeral home, bringing order to the chaos that followed death, bringing comfort to people just by handling the little details that were beyond their grasp.
And she was making friends . . . okay, she was becoming closer with her cousins. She’d established a routine of going to Frankie’s cabin on Saturdays for terrible mutant shark movies and fruity drinks. Marianne joined them when she could, but sometimes she called with excuses about the boys’ soccer schedule—which Frankie interpreted as “sexytimes with the hot backwoods hubby.” Inevitably, Arlo would find a way to skirt around Frankie’s door and snuggle under Margot’s arm on the couch. And if she happened to feed him a couple of kernels of popcorn she dropped, it wasn’t a gesture of doggy friendship. She just didn’t want to waste food.
Duffy had managed to talk her onto his boat on a few afternoons when he didn’t have charters, but she absolutely refused to fish again. She was content to learn how to drive the pontoon and indulge in a long list of important Oprah-level books she’d always meant to read but never had time to in the city, while Duffy fished and chatted about nothing at all. She’d asked about Lana, the aggressively skanky ex-wife, but Duffy shut her down by offering her sweet tea and a deep-fried Twinkie and then ignoring the question. She would miss her cousins if she left. She would miss E.J.J. She would miss Uncle Bob and Aunt Leslie. Okay, she was still afraid of Aunt Donna, but she would miss that little ripple of fear down her spine when Donna made eye contact. And Tootie, how would she get along without Aunt Tootie being all inspirational and then snarky by turns?
Her father. Well, they’d had one nice conversation. That was more progress than either of them had expected.
And then there was Kyle. She had no idea what was happening there. Maybe it was a friendship. Maybe it was one of those badly timed flirtations that would never take off. But it didn’t feel wrong.
Maybe it wouldn’t be a fate worse than death, making Lake Sackett her permanent home.
When a Saturday night kept Frankie at work (a car wreck involving a local mechanic versus a deer) and Marianne at home (she claimed Nate had a soccer game, but Duffy saw her picking up strawberries and wine at the grocery), Margot decided to drop by Kyle’s house. She didn’t even use the excuse of planning for the festival, because everything was well in hand, thank you very much. She just wanted to see him and she wanted him to know that she wanted to see him. Pretense was going to choke the life out of whatever it was between them, and she wasn’t going to have it.
She was surprised to find him sitting on the end of his dock, watching the September sun sinking into the horizon. The girls were nowhere to be seen, which made her a little uneasy. But she noted that Kyle was drinking a beer, something she guessed he wouldn’t do around the kids. And he seemed to be scowling off into the distance. His hunched shoulders and angry expression reminded her of that troubled wraith she’d first met.
But now he wasn’t just some fascinating possible phantom. He was a man with a history she understood, and she wasn’t sure if that made it easier or more difficult to see him like this. He didn’t move as she walked down the dock, though it was impossible that he missed her footsteps. The sound of crickets chirping was the only noise to compete with her boots against the wood.
Margot stood in front of him, offering him the large bottle of Gold City Growler, a local craft beer Duffy had recommended. Kyle reached up to accept it, his brow creased and his eyes lost. “Bad night?” she asked.
“Eh,” he said, waggling his hand back and forth. She dropped to her butt, sliding against his side. He leaned his head against her temple. She waited for him to talk, not wanting to rush him, watching the sky turn the water purple and dull. Eventually he ended up draped bonelessly across her lap as she ran her fingers through his hair.
“Want to talk about it?” she asked, cracking open the fresh bottle and taking a short pull. She wasn??
?t much of a beer drinker, or any sort of beer drinker, really. But she could appreciate how the bitter bubbles complemented the setting better than fruity girly drinks.
“I’m confused by you,” he muttered against her denim-clad leg.
She frowned but didn’t stop stroking his hair. “Because?”
“I shouldn’t want you. You’re fancy and bossy and you’re going to leave town at the first chance you get. I don’t think I’m ready for whatever this is. But I want you. I want to see where this goes. I haven’t wanted anything like it in a long time and that makes me feel sort of terrible.”
“How drunk are you right now?” she asked.
“Eh,” he said, sitting up and waggling his hand again.
“So this diatribe about you being scared of relationships is based on real feelings and not alcohol?”
“I’m not afraid of relationships. I’m skittish. Don’t judge me.”
“I don’t have room to judge anyone about that. I haven’t been in a committed relationship in . . . I don’t think I’ve ever been in a committed relationship. I never had the time. Or really the desire. That’s sad. Is that sad?”
“A little,” he said, shrugging. “I thought that I would be safer if I didn’t want anybody for more than something physical. I thought I could keep all the pieces of me separate. The dad. The man. The guy who wears a poncho to avoid a cafeteria food bath. The parts of me that laugh every time you open your mouth. The pieces of me that want to tear your clothes off. The even more complicated bits that sit in awe when you take down snotty soccer moms. But I can’t. It’s stupid to try.”
He dropped his head to her shoulder. “I loved my wife. I’m always going to love her. And for a long time I thought that meant punishing myself for outliving her.” He tipped his forehead against hers. “I don’t want to do that anymore.”
She palmed his jaw, tilting her head as she rubbed a thumb over his chin. “So don’t.”
The corner of his mouth lifted in a sad half smile. He leaned forward and pressed a hesitant kiss against her lips, and then another and another, each hungrier than the last. She rolled onto her knees, making him rise to meet her, returning those kisses with equal energy. She clutched at his hair, pulling him closer as the tension seemed to bleed out of his body.
The hands around her back relaxed and slid along her ribs. The kisses that had been so fervent just a minute before slowed into a lazy dance.
Kyle looped his arm under her legs and pulled them up from what could end up being a precarious position on the dock. He hitched her legs around his hips and walked her toward the house. And given the firm weight she felt wedged against her as they moved, she had a pretty good idea she wasn’t being invited in for sweet tea.
“Girls?” she murmured against his lips, rubbing her cheek on the scruff of his beard.
“Sleepovers,” he said, catching the line of her jaw between his teeth.
“You really don’t have to carry me all the way to the bedroom,” she said as he managed to open his back door with one hand.
“Oh, thank God,” he said, dropping her to her feet. “I know it was romantic as hell, but I was reaching muscle failure somewhere on the back porch.”
She snickered, tugging on his shirttail as she backed down his hallway. He kicked off his shoes and then bent over to yank at the button of her jeans. Giggling, she nudged off her own shoes and pressed him against the hallway wall to tackle his pants.
Stepping through the bedroom door, she yelped, jerking her foot up from the floor and nearly kneeing Kyle in the crotch. He dodged, throwing himself against the wall to avoid the crushing blow.
“What in the hell!” she cried, hopping on her good leg while she tried to dig a tiny sharp object out of the sole of her foot.
“Is this a tiny hooker shoe?” she said, holding up the offending bit of pink plastic.
“Barbie shoes,” Kyle said, shaking his head and supporting her arms while she massaged her foot. “Everybody bitches about LEGOs. But those mini platforms are the real danger to parental feet.”
“You get wordy when you’re drunk.”
“Not that drunk. Here, let me help.” Margot cried out when Kyle lifted her off her feet, but instead of sweeping her up bridal style, he swung her onto his back and carried her piggyback toward the bed. It was unexpected, like most things about Kyle.
She noticed that while there were lots of dust catchers and photos in the common areas of the house, there was only one photo here—one of Hazel and June smiling from a pile of pumpkins. The room would have been considered spartan if not for the wide, inviting bed situated in front of a picture window. Moonlight streamed through the glass as he tugged at the catch on her bra.
“I haven’t brought anyone back here,” he told her. “Ever.”
“I understand. It’s been a while since I’ve done this,” she admitted as he pushed her onto the bed. She scooted back on the mattress as he crawled along with her, caging her against the bed.
“It’s like falling off a bicycle,” he promised, then frowned. “Or something like that.”
He trailed his lips over her jawline and she turned her head so he could get better access to her neck. Her panties disappeared over his shoulder. Warmth flooded her middle and she sighed at the lovely, slippery sensations between her thighs. She made “eye contact” with Hazel and Juniper’s photo in the frame by the bed and winced.
Kyle lifted his head and saw where she was staring. He reached over and flipped the picture frame facedown on the nightstand. When she arched an eyebrow, he shrugged. The heat of his fingers burned her thighs as he parted them and slipped his hips against her. She leaned up and closed her lips over his. He sighed into her mouth, his beard tickling her cheeks as he wrapped her legs around his waist.
A deft hand skimmed over her belly button and between her thighs, the thumb ghosting around but never quite touching the little bundle of nerves there. She laughed, gasping, as she shifted her hips, chasing his fingers. He snickered, because apparently he was a tease.
“All right, then,” she whispered, grasping him in her hand. He yelped softly and dropped his head to her shoulder.
“Okay, okay,” he whimpered, pinching her lightly and making her cry out. Two long fingers smoothed the way inside of her and her breath came in short pants against his shoulder. He fluttered them inside her and she gripped him even tighter. He canted into her hand and the smile against his skin was full of wicked promise.
Margot heard the crinkle of a foil packet and was grateful that she didn’t have to argue for one. Kyle paused just before the long, slow slide into her and said, “This may not last long. But what I lack in initial endurance, I will make up for in enthusiasm and repeat performances.”
Margot’s answering cackle was stopped short as he thrust home and pulled the blankets over their heads.
MARGOT STRETCHED OUT over the soft cotton sheets and groaned, throwing her arm across her eyes to protect them from the morning light. She hadn’t slept so soundly since . . . ever, really. She hadn’t dreamed. She hadn’t woken up worrying about some random detail for work. She vaguely remembered hearing Kyle’s phone ring sometime in the night and him climbing out of bed. But she’d just rolled over and gone back to sleep.
This, by itself, was unusual for her. In the city, she’d rarely slept over with any of her dates. She hated the phrase hit it and quit it, but she’d generally walked out the door before the sheets cooled. And she’d been careful to keep evenings from ending at her apartment, so she didn’t have to worry about awkwardly nudging the guy toward the sidewalk in the morning. She couldn’t decide whether her falling asleep so hard that she didn’t scoot out the door was a sign of how Kyle had exhausted her.
She smiled, pulling the sheets over her face. She should probably have been embarrassed by the demands and . . . sounds she’d made. But she wasn’t. While a lot of things about whatever she had with Kyle were complicated, in bed they were deliciously simple. And repetitive. She w
ould face the rest another time.
Kyle slipped through the bedroom door and shut it behind him. She propped herself up on her elbows, holding one eye closed as she adjusted to the sunlight. “Morning.”
He stopped and exhaled loudly. “Something came up late last night, and I don’t want to be rude, but—”
A cheerful voice called down the hall, “Daddy?”
Margot gasped and contemplated throwing the blankets over her head again. Kyle tossed her a worn blue plaid flannel robe that smelled like him. Margot scrambled into it, belting it over her shirt and panties.
“Just don’t panic and we can get through this,” he said.
“Okay.”
“Daddy?”
Margot’s eyes went wide as the bedroom door swung open and Hazel bounced in. Margot tugged the belt just a tiny bit tighter. Hazel skidded to a halt, the tiniest bit of scowl mixed with the surprise on her face. Kyle grimaced.
“Hi, Miss Margot. Did you have a sleepover with Daddy last night?”
“Oh, uh—” Margot looked up at Kyle, silently begging him to give her some appropriate information to impart to his daughter. His face went blank, as if he was mentally transporting himself to a magical place where he wasn’t getting caught with a girl in his bed like a naughty teenager. That was decidedly unhelpful.
“What happened to not panicking?” Margot asked.
Kyle cleared his throat. “Margot came by to visit because she knew I would be lonely without you girls here.”
Hazel lifted a dark eyebrow and turned to Margot. “Really?”
Margot pursed her lips and nodded. “Mm-hmm.”
“Hazel woke up sick to her tummy around four this morning,” Kyle said, giving Margot a significant look. “I couldn’t wake you up. You are a very heavy sleeper.”
Margot blanched at the note of accusation in his voice. “I’m sorry. I’m usually a very light sleeper. I must have really dropped off.”
Kyle’s lips pressed together in a thin line. Margot’s mouth assumed a similar pose. This was not good.