Count Your Lucky Stars: A Novel

Someone knocked on her bedroom door.

Margot burrowed deeper into her pillow. Too early. She was warm, almost too warm, the arm wrapped around her waist—

Hello.

Margot’s eyes shot open. This wasn’t her bedroom. This was—

Last night came rushing back in one fell swoop. Arriving at the lodge. Hanging out on the patio. Luke. Texting Liv. Her thighs clenched. Everything that had come after, until the early hours of the morning.

Whoever was at the door knocked louder, causing Olivia to release the cutest little whimper before burrowing her face against the back of Margot’s neck.

Pale gray light filtered through a gap in the curtains. It was too early for housekeeping.

“Hey, Mar? Everyone’s already downstairs. Are you coming?”

Shit. Elle.

Eyes still adjusting to being open, Margot patted the nightstand, searching for her glasses. She slipped them on, then grabbed her phone to check the time. 7:06. Early, but not as early as she’d expected. She had two texts and a missed call, all from Elle.

One missed call 7:00 a.m.

“Fuck,” Margot muttered, earning another whine from Olivia, whose arm tightened around Margot’s waist. She sighed and ran her fingers along the back of Olivia’s forearm. “Liv, I’ve got to get up.”

Carefully, Margot extricated herself from the bed, wincing at how cold the floor was under her feet. Picking up clothes as she went, Margot pulled yesterday’s sweater on over her head, grateful that it hit midthigh. She cracked open the door and poked her head out, the bed within direct view of the doorway.

Elle’s smile fell. “You aren’t ready yet?”

“Um, no. I—I overslept.” She winced. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine. Do you just want to meet us . . .” Elle’s eyes widened comically. “Um. Sorry.” She shut her eyes and shook her head, laughing under her breath. “Lost my train of thought. Do you just want to meet us downstairs?”

Margot nodded. “Sounds good. I’ll be down in fifteen, okay?”

“No rush.” Elle smiled brightly. “Take your time.”

As soon as the door was shut, Margot dropped her head and groaned. All she wanted was to crawl back into bed beside Liv and revel in this little bubble they’d built, an oasis of soft sheets and softer skin, the fireplace churning out heat they didn’t even need, not with the way she burned when Liv touched her, even in the most innocent places. The inside of her wrist or the back of her knee, the small of her back, a kiss against the top knob of her spine capable of undoing her completely.

“Is everything okay?”

Margot spun around. Olivia was sitting up, sheet wrapped around her, hair mussed and eyes sleepy, lips kiss-swollen and pink.

Margot jerked her thumb behind her at the door. “That was just Elle. We overslept, I guess.”

Olivia’s eyes widened. “Wait, what time is it?” She swiped her phone off the nightstand. “Shoot. I still need to check my email.”

Olivia hopped out of the bed, stumbling and catching herself when the sheets tangled around her legs. She kicked them aside and bent down, snagging her clothes. She looked up, lips twitching. “You’re wearing my sweater.”

“Oh.” Margot ducked her chin and laughed. No wonder it hit so low on her thighs. Olivia was taller, longer in the torso than she was by several inches. “I guess I am.”

Olivia crossed the room on bare feet, bare everything, and rested her arms on Margot’s shoulders. She leaned in, ghosting a quick kiss against Margot’s mouth that made her shiver. “It looks good on you.”

The tips of Margot’s ears burned. “Thanks.” She dragged her eyes up Olivia’s body in a slow, exaggerated leer. “Maybe I’ll have to steal your clothes more often.”

Olivia bit her lip and blushed, color spreading down her chest. “I should probably go shower and get ready.”

Margot’s stomach chose that moment to give a vicious-sounding growl, rumbling loudly. She and Olivia both laughed. “Not a bad idea. We’re supposed to meet everyone downstairs for breakfast.”

Olivia stepped back, hands falling to her sides, and Margot immediately missed her warmth. “Okay, meet you back here?”

Margot nodded and headed for the bathroom, running through a record-fast shower. She didn’t bother with makeup, just brushing her hair and throwing on her clothes, a simple black sweater and pair of jeans.

Five minutes later, Margot was in the middle of fighting with the zipper on her left boot when Olivia returned, looking the part of an adorable snow bunny in a pair of pink insulated cargo pants and a cream-colored fleece. In her arms was a pink jacket that matched her pants.

Olivia’s brows knit. “Is that what you’re wearing?”

Margot tugged on her sleeves. “Yes?”

Olivia fiddled with the zipper pull at the top of her fleece, lowering it an inch before drawing it back up to her neck, distracting Margot with that tantalizing sliver of skin. “Okay. You ready?”

Margot patted her pocket, double-checking that she had her room key and cell before locking up. “I heard back from the DJ, by the way,” Olivia said as they stepped inside the elevator. “He has the set list, along with the song requests from the RSVP Google Form—that’s a relief.”

“I told you.” Margot kicked Olivia’s shin lightly. “You were worrying over nothing.”

Olivia blew out her breath. “You’re right. I’m just—nervous? Everything has to be perfect.”

“It’s not even your wedding, Liv.” Margot laughed.

“I know that.” Olivia tucked her hair behind her ear, worrying her bottom lip. Margot itched to reach out and draw that lip from between her teeth. Giving in to the urge, she skimmed her hand along Olivia’s jaw, cupping the side of Olivia’s face, and rubbed the pad of her thumb along Olivia’s bottom lip, gasping when Olivia’s tongue darted out against her skin. Olivia smiled impishly.

Margot dropped her hand with a shaky laugh. “Tease.”

Olivia’s smile wavered at the edges. “Brendon’s been a loyal client of my boss’s for years, and she’s trusting me to make sure this wedding goes off without a hitch. You have no idea how I had to actually beg for Lori to let me have this.” Olivia scratched her eyebrow with her thumbnail. “That’s not even taking into account that I actually like Annie and Brendon. Even if my career weren’t riding on this wedding being a success, I’d still want everything to be perfect because they deserve it.”

The fact that Olivia cared about Margot’s friends, about the people she cared about, the people she’d do anything for . . . that pushed buttons Margot didn’t even know she had. She had to swallow twice before she could speak. “I know Annie and Brendon appreciate everything you’ve done. You’ve been . . . amazing.”

Olivia ducked her chin. “It’s nothing.”

It wasn’t nothing. Olivia’s selflessness, her endless capacity to care, made her so fucking special.

Margot’s heart made a new home inside her throat. “It’s not. You have no idea how—”

The elevator dinged, the doors opening, saving Margot from word-vomiting her feelings all over Olivia.

Olivia made no move to leave the elevator, instead staring at Margot with wide eyes. Her lashes beat against her cheek with every blink, seeming to match the frantic fluttering of Margot’s pulse at the base of her throat.

“I have no idea what?” Olivia whispered.

Margot gulped, the sound embarrassingly loud inside the small space, even with the elevator doors open. “How amazing you are.” Fuck. Too much. “You know.” Margot coughed. “At what you do.”

Olivia’s eyes darted over Margot’s face. One corner of her mouth rose. “Thanks, Margot.”

A throat cleared. A man stood outside the elevator, one hand braced against the elevator door, holding it open. He smiled tightly.

“Shit,” Margot muttered. “Sorry.”

She hurried out of the elevator, taking a second to get her bearings once she reached the lobby.

“I think the restaurant’s this way.” Olivia wrapped her fingers around Margot’s elbow, gently tugging her toward the left. Around the corner was a hostess stand, empty, a chalkboard sign proclaiming that visitors could seat themselves. Margot stepped through the door and glanced around looking for—

“Margot!”

At the back of the restaurant, occupying a long table, were her friends. And Luke. Elle stood partway, hovering over her chair, one hand braced against the table, the other waving them over.

Two empty seats remained, both together, Elle to one side, Luke to the other. Making a split-second decision she was likely to regret, Margot slid into the seat beside Luke, leaving the chair beside Elle for Olivia.

“First one to bed and last one awake?” Brendon grinned.

“It, um, took me a while to fall asleep,” Margot said, stealing a quick glance at Olivia from the corner of her eye. “I don’t know. I kept tossing and turning.”

Elle choked on her orange juice.

Margot frowned. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Elle croaked, accepting a napkin from Darcy.

Luke leaned his forearms on the edge of the table, peering around Margot. “How about you, Liv? I, uh, knocked on your door this morning.” He smiled at her, adorably lopsided, and Margot’s chest clenched. Liv? Since when did anyone call Olivia Liv, but her? That was Margot’s nickname. Hers, not his. “You must be a heavy sleeper.”

Olivia blushed and nodded quickly. “I am.”

Margot reached for her glass of water at the same time Olivia did, their fingers brushing above the table.

“Sorry.” She slid Olivia’s glass toward her, taking a quick sip from her own before setting it to the right side of her place setting.

How ridiculous was it that she’d had her hands and mouth all over Olivia, had used her fingers to drive Olivia wild, and still the simplest touch made her jolt like she’d stuck her finger in a damn light socket?

Elle cleared her throat. “We all already ordered. Mar, I went ahead and ordered you your usual.” By usual, Margot was willing to bet Elle meant pancakes and bacon, Margot’s go-to no matter where she ate out. Elle flashed Olivia an apologetic smile. “I would’ve ordered something for you, but I had no idea what you wanted. I told our waitress to—oh, here she is.”

Olivia swiped the menu off the table, eyes scanning it quickly. She turned to the waitress, “I’ll have the wild-mushroom-and-pesto omelet.” Olivia smiled and handed over her menu. “And can I get a cup of green tea? Thanks.”

Margot snagged the carafe of coffee from the center of the table and filled her mug.

“You’re not wearing that to the pass, are you?” Brendon asked.

“Wait, me?” Margot lowered her mug and frowned down at her outfit. What was with everyone asking about her choice of clothes? “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

Luke snorted out a laugh that immediately put Margot’s back up. “Those jeans are going to soak through in an instant.”

Margot recoiled, jaw dropping. “What the hell?”

They were at breakfast; that was gauche, even for her.

Brendon sputtered, laughing so hard tears welled in his eyes. “Oh, shit.” He laughed harder. “No. Margot.”

Annie rested her hand on Brendon’s shaking shoulder and smiled. “I think what Luke was trying to say is, denim isn’t water- or wind-resistant. If you wipe out, you’re going to freeze up on the mountain.”

“Cotton kills.” Luke nodded as if that was supposed to make sense to her.

Margot glanced around the table. Everyone, save for her, was wearing some version of what Olivia had on—insulated ski pants and plenty of layers. Margot frowned, her stomach beginning a slow descent toward her knees.

“I mean, we’re not all skiing, right? There’s a lodge at the summit where we can sip spiked cider and shoot the shit around a fire, yeah?”

Annie shrugged. “I think so? I honestly don’t know. I haven’t been skiing since I was in Courchevel with my cousins, so I’ve been really looking forward to hitting the slopes.”

Margot bit her lip. “Elle? You don’t ski.”

Elle wrinkled her nose. “I don’t often. But I went to Whistler with my family every winter when I was younger. It’s been a while, but it could be fun?”

She turned to Olivia, who winced. “Brad and I used to go to Stevens Pass. I’m not great at skiing or anything—”

“I was a volunteer ski instructor in high school,” Luke said, leaning across Margot. “If you need me to show you the ropes, I’d be more than happy to.” His lips twitched. “Ropes on the slopes.”

Olivia laughed.

Doctors Without Borders, volunteer ski instructor . . . “Where are you from?”

Pleasantville?

“North Lake Tahoe,” Luke answered, smile broad and Chiclet white.

“Hmm.” Margot sipped her coffee.

“You know, I think I’ll be okay.” When Olivia gestured to Margot, her stomach sank. No, no, no. “But maybe Margot might need a little instruction?”

“I’m fine.” Margot tore the paper holder off her napkin. “Seriously.”

“Nah, it’s cool.” Luke shrugged. “I’m used to teaching kids, so it’s really not a problem.”

Woo boy. Margot stole a deep breath in, nostrils flaring, and released it slowly.

The rational part of her brain realized that chances were, Luke was a decent guy. He’d have to be, in order to be Brendon’s friend. Brendon, himself, was a golden retriever in human form, a six-foot-four-inch marshmallow encased in muscle. The chances of him associating with some smarmy asshole were slim. Luke was probably an awesome, all-around great dude.

But jealousy wasn’t rational.

She was self-aware enough to know why she didn’t vibe with Luke, that her feelings had less to do with him and more to do with her. Her and Olivia, specifically her feelings for Olivia, feelings she didn’t know what to do with, feelings that were very much unresolved because she didn’t know how to resolve them without saying something to Olivia, which, ha, right.

She didn’t hate Luke. She hated what he represented. The reality of her situation. That Margot had no right to feel the way she did, because Olivia wasn’t hers. That Luke or anyone else could come along and sweep Olivia off her feet and ride off into the sunset and—

Pain radiated up her jaw from clenching her back teeth too hard. It didn’t hold a candle to the sharp stab between her ribs that nearly stole her breath at the thought of losing Liv.

Insecurity sucked.

Knowing the root cause of her irritation didn’t make her like him any more than she did, but hey, she wasn’t in denial about it. Score one for enlightenment.

At least she could choose how to react. She could be cool. Completely relaxed. Chill. The last thing she needed was for her twisted-up, uglier emotions to get the best of her and put a damper on Annie and Brendon’s wedding week.

She pasted on a smile. “Maybe I’ll take you up on that, Luke.”

Not. She’d be fine. If Elle—the least athletic person Margot knew—could ski, how hard could it be?

“We’ll have to get you some proper ski gear, for starters,” Luke said, eyeing her clothes with a frown. “Ski pants, ski jacket—you can rent the rest at the summit.”

Elle perked up. “I think I saw some cute options in the gift shop. We can wander over after breakfast and take a peek?”

“Works for me.”

The waitress appeared, trays laden with food. “Denver omelet?”

Brendon lifted his hand. “That’s me.”

As soon as everyone had their food, the conversation turned to the wedding.

“I heard back from the caterer on your question about the vegetarian option for the reception,” Olivia said. “It can be made gluten-free, so your mom should be fine. I’ll make sure to remind the kitchen on the day of the wedding.”

Brendon nodded along with a grateful smile. “Thank you. Mom, uh, kind of blindsided us with this new, uh, diet she’s following.”

Darcy picked at her eggs and rolled her eyes. “I still have a feeling Mom’s going to do something dramatic like wear white to the wedding.”

“I don’t know,” Annie mused, tapping the tines of her fork against her lip. “My money’s on black. Full funeral veil and everything.”

Brendon cringed.

Olivia set her fork down, looking concerned. “Is that something I’m going to need to run interference on, because I don’t exactly have any firsthand experience dealing with parental conflict during—”

“We’re kidding,” Darcy said, smirking. “Our mother is a little . . . difficult, but she shouldn’t make a scene.”

“Whew.” Olivia pressed her palm to her chest. “I was a little worried there.”

“Don’t be,” Margot said, leaning into Olivia and jostling her lightly. “Even if something were to go down, Brendon’s already tasked me with running interference.”

His smile verged on a grimace. “We’re calling it Plan G.”

At Olivia’s frown, Darcy said, “Our mother’s name is Gillian.”

Brendon looked across the table, meeting Margot’s eye. He gave his patented staggered blink, his inability to wink both charming and hilarious.

Margot buried her smirk in a bite of her pancakes.

Olivia nudged her before leaning close, breath ruffling Margot’s hair when she whispered, “Why do I get the feeling that’s not what it’s really named for?”

Margot finished chewing and said, “No, it is. It’s just a little more complicated than it sounds, me running interference. Because Gillian’s a bit of a loose cannon.” Margot shivered at the memory of Brendon’s mother trying to crawl on top of the bar at his and Annie’s joint shower. “She’s got a bunch of personal hang-ups, and none of us are entirely sure how she’s going to react on the day of the wedding, so Brendon and I have discussed several different problems that might arise and how best to solve them before they, um, blow up? Perks of being Best Woman.”

Olivia smiled. “With great power comes great responsibility?”

Margot snickered into her napkin. “Hmm, I like that. Makes me sound way more important than I am.”

Olivia cocked her head, staring, studying Margot closely in a way that made her stomach flutter. “I think you’re pretty damn important, Margot.”

She had to stop saying things like that. Giving Margot hope that maybe this thing between them could be more. That Olivia wanted more. Wanted Margot and not just the parts of her that were easy and sexy and fun, but the hard parts, too. The edges and the sandpapery bluntness and the parts Margot didn’t always like about herself, but that were part and parcel to the whole package. Everything that made Margot who she was.

Margot ducked her chin and laughed. “So what? You’re suggesting all I need is a flashy suit to round out this new superhero persona I’ve got going?”

Olivia pursed her lips and hummed as if pretending to think about it. “I don’t know. I’ve heard good things about the tux you picked out.” Her smile turned sly. “I’m looking forward to seeing you in it.”

Heat crept up the front of Margot’s throat. “You sure you don’t mean that you’re looking forward to seeing me out of it?”

“Hmm.” With a tiny shrug, Olivia reached for her tea. She cradled the mug between her hands, slender fingers laced together around the ceramic. “I don’t know. I happen to like unwrapping my presents.”

Margot bit back a whimper.

Olivia swiped a piece of bacon off Margot’s plate with a wink and smile.

Devious. Margot swallowed hard and tuned back in to the conversation only—no one was talking.

Almost everyone was staring at her with varying degrees of shock splashed across their faces, eyes darting between Margot, her plate, and the bacon in Olivia’s hand.

She frowned. “What?”

“You never share your food,” Brendon said.

“What?” Margot laughed. “That’s not true.”

Brendon’s face screwed up. “You went on an entire rant about growing up with brothers and—and you almost took my finger off when I tried to steal your Reese’s, Margot.”

Elle was watching her curiously, eyes narrowed and lip trapped between her teeth, like Margot was a puzzle and Elle was bound and determined to solve it. Her eyes darted to Olivia and back and—Margot’s stomach somersaulted. Unless Elle had already solved it.

“It’s just bacon,” Margot said, rolling her eyes. She lifted her plate and shook it at Brendon. “You want some?”

He waved it off. “Nah, I’m stuffed.”

Margot set her plate down and stretched across the table for the carafe to refill her coffee. She had her mug halfway to her mouth when, from the corner of her eye, she saw a hand sneak out from the right, heading directly for her bacon. Acting on instinct, an impulse to protect the food on her plate ingrained in her from years spent fending off her brothers . . . and okay, whatever, she wasn’t Luke’s number one fan. She snagged her plate and dragged it to the side, further out reach.

“Were you raised by wolves?” she demanded.

Luke lifted his hands up and laughed. “Geez, you offered.”

Yeah, to Brendon. She sniffed. Her bacon, her rules; she was under no obligation to share.

Only . . . everyone was looking at her like she’d lost her mind, including Elle, including Olivia. She stared at Margot, hands still cradling her mug of tea, her lips parted in apparent shock, and—

Margot flung a strip of bacon at Luke’s plate. “Enjoy.”

She wiped her hands on her napkin and pushed away from the table. “I’m going to—”

Elle stood so fast her chair almost toppled over. “Come to the gift shop with me?”

She swallowed her sigh. No point in delaying the inevitable. “Sure.”

They made it out of the restaurant and through the lobby without speaking. By the time they reached the gift shop, Elle appeared to be practically vibrating out of her skin with the restraint it was taking to hold her tongue. Her eyes were wide as she stared at Margot, her lips a thin, pale line as she pressed them together. Elle’s eyes might actually fall out of her eye sockets if she stared any more meaningfully.

“Stop looking at me like that.” Margot chuckled, slightly unnerved. “It’s freaking me out.”

Elle held up her hands. “I can’t look at my best friend? My best friend who should know she can tell me anything and I’ll listen. Eagerly, even.”

Margot’s eyes narrowed. “I’m on to you.”

“What?” Elle feigned ignorance, her blue eyes flaring with faux innocence. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Elle.”

Elle gave a tiny shrug. “Like I said, whenever you’re ready to talk, I’ll be ready to listen.” She smiled guiltily. “So . . . are you ready to talk yet? Or do I need to dig deep for a little more patience?”

Heaven forbid.

“It hasn’t even been twelve hours.” Margot shook her head but wasn’t able to churn up any true exasperation. “Hours.”

Elle bit her lip, brows rising, expression eager. “That was before you smacked Luke’s hand away from your bacon.” Her brows wiggled.

“It’s breakfast meat, Elle. It’s not that deep.”

Elle jutted out her lower lip.

Margot rolled her eyes, aiming for affectation and missing by a landslide when she swallowed, her throat suddenly parched to the point that her gulp was audible. Fuck. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“At the beginning?” Elle suggested, nodding in the direction of the ski apparel. There were several racks of options at the back of the shop, most in garishly bright colors that made Margot cringe at the thought of sliding down a mountain looking like a traffic cone.

“The beginning,” Margot repeated, rifling through a rack of jackets. “Which beginning? The beginning eleven years ago? The beginning when Liv and I met in kindergarten? Or the beginning where we ran into each other last month?”

“Either? All?” Elle shuffled awkwardly on her feet. “Or I guess I could tell you what I already know?”

Margot froze, one hand wrapped around the hanger of an ostentatious coat in pea green. “What you already know . . . which is what, exactly?”

Elle bit her lip and winced. “Um, the walls of the hotel are thinner than you might think.”

“What.” Margot gripped the metal rack and stared.

“Um, was that a question?” Elle laughed through another sharp cringe. “I—yeah, so last night, Darcy and I sort of . . . heard some things. And this morning, when you answered the door, you were wearing the sweater Olivia had on last night. It was, uh . . . A lot of things suddenly made a lot of sense.”

The rush of blood to her head left Margot dizzy. “Ah. I see. That would be, um . . .” Awkward laughter burst from her lips. “Illuminating.”

“Oh my gosh. You’re blushing, Margot.” Elle giggled.

“Well, yeah. You just told me you heard . . .” She trailed off, making a vague gesture with her hand that didn’t mean much of anything but communicated plenty.

“We lived together for ten years. It’s not the first time one of us has heard the other”—Elle mimicked Margot’s hand movement—“you know. I mean, for goodness’ sake, my mom walked in on you freshman year.”

And to this day, Mrs. Jones wouldn’t look Margot in the eye. Margot maintained that if Mrs. Jones hadn’t wanted to see Margot naked, astride the RA, she should’ve knocked before entering the dorm room she and Elle shared.

“Yeah, well, I guess I just didn’t anticipate the cat being let out of the bag quite so . . . I don’t know—”

“Pornographically?” Elle supplied. “I mean, from the sound of it, good porn. The kind you have to pay for and where you know they’re actually treating the actors nice, you know? Quality stuff.” Elle cringed. “Not that we were listening, ew, it was just difficult to tune out. But we tried. Really hard. We, um, turned the TV on really loud.” Elle smiled sweetly. “But kudos, Mar. It sounded like you guys were having an A-plus time.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ.” Margot buried her face in her hands and groaned. “Kill me now.”

Elle bumped her with her hip and laughed. “Lighten up. Don’t worry, it’s not like Darcy and I are going to say anything. Clearly, this isn’t how you wanted anyone to find out about . . .”

Margot peeked through her fingers as Elle trailed off, brows lifting as she waited for Margot to fill in the blanks.

Margot lowered her hands from her face and sighed deeply, the sound coming from what felt like all the way down in her bones. “I don’t know what I’m doing, Elle. But I’m in so far over my head, it’s not even funny.”

Elle’s smile slipped. “Okay, not laughing anymore. Why don’t you start from the beginning?”

Margot glared.

“The beginning that makes the most sense to you,” Elle clarified.

Margot took a deep breath and just . . . let it all pour out.

“Like I said, Olivia and I were friends. We were best friends. Wherever she went, I was sure to follow. If you were looking for her, you’d find me.” She bit her lip. “I mean, there was one summer where Liv practically moved in with us, my family. I had mono and she skipped cheer camp and gave up her spot on the varsity squad just so I wouldn’t be alone.”

Elle smiled, and if Margot wasn’t mistaken, it was a touch sad. Grim. Expectant. Leave it to Elle to read between the lines, to hear what Margot wasn’t saying. “Sounds like you two were really close.”

Margot scratched her forehead. “Yeah, you could—you could say that.” She swallowed, the lump in her throat growing. “It doesn’t really take a genius to see where this is going. At some point—I don’t know exactly when, because whoever knows exactly when these things begin—I fell for her. Hard. I was ridiculously, stupidly, ass-over-heels in love with her, and I didn’t realize it until she started dating someone else. Brad. He was an ass.” She rolled her eyes. “Not just because he was dating her and I wasn’t.”

Elle nodded and, to her credit, waited quietly for Margot to go on.

“It was fine. I—okay, no. That’s a lie. It sucked. There were copious amounts of teenage angst, and lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling and listening to Ingrid Michaelson sing about fragile hearts, and journaling. So much journaling.” She ducked her head and scoffed out a laugh. “I’m sure I filled several diaries up with entries about how painfully unfair my life was.”

She’d yearned, pined, burned, perished. If it sounded painful and emotionally fraught, Margot had probably been there, done that.

Elle nibbled on her bottom lip. “Did you ever say anything?”

“Are you serious?” Margot snorted. “Of course not. Olivia was with Brad, and I didn’t want to ruin our friendship, so I kept my mouth shut.” Her lips twisted. “I managed to mess everything up without ever saying a thing.”

Margot glared at that atrocious jacket the color of pea soup. “Spring break senior year. Brad and Olivia were in one of the many off phases of their on-again-off-again relationship. He’d broken up with her that time. I did what I always did and came over with junk food and old movies and was prepared to be the shoulder Liv needed to cry on. But it didn’t happen like that.” Her mouth had gone dry, tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth. She swallowed hard, trying to generate some moisture. “Liv’s dad was away on some trip with his friends. We had the house to ourselves. Suddenly we were breaking out a bottle of bottom-shelf vodka, and next thing I knew”—her voice cracked—“she was kissing me.”

Elle squeezed her arm.

“It was, um, everything I wanted right there, and I just . . . I rolled with it. I didn’t ask questions. I mean, my best friend who I was stupidly in love with was kissing me, and I was eighteen and perpetually horny; what was there to question?” She laughed. To be that young and stupid. “One thing led to another, and we had sex. A lot of sex. I stayed the whole week at her house and we weren’t—we weren’t drunk the whole time. After that first day, we didn’t touch the vodka. But we didn’t really talk about it, either? I mean, we talked. It wasn’t like a constant sex marathon.”

“I imagine there’d have been some serious chafing if it were.” Elle snorted, immediately looking apologetic. “Sorry.”

Margot waved her off. “We talked, we just didn’t define it. And it was my bad, I guess, for assuming we were on the same page.”

“You weren’t?”

An iron fist gripped Margot’s heart. If it didn’t suck so badly, Margot would almost be amazed at how a decade-old wound could still hurt so badly. “No. Brad came back from his trip to Cancún.” She rolled her eyes. “He and I had homeroom together. Someone asked about the breakup and he shrugged it off. Said he and Liv had talked the night before. That they were working it out. Getting back together.” She swallowed over the knot swelling in her throat. “The first thing he did during passing period was head straight to Liv’s locker, and he—he just kissed her and . . . Liv let him.” The burn at the back of her eyes worsened with every blink, the ache in her chest growing larger until she feared her next breath would escape her as a sob. Fuck. Margot pinched her lips together, forcing air through her nose, getting a grip. She sniffed hard. “I told the nurse I wasn’t feeling well and went home. Liv texted me that night. Something along the lines of, Brad wants to get back together. Can you believe it? What should I tell him? I told her she didn’t need to worry about me saying anything to anyone about what happened over spring break. Because what happened on spring break stayed on spring break. And I, um, I told her she should get back together with Brad.”

Elle frowned. “Why would you do that?”

Margot laughed even though the last thing she felt was amused. “What was I supposed to do, Elle? She asked. She shouldn’t have had to ask. I thought—I thought a lot of things, and none of them mattered. Things were awkward for the next few weeks, but there was still a tiny part of me that hoped maybe it would be different when we left for college. Brad didn’t seem like the kind of guy who’d be down for long distance, you know?” She took a deep breath. “Right before graduation, Liv dropped a bombshell on me, telling me she was going to WSU instead of UW. She chose Brad over me, over all of her plans, all of our plans. Again.

“So Olivia left. She moved across the state to Pullman with Brad, and that was it. Eleven years pass, and I don’t see or talk to Liv, and then one day I walk into a building in Queen Anne with my best friend to go meet up with my other friends and bam! She’s the wedding planner, and she’s . . .” Margot blinked hard and dropped her eyes to the floor, staring hard at her scuffed shoes. “She’s just as beautiful as I remember, and she’s standing right in front of me. And then she needed a place to stay and I gave it to her.”

Without warning, Margot had an armful of Elle. Elle’s hands cradled the back of Margot’s head, and—ow, that was Elle’s foot standing on the tender top of Margot’s instep. Margot winced but hugged Elle back; the inevitable bruises would be worth it for this momentary comfort.

Elle drew back and blinked. “Okay. That’s a lot.”

Leave it to Elle to manage to make Margot laugh at a moment like this. “I know.”

“How did I know none of this?”

“Because I didn’t want you to? No offense, but it’s really not the sort of thing you want to tell your brand-new college roommate. Hi, my name’s Margot. Would you like to hear all about my teenage heartbreak?”

“I’d have listened,” Elle said, sounding indignant. “If not then, I can’t believe you never mentioned this. Eleven years.”

“Honestly? Not to be a walking cliché, but this is really one of those it’s not you, it’s me things. I haven’t wanted to talk about this with anyone. No one knows. Not my brothers or my parents, not anyone. I could’ve gone the rest of my life without telling a soul, but . . . I don’t know what I’m doing,” she admitted. “I thought I could do this, but I don’t know, Elle. I really don’t know.”

“What’s this?” Elle asked. “You’re, um, clearly . . .”

Elle trailed off, expression earnest as she made another one of those vague gestures with her hands.

“Having really great sex? It’s not a question of whether she wants me like that. It’s everything else.” Margot needed something to do with her hands, so she moved on to the next rack of jackets, these in far less offensive hues.

“Did you consider, I don’t know, asking her how she feels?”

Margot snagged a charcoal-colored jacket off the rack that looked like it had promise and, bummer. Not her size. It was beginning to look like her only option was the awful green number. “Sure. I considered it.”

And decided against it.

Elle stared, face twisted in disappointment. “Margot.”

“Olivia is living down the hall from me, Elle. She’s Brendon’s wedding planner. Do you realize how messy it would be if things between us went south?”

“She’s only Brendon’s wedding planner for the next week. Not even a week.”

“She’s still going to be my roommate,” Margot argued. The lump in her throat swelled. “She’s still going to be my friend.”

Elle frowned. “What are you actually worried about here?”

Margot drummed her fingers against her thighs. “I don’t—I feel like I just got Liv back and . . . I don’t want to lose her. I don’t want the same thing that happened before to happen again. Me wanting Liv and Liv wanting . . . not me. I mean, do you realize how awkward it would be, sharing an apartment, after pouring out my feelings and having Liv tell me she doesn’t want the same? That this is all she wants? There’s no way we could live together.”

She wasn’t sure their friendship could withstand the same blow twice. Her heart definitely couldn’t.

“You’re making a lot of assumptions, Margot. Don’t you think you should talk about it? About what happened then and what’s happening now?”

That sounded like the worst idea, the exact opposite of what Margot wanted.

Communication was the cornerstone to any relationship—yeah, she got that. Margot had read enough books and fanfiction, watched enough movies to know the pitfalls of miscommunication, the frustration of watching two people flounder simply because they failed to speak their minds. If she had a dollar for every time she’d wanted to reach through the screen and throttle someone, to scream and say just fucking talk about it or just tell her how you feel, she’d be able to afford those ridiculous leather boots she’d been eyeing in the window display at Nordstrom, praying for them to go on sale.

Reality was different. Talking, sharing, like so many things, was easier said than done.

“Look, normally I am totally on team talk about it. But it’s so much easier to tell someone to talk than to actually do it. The problem isn’t opening my mouth and saying the words—that’s the easy part. It’s—it’s what comes after. When the words are out there, and I can’t take them back. Right now, I’m living out the Schrödinger’s cat of relationship probability. I am half hope, half agony until proven otherwise.”

“How is living in relationship limbo any better?” Sweet, sweet Elle stared, eyes wide and expression guileless.

Margot raked her fingers through her hair, tugging on the ends. “It’s not.” She sighed. “You’re right. It’s sucks. I’m just—”

“Scared?” Elle smiled gently.

She slipped her hands beneath her glasses and rubbed her eyes. “Terrified,” she said, dropping her arms back to her sides.

Elle reached out and grabbed Margot’s hand, squeezing hard. The pressure in Margot’s chest lessened. “I promise that nothing that will happen will be as bad as the worst-case scenario you’ve imagined.”

Margot huffed. “Hate to break it to you, Elle, but that’s less reassuring than you think. You underestimate my ability to catastrophize.”

“I’m not going to say your worries are unfounded. I’m not inside Olivia’s head. I don’t know how she feels, but I see the way she looks at you and . . . I think you should just tell her how you feel. Let her know what’s going on inside your head, because I love you, Margot, but right now what you’re doing isn’t fair to either of you. You’ve got to tell her what you want.”

Once again, Elle was spot-on. What Margot was doing wasn’t fair, saying she wanted one thing but acting like she wanted another. Margot’s breath caught, and it hurt like hell to swallow. Olivia deserved better than this, being unwittingly caught up in Margot’s emotional whiplash.

Elle was right. Margot needed to tell Olivia how she felt. That she wanted more.

After the wedding.

Elle could tell her she was worrying for nothing until she turned blue in the face, but there was no way for Elle to know that for sure. To know that Olivia wanted Margot in all the ways Margot wanted her.

For all Margot knew, everything could go sideways. That wasn’t a risk she could take with Brendon’s wedding days away. He was counting on her, and Olivia’s career hinged on the success of the wedding.

If part of her reason for putting it off was because she was scared . . . that was her prerogative. Sue her if she wanted a little more guaranteed time with Olivia before she introduced the possibility of—of losing her into the equation.

It wasn’t like she was never going to say something. Margot had years of practice hiding her feelings from Olivia. What was a few more days?

She swallowed hard.

That was somehow both too long and not nearly long enough.