by Hazel Kelly
I cocked my head. “That is so thoughtful.”
“Speaking of thoughtful, it seems like I underestimated how much whipped cream you could eat.”
Before I could wave his observation away, he’d already left for the kitchen.
I took the can from him when he came back and added a swirl to my plate. “Is this a new can?”
He nodded.
I grinned.
“Why are you making that face?”
“Because I can’t believe my luck.”
He narrowed his eyes at me.
“I mean, here I am trying to think of ways to burn off this big breakfast, and suddenly I’m naked in your bed with a full can of whipped cream.”
“Careful now,” he said, his mouth twitching towards a smile. “I just changed these sheets two days ago. If you spill whipped cream anywhere it shouldn’t be, I’ll have no choice but to clean it up right away.”
“In that case, I’ll be very careful where I put it.”
“Sounds like you have some ideas already,” he said, clenching his jaw and forgetting his breakfast.
I pressed my lips together and turned the can over in my hands. “One or two.” When I lifted my eyes, he was staring at me like a hungry wolf.
“Show me,” he said.
So I did.
T H I R T Y T W O
- Landon -
Thank God I only bought a small can of whipped cream or we would’ve missed the show. I wouldn’t have cared, either, since the image of Margot licking it off me was certain to be the highlight of my day.
Normally I’d say year or life, but something told me this thing between us was going to be even stickier than the fluffy sugar we played with that morning.
When we got to her building, she insisted I wait in the Uber so we wouldn’t miss the opening curtain, as if she knew we couldn’t be trusted with even five minutes alone. And I suspect she was right.
After all, much like the way a sleeping cat is aroused by the sound of a tuna can being opened, her every smile was enough to send my cravings for her into overdrive.
In the end, though, our timing was perfect, which shouldn’t have surprised me since we were both punctual to a fault. In fact, the thought crossed my mind that our spoiled kids might never be left waiting after a ballet lesson or a baseball practice, a rite of passage my parents always insisted was character-building. I kept that to myself, obviously, but it struck me that my mind would go there before an official second date was even underway.
Was that normal? Surely not. Then again, I remembered when Cupid’s arrow hit Matt and he started saying crazy stuff like, “my life before Kelsey was the hard part,” and, “thinking about the future doesn’t make me anxious anymore.” But just because things worked out for him didn’t mean I should indulge myself in anything but the present moment, which contained the only happiness I could truly count on.
The lights in the lobby were flashing as we handed over our tickets in exchange for two glossy programs, and we wasted no time shuffling past the other people in row Q to get to our centrally located seats.
Once settled, Margot hurried to find Izzy’s picture in the program so I’d know who she was when the lights went down, and I sat back and watched her flip through the pages like a woman on a mission.
“There she is,” she said, pointing to a black-and-white headshot of a young woman whose head was cocked at a dramatic angle. “Isabelle Jennings.”
I leaned over to get a better look.
“Isn’t she pretty?” Margot asked, her eyes scanning the brief bio beside the photo.
“She is, yeah. A bit skinny for my taste, but—”
She looked at me with raised eyebrows.
“I like a woman who can eat an entire Belgian waffle and still have room for dessert.”
She smiled and turned her blushing cheeks back towards the program.
“Wait a second.” I squinted at the picture two rows below Izzy’s.
“What?”
“That’s my friend Ethan’s girlfriend,” I said, pointing at Jenny. “I think I mentioned him before.”
She studied the picture. “Small world, eh?”
“I knew she was in something right now, but I couldn’t remember what.”
“How did you meet him?”
“Through Christophe,” I said, trying to remember exactly how Ethan and Jenny got together. I knew there was a story there, but I couldn’t recall the details.
Margot kept flipping through the pages, skimming the bios and commenting on ads for upcoming shows she’d like to see. “Must be nice to have a network of friends here.”
“What? In the city?”
She nodded. “Sometimes it feels kind of lonely being surrounded by this many strangers.”
My chest tightened at the thought of her feeling isolated. I knew what that was like, and it was something I’d never want for her.
“Not that I have trouble making friends,” she said. “I just spend all my time working, and I’ve kept my walls up with the people at Acacia since I don’t want to mix my personal and professional lives too much.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” I said, flashing my eyebrows.
She bounced her shoulder off mine and batted her lashes. “You know what I mean.”
“I do, yeah. I felt the same when I first moved here.”
“You did?”
“Of course,” I said. “It’s only natural, especially when you’re focused on your career and making your next rent check.”
“Bingo.”
“If you want, I’d be happy to introduce you to some of my friends. You know, just to get the ball rolling on making your circle a little bigger.”
“Yeah?”
“Sure,” I said, confident she’d hit it off with every last one of them. “Why not?”
“That would be really kind of you, but I totally understand if you don’t want to share your frien—”
“Margot.” I laid a hand on her knee. “There is nothing I wouldn’t happily share with you.”
She blinked at me.
“Nothing. Do you understand?”
Her expression lifted, and I wished she could understand how much I meant it, wished she could understand how much seeing things and people through her eyes enriched my life.
“How would you introduce me to them?” she asked. “As your best friend’s little sister?
“Not exactly.”
The lights in the theatre began to dim along with the conversations around us.
“As what, then?” she whispered, leaning towards me.
I dropped my lips to her ear. “Girlfriend has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”
She looked up at me, her eyes shining in the dark as they searched mine. Then she pressed her nose against my cheek, batted her lashes against my skin, and squeezed my hand.
I took that as a yes.
T H I R T Y T H R E E
- Margot -
My heart nearly burst through my chest.
Hearing Landon say that he wanted me to be his—officially—was my ultimate dream come true. Yes, I knew actions spoke louder than words in a relationship, but he was a man of so few words that his still held meaning.
Besides, I was one of those people who had to hear it, especially when it came to him, since we’d gotten off to so many false starts in the past (many of which seemed to have been entirely in my head). But this, this was proof that I wasn’t imagining us this time.
This was real. We were happening. I was at an Off-Broadway show with my boyfriend, a man who seemed not only happy to have me hanging on his arm, but a man who seemed equally eager to accessorize my knee with his hand. In fact, it felt like we were touching in some way during the entire performance, as if the once invisible line between us had simply melted into the earth.
And it felt big, these feelings. Too big.
I mean, I’d never had a problem keeping secrets, but for the first time in my life, I understood what compelled people
to spill them. After all, how could I possibly hide the happiness I was feeling? Where could I possibly tuck it away when it was so big and bright and burning?
Part of me wanted to tell everyone that Landon Bishop was my boyfriend. I daydreamed of changing my Facebook status and wondered how people might respond. I wouldn’t do that, of course. I wouldn’t do anything to create the illusion that our relationship had anything at all in common with anyone else’s.
’Cause it didn’t. It was bigger, better, stronger. I could feel it in my bones. So as much as I felt like the cat who’d finally gotten the cream, I didn’t actually want to share it half as much as I wanted to keep it to myself, as much as I wanted to spend every day wrapped up under blankets with him, his warm breath on my ear as he caught up on whispering a decade’s worth of sweet nothings to me.
However, despite the unfamiliar feelings spin cycling inside me, I did do my best to pay attention to the show. Not that I had a choice.
Izzy’s performance demanded my focus every time she stepped into the spotlight, and I was so proud of her it felt as if I were the one who taught her to act. Better yet, her bold performance gave me hope that I could make it here, too.
Granted, I’d already enjoyed breakfast (and more) in bed with a beautiful man followed by an impromptu matinee, which wasn’t exactly the start you’d expect from a sorry excuse for a city girl. Still, she was a great role model for me since she’d come from a quiet town, too, and was a freaking rock star now…even when she wasn’t dancing with a chair, wearing fishnets and red lipstick.
But while I knew it was only a part (albeit one she totally nailed), it was funny to see her in action when I felt like I finally wasn’t playing a part for the first time in my life.
I wasn’t pretending to be happy; I was happy. I wasn’t pretending Landon liked me back; he did like me back. I wasn’t pretending to have a good job in the city; I really had one, one that was going from strength to strength.
Sure, maybe it was all the bold music and the drama and the sass on stage getting to me, but it felt like more than that. It felt like I’d arrived, like I’d have every right to bow after the final curtain if I wanted to, hand in hand with the rest of the cast.
I knew that was ridiculous. I’d crap myself if I had to stand in front of that many people, but that didn’t keep me from clapping and smiling harder at the curtain call than I had in years. The only thing that interrupted my high was the piercing whistle Landon let out when Izzy and Jenny stepped forward.
It actually turned me on, that whistle, and my mind flashed to thoughts of him cheering our kids on at sports matches for a moment before I realized I was getting ahead of myself.
I still had the whole afternoon to look forward to, and the last thing I wanted to do was wish this happy time away or jump ahead to the good parts, especially when I was right in the thick of one.
“Well?” he asked as the heavy red curtain swished closed for the last time. “What did you think?”
“I thought it was brilliant,” I said. “And I think I’ve been wasting my life not going to the theatre every weekend.”
“It’s more fun when your friends are in it, but that was a great show.”
“Totally.”
“Even though I kept wishing it was you up there straddling chairs in tights and high heels.”
I laughed and peeled my coat off the back of my seat. “You must have a very active imagination, because I wouldn’t know the first thing about straddling a chair half naked and—”
He cocked an eyebrow. “No? Because that’s a show I would see more than once,” he said, taking my hand and leading me towards the aisle. “If only I knew where to buy tickets.”
“That was a one-time performance,” I said, shuffling behind him. “It was the grand opening and the grand finale all at once.”
He smiled back at me like a scheming schoolboy. “In that case, I know which part was the grand finale. But to clarify, was the grand opening the bit where you—”
“Enough,” I said, squeezing his hand.
When we reached the end of the row, Landon let some elderly women start up the stairs ahead of us, and I slipped my arms around his waist, hugging him to me so my cheek was pressed against his back. Two seconds later, he stiffened in my arms.
“Dick,” he said. “Hi.”
My stomach dropped.
“Landon. Great show, wasn’t it? Lovely way to spend a—” My boss’s face fell with my hands as he peeked around to see who was hanging out of his favorite employee. “Margot.”
“Hi,” I said, my voice barely squeaking out. “Did you enjoy the show?”
It was obvious from the look on his face that if he had, how unimpressed he was now had quickly made him forget. I watched his beady eyes bounce back and forth between Landon and me as he and his heavyset wife stopped traffic on the stairs towards the exit.
“Nice to see you again, Mary,” Landon said, affecting a casual tone.
Mary acknowledged him, but it was obvious from her basset hound wrinkles that joviality wasn’t her default setting.
“We’ll talk next week,” Dick said to Landon. Then he nodded at me, repeated my first name like it was mud, and continued up the stairs with his wife.
T H I R T Y F O U R
- Landon -
I knew I’d have to say goodbye to Margot at some point, but I kept shoving the thought to the back of my mind. Fortunately, there was a famous ice cream place down the street, and as soon as I mentioned it, she lit up like a girl who’d just seen glitter for the first time.
“I think I’m suffering from information overload,” she said as we approached the front of the line.
I watched her eyes study the colorful chalkboard overhead, scanning every detail of the special sundaes on offer.
“What do you usually get?” she asked.
“I don’t usually come here. I’m more of a 99 cent McDonald’s soft serve kind of guy.”
She turned towards me. “Then why didn’t we just go there? I’d know what I wanted if we did that.”
“Because I’m trying to impress my new girlfriend.”
“By spending fifteen bucks on an ice-cream cone?!”
“A designer ice-cream cone.”
She rolled her eyes, but a smile escaped her lips.
“You don’t have to overcomplicate it.”
“Do you know me at all?” she asked, gazing back up at the chalkboard.
“Margot.”
“What?”
“How about I surprise you?”
Her whole body relaxed as she turned towards me. “I would love that. I have the worst analysis paralysis right now. The only solution I can think of is to order everything on the menu, and my checking account won’t allow it.”
“Not to worry,” I said, touching her lower back as we stepped up to the counter. “I got this. Why don’t you grab a table, and I’ll follow you over.”
“Can we share something?” she asked, pointing to the heaping mound of ice cream the guy ahead of us was leaving with. “I don’t think I can eat a whole one of those myself.”
“Sure.”
She smiled gratefully before making a beeline for the round table by the window. Meanwhile, I placed an order for us.
A few minutes later, I lifted our cold concoction with two hands and weaved my way through the tables. Across the white tiled room, Margot was waiting patiently with a pile of napkins and two free cups of water she’d sourced in my absence.
“Well?” She straightened up in her chair when I set the bowl down and feasted her eyes on the large scoops of ice cream, each of which was lovingly accessorized with a rolled waffle cone cookie. “What kinds did you get?”
“Wouldn’t you rather guess?” I asked, taking a seat in the metal chair across from her.
“Yeah, that sounds like fun.” She grabbed her spoon and circled it over the bowl before diving into the white scoop filled with colored sprinkles.
I let my spoon follow
so my taste buds could go on the same trip.
“I think I know this one,” she said, helping herself to another bite.
I watched the way her lips dragged over her spoon and struggled to keep my mind from straying into the gutter.
“Is it cake?” she asked.
I nodded. “Cake batter, yeah. Good job. Try another.”
She went for the scoop right beside it, which was a light tan color.
I dug in afterwards, finding myself pleasantly surprised by the sweet taste.
“That’s not at all what I expected,” she said. “I thought it would be some sort of coffee flavor, but it tastes more like a donut.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“It is donut flavored, isn’t it?” she asked, taking a quick second bite. “Krispy Kreme maybe?”
“Bingo,” I said. “Two for two.”
“Good choices so far,” she said, reaching over to my side of the bowl to try the darker brown scoop.
She closed her eyes as the ice cream melted on her tongue, and it reminded me of the way she looked sleeping in my bed that morning. My chest swelled at the memory, and I wondered when I’d be lucky enough to wake up beside her again.
“I’m getting cookie—no—graham cracker,” she said, her eyes still closed. “And chocolate.”
“Uh-huh.”
“But there’s something else.” Her eyes popped open. “S’mores.”
“I’m impressed. For someone who swears they don’t spend much time in the kitchen, you seem to have a pretty refined palate.”
She cocked her head, her blonde hair falling to one side. “Yeah, for junk food.”
I shrugged. “A person has to start somewhere.”
“You used to make the best s’mores when we were kids,” she said. “Matt always messed them up because he liked watching his marshmallow go up in flames and mine—”
“Always fell into the fire pit, I remember.”
“Only because you guys always gave me a bogus stick.”
I shook my head. “Just bogus marshmallows.”
Her mouth fell open.
“I’m kidding.”