He leaned a little closer across the table so his words would wind their way to only me. “Then there’s your passion for your writing, and it’s clear you love your daughter more than I could comprehend. I’m thinking that’s only the beginning of where your beauty begins.”
“Mick,” I said softly, his name a shallow whisper. “I can’t. This is too much.”
“It’s just lunch.” He turned the tables on me, easily shifting the mood and not expecting compliments in return.
“A good lunch,” I said, and it was.
“One of the best I’ve ever had.”
I took another sip of wine, then tilted my head. “As a side note, where did you get the Margo from?”
Leaning back in his chair, Mick smiled. “That’s not your nickname? I could’ve sworn you’re more Margo than Margaret.”
I sat down my glass, not meeting his eyes. “It was . . . a long time ago.”
“I’ll tell you why it suits you.” He paused until I met his gaze. “Because when you smile, it’s way too bright and energetic for Margaret. You’re a Margo, lighting up a room, plain and simple. But for the record, I don’t think there’s anything plain and simple about you.”
I quickly downed my wine, leaving only a few sips. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could linger at this lunch without my heart bursting and my mind going to mush. Spending time with Mick’s compliments pouring like lava from a volcano was surely a way to get burned.
“So, your daughter. Does she look like you?” he asked, changing the direction again, keeping me off-kilter.
“She does. Although not quite as fair. She’s such a sweetie and smart. I know Priscilla seems like an uppity name, but she’s named for my grandmother.”
Mick ran a hand through his hair, and for a moment, I allowed myself to pretend it was my hand. Still justifying to myself I wasn’t doing anything wrong by having lunch and chatting about my daughter—and accepting overblown compliments—I forgave myself for the fantasy.
“Must be such an honor. I can tell you loved your grandma from your smile.”
I swallowed. This wasn’t where I wanted the conversation to go.
“I was closer to her than my with my own mom. Our relationship is . . . difficult.”
When I didn’t continue, Mick deftly smoothed out my discomfort. “She must have been amazing. Priscilla, that is.”
Oh, Mick, Mick, Mick. Where were you fifteen years ago?
He was probably having fun like most twenty-somethings. Only I shacked up with my college sweetheart and then got married.
“How old are you?” I blurted, then my cheeks flamed. “Oh God, that was so rude.”
Laughing, Mick shook his head. “Hey, we’re beyond that. We’ve already traded all kinds of secrets. I’m forty.”
“Oh,” popped out of my mouth.
“Young to be where I am,” he said, “but not without sacrifice, which is why I’m single. There’s nothing wrong with me . . . I just focused on making money. Sounds kind of selfish, but when you grow up like I did . . .”
“It’s not. That’s not what I was getting at. Seriously, I wasn’t insinuating that,” I said, stumbling over my words. I’d made Mick feel less than, and no one knew better than me what less than felt like.
“Hey, don’t go overthinking it. I know you didn’t mean anything. I wanted to put it out there, that’s all.”
“Thirty-seven,” I blurted.
“You didn’t have to return the favor,” Mick said with a wink.
“It was only fair.”
“If you didn’t claim to have a twelve-year-old daughter, I wouldn’t have guessed it.”
This made me giggle like a schoolgirl, or maybe it was the wine. My brain told me to get the hell out of there quickly, but instead, I just grinned at him.
As I finished the last dregs of my wine, Mick asked, “Another?”
I shook my head. “It does sound fun, but I have an evening of TV waiting for me.”
Finally, my mouth and my brain intersected.
“Got it,” Mick said, and looked for Zeus.
After the bill was settled, I stood, and Mick waited for me to walk out first. I felt his gaze on my ass as I made my way out of the restaurant. Normally, that would have made me uncomfortable. Probably because Tommy would have noticed, and I would have paid for it later.
“Walk you to your car?” Mick asked, interrupting my crazy train of thought.
I nodded, afraid of what would come out of my mouth.
“Lead the way,” he said, and I did, around the corner to the side street where I’d parked for free.
“Here I am,” I said in front of my Volvo SUV. Of course, only the safest car on the road was good enough for Tommy’s wife. Ironic, considering the least safe place I ever went was home.
“This was fun. No pressure, but I’m here if you need me, Margo.”
Mick’s voice was low, his dark eyes drawing me in. I had to force myself not to step closer.
“It was, but . . .”
Mick reached for me. “Leave the buts for another time. I get it.”
Leaning in, he brushed his lips across my cheek. Sparks lit up over my skin and back again as his mouth pressed light kisses there.
“Leave the buts,” he whispered again before giving my shoulder a light squeeze. “Get in the car.”
Stunned, I choked out, “Thanks,” and then scooted in.
With Mick’s warm gaze still on me, I closed the door, trying to convince myself that it was not only closing on the car, but on whatever this was between us.
Margaret
Priscilla was all smiles when I picked her up from soccer the afternoon after her sleepover.
“We made s’mores in their firepit. It was so much fun!” she said excitedly. “We should get one. You just flip a switch and voilà, fire. I could use it myself, and then I could have everyone over.”
I smiled, loving it when Priscilla rambled happily. Apparently, the sleepover was a huge success, and now all the girls wanted to make s’mores at home. I yearned for the days when such a simple pleasure resulted in so much satisfaction.
“I’ll look into it,” I said, glancing over my shoulder before pulling my SUV into traffic.
“How was your night? Were you lonely?” she asked, her mood turning somber as she stared at my profile from the passenger seat.
“No,” I said a bit too quickly. “I had some wine and watched TV. I’m all caught up on my Netflix show.”
“Oh, good, now you can watch something with me.”
I didn’t deserve her giant heart, for sure.
“No vampires,” I said, glancing at her.
“Mom, seriously, vampire shows are the best kind of TV.”
This made me laugh. “I’ll take your word on that.”
“I should’ve checked to see if Dad was going to be gone, and then I wouldn’t have left,” Priscilla said, retying her hair in a messy bun.
“It’s okay, sweetie, really. I was fine.”
“Oh.” She jumped a little in her seat, making her bun bounce. “Mrs. Alexander said they’re going to the Paula next week, on Tuesday for some meeting . . . you should be there. Six thirty, okay?”