She’d have to get a new phone later, once she made it back to town. She’d head to the apartment, meet up with Margot, go to the rehearsal, and pop into the Verizon store before the rehearsal dinner this evening. Solid plan. She was past due for a phone upgrade, anyway.
After tossing her phone inside a Ziploc bag and tossing that inside her purse, she snagged a thermos from the top shelf of the cabinet above the stove and filled it with coffee, shutting off the pot so the hot plate wouldn’t stay on. Duffel over her shoulder, purse in one hand and coffee in the other, Olivia slipped into her flats and left through the front door. She dropped everything off in the car before heading back to lock the front door with the spare key Dad kept beneath the flower pot at the far end of the porch.
House secured, Olivia hopped in the driver’s seat, fastened her seat belt, and stuck the key in the ignition, and—
It cranked, but didn’t start. She swallowed hard and took a deep breath before twisting the key again. The starter clicked, clicked . . . and failed to stay engaged.
Sweat broke out along her hairline, dampening the small of her back, too.
One more time. Her car had to start. It had to. Swallowing past the sour knot inside her throat, she wrapped a trembling hand around the key. Please start. She scrunched her eyes shut and twisted the key.
It clicked, and the engine grumbled to life.
Thank God. Olivia let her head fall back against the headrest and sighed. She had no idea what she would’ve done if the car had failed to start. That would’ve been a complete and total nightmare today of all—
A rapid knocking sound came from the front of the engine before it died altogether.
Olivia jabbed the heels of her hands into her eyes.
Fuck.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Silence greeted Margot when she stepped inside the apartment. “Liv?”
She dropped her bag in the entry and briefly poked her head inside the kitchen before limping deeper into the apartment. She frowned. No answer. Except for the gentle hum of the refrigerator, it was quiet.
“Liv? Are you home?” she called out again, hobbling toward the hall. Her foot didn’t throb quite as badly as it had yesterday, and most of the swelling had gone down overnight. Luke’s advice about rest, ice, compression, and elevation had been spot-on, and the extra-strength Advil hadn’t hurt, either. “Liv?”
The door to Olivia’s room was left ajar, as always. Margot pressed her fingers to the door, pushing it open the rest of the way, poking her head inside to—
A shadowy blur shot past, darting down the hall. Margot gripped her chest, heart clawing its way up into her throat. A high-pitched yowl came from the living room and Margot sagged against the door frame. Cat. Phew. She chuckled and—
She stopped laughing because she was the only one laughing. Olivia wasn’t here. Margot reached inside her pocket for her phone. 10:58 a.m. She shot off a quick text.
Margot （10:58 a.m.）： Hey, where are you? I just got back to the apartment and you aren’t here.
She tucked her phone into her pocket so she wouldn’t be tempted to stare at it, waiting for a response, and ducked into her bedroom to change out of the yoga pants and sweatshirt she’d worn in the car.
The plan for the day was straightforward; the wedding party would meet up at the venue at one o’clock to run through the ceremony proceedings with the officiant to make sure everyone knew where they needed to be and when they needed to be there. From there, Annie and Brendon would head to the airport to pick up her parents. Setup for the pre–rehearsal dinner cocktail hour was scheduled to start at three, the cocktail hour itself was at five, and the dinner was scheduled for six thirty.
Bringing her phone with her, Margot wandered back out into the living room. Cat was curled up on the couch in a tight little ball that made it difficult to see where she started and ended. Two green eyes peeked out at Margot when she carefully—cautiously—sat. Her eyes shut, and she started up a low purr that made Margot smile.
11:12 a.m. She had over an hour to kill before she needed to leave, let alone before the rehearsal started. An hour to kill. That felt like an absurd amount of time to wait around, twiddling her thumbs, and yet . . . Olivia was cutting it close. Awfully close. Margot sighed, earning a serious side-eye from Cat. She reached for the remote.
The channel was still set to Turner Classic from the last time she and Olivia had curled up on the couch. Currently, the hosts of the cocktail hour–style intermission were sipping on flutes of champagne while discussing—Margot pressed the volume up button—Breakfast at Tiffany’s, the film du jour.