Each second inched by. A horn blared from several blocks over, and across the street, that group of friends who’d ducked inside the coffee shop hurried back out onto the street, zipping up their jackets and hiding under their hoods, the rain falling heavier than before.
1:04 p.m.
One arm still wrapped around her stomach, Margot jammed the heel of her other hand against her breastbone—it was time to accept that, for whatever reason, Olivia wasn’t—
An engine roared a split second before a bright red monster truck took the corner, tires—all six of them—squealing. Margot stared, dumbstruck. In Seattle, she saw Priuses and Subarus and Hyundais, small cars ideal for squeezing into tight spaces, street parking the norm. Even the parking spaces in garages were narrow, all but encouraging drivers to pick smaller, more fuel-efficient vehicles than the gas-guzzler burning rubber as it ate up the pavement, coming toward her up the hill.
Holy shit. Margot leaped back as the right front tire of the truck hopped the curb, brakes screeching obnoxiously, drawing the attention of every pedestrian in a two-block radius.
Who the fuck was this asshole, and where in God’s name did they get their license?
Heart racing for an entirely different reason than before, Margot inched a little closer to the door to the venue, focus still firmly on the truck. She covered her ears when the driver’s-side door opened, hinges screeching like nails on a chalkboard. The door slammed, and Margot froze.
One hand braced against the headlight, chest heaving, her dark blond hair a halo of frizz around her face, stood Olivia.
Mud streaked the sides of her calves, caking her feet, and there was a tear in the side of her skirt along the seam, too ragged to be a slit. Even filthy, totally disheveled, and standing beside a monster truck, Olivia had never looked more breathtaking because she was here.
Margot opened her mouth and gestured weakly to the monster truck parked partially on the curb. “Truck?” She huffed and tried again. “Since when do you drive a truck?”
Was this thing even street legal? Fuck it. Margot couldn’t care less, because Olivia was here, and she was looking at Margot like she’d never been happier to see someone in her life. She was here.
Olivia stepped closer on wobbling legs, and when she laughed there was a frantic edge to it that made Margot’s heart clench. She stumbled over the curb, and Margot rushed toward her, catching her with both hands around her waist, steadying her. Olivia melted against Margot, her whole body shaking as if there were a current running through her, clearly adrenaline and who knew what else. “I stole it.”
Margot jerked back and her jaw fell open. “You stole a truck? Olivia.”
She wasn’t sure whether to be scandalized or proud or a little turned on or terrified or some dizzying combination of all of the above.
Olivia sputtered out another laugh and dipped her chin. “I stole a truck.”
That was—Margot didn’t have words. Or, she had words, but she wanted to hear what Olivia had to say. Needed to hear it. “Start from the beginning. Please.”
Olivia’s tongue darted out, sweeping against her bottom lip. “My dad is fine. You were right. You were absolutely right. He’s selling the house, but he’s okay and we cleared it all up. We’re fine. This morning I dropped my phone in the toilet while I was getting ready and now it’s a waterlogged hunk of junk and then my car wouldn’t start because of my plug sparks or something and I couldn’t call you because I don’t have your new number memorized and my neighbor was trying to work on the car but he couldn’t fix it and my dad had already left for his fishing trip and—and—”
“Hey.” Margot reached up, tucking a strand of hair behind Olivia’s ear. “Breathe.”
Olivia nodded and sucked in a rasping breath. “My car wouldn’t start. I didn’t know what to do. I was going to go to Brad and ask to borrow his car, which I didn’t exactly relish the idea of”—her lips twisted in a wry smile—“but I figured he owed me one.”
He owed Olivia several, but Margot held her tongue.
“He wasn’t home.” Her throat her jerked. “I had no idea how to get here, and I couldn’t contact anyone, but then I saw his truck in the yard and he left the keys inside and I—I thought about what you said. About not needing to ask anyone’s permission to be happy, so . . . I didn’t. I just took the truck.”
The pressure in Margot’s chest didn’t so much disappear as it was replaced with laughter that built until she couldn’t contain it. It burst from her lips. “You stole Brad’s truck.”