“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.