“Luke. What did you do?”
He cut over into a faster lane.
“Nothing! She got pissed at me, just because I hadn’t mentioned the job interview to her until last Sunday morning.” He sighed. “And I sort of hadn’t told her that I led my mom to believe you and I were dating.”
“WHAT?” He was surprised no one in the cars around him turned at Avery’s yell. “You didn’t tell her about that!?”
He should have known she would react like this.
“You don’t have to say it like that. I meant to tell her, I just . . . forgot.”
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell her that,” Avery said. “I can’t believe I was out there pretending to be your girlfriend and your real girlfriend didn’t even know! I was a fake other woman?”
He laughed, despite himself.
“You were not a fake other woman. She didn’t think we were actually together. But . . .”
Avery sighed.
“Okay.” Her voice was brisk. “Come straight here.”
He didn’t want to be an asshole, but there was no way he could go over to Avery’s place and have a heart-to-heart about all of this right now.
“Thanks, really, but . . .”
She cut him off.
“I’m leaving now to get the fried chicken. Think about what movie you want to watch. See you soon.”
Oh, thank goodness.
“Spicy please, dark meat only, and so many biscuits my stomach will hurt tomorrow.”
“Do you think you have to tell me any of that?” She hung up.
He rolled down his windows and turned up the music. He hoped Avery got them potato salad, too. Maybe that would solve all of his problems.
Twenty-Five
THE TASTING ROOM WAS booked solid with appointments on Thursday, and with Taylor gone, Margot didn’t sit down all day. She chatted and laughed and smiled with guests, encouraged them to have another sip, buy one more bottle, relax with a glass of wine on the new Adirondack chairs out on the grounds. It was a relief, to be around people all day, to be busy from when she walked in the door, to not have to be alone with her thoughts. She was successful, she was thriving; there was no need to think about Luke, why she hadn’t heard from him, how lonely she’d been all week, how she’d almost texted him that morning about his interview and had chickened out.
At six that evening, when everyone was gone, she locked up the building and turned off the lights in the tasting room. But instead of getting in her car to go home, she went back to her office. She might as well get more work done, since she was here, and she’d been terrible this week about getting work done at home. At home there were reminders of him everywhere, all of the places she normally worked: her couch, her kitchen, her bedroom.
She looked at her phone, which she’d planned to ignore all day. She hadn’t, exactly, but at least she hadn’t checked it as obsessively as she had all week. Nothing from Luke. Sydney had texted, though.
SYDNEY
Come by tonight? Charlie has a new menu item you’ll love. Or I could bring something by after work?
She’d told Sydney everything on Monday night, over an enormous amount of pasta, and Sydney had very reassuringly been out for Luke’s blood. That had been great, to feel angry at Luke, instead of sad. But tonight, Margot couldn’t handle Sydney’s concern for her and urge to destroy Luke. She loved her for it, very much, but right now, she needed to just be.
MARGOT
Working late tonight, maybe tomorrow
Tell Charlie I said thank you.
She worked for a while before she got up to go to the bathroom. Oh, and wait, had she gone through the whole closing checklist before she’d locked up the tasting room? She hadn’t closed up in a while.
She went back in the tasting room and looked around. The bar was cleaned up, the wine was all put away, the dishwasher was loaded, but—oops—she’d forgotten to turn it on. She did that, and then had a sudden vision of Luke, his sleeves rolled up, fixing the dishwasher.
“Fuck!” she yelled to the empty room. Did he have to be everywhere in her whole fucking life? She’d known this man for only two fucking months!
She took a glass down and pulled out one of the bottles they’d opened that day at random. What was the fucking point of owning a winery if you didn’t get to drown your sorrows in wine at least once?
She poured a glass and then sat down on one of the couches by the window.
His interview had been that day. She’d tried, so hard, not to let herself think about it, but she had. All day. He’d said she was being irrational to be so angry, to feel so betrayed that he’d decided to do this without telling her, that he’d decided to do this at all, and maybe he was right. But for the past month, almost as soon as they’d really gotten together, he’d been completely woven into her life. Okay, fine, almost completely—he was right, she hadn’t told Elliot about him, or anyone else at the winery. But she’d talked to Luke about so much. She’d told Luke about all of her conflicts with Elliot, about what he’d said at the funeral, about how hurt she’d been, then and since; she’d sobbed like a baby on his shoulder at the end of the party; she’d told him everything she and Elliot had talked about after she’d come home. She’d thought of him—she’d treated him—as someone she could share her whole self with, without having to edit herself, without having to hold anything back. And she’d believed he thought of her that same way, too, especially after that car ride when he’d told her about leaving his job. She’d trusted him with everything, in a way she rarely trusted people.