They both laughed.
“So have you?” Margot asked. “Learned how to relax, I mean?”
He shook his head. “Absolutely not.”
Margot grinned at him. “I didn’t think so.”
Luke knew he was smiling, far too big, but he couldn’t make himself stop. He knew, actually, that he shouldn’t even be doing this right now. It was his fault, this warm, close, intimate conversation he and Margot were having, where they’d both shared so much with each other, things neither of them meant to say. He’d started it, with that whole in this car, we’re just Luke and Margot thing. Because the problem was that they weren’t just Luke and Margot, and they both knew it.
He was just happy, right now, in this moment, with Margot sitting next to him, so close to him, and smiling at him in that way that had attracted him from the very first moment he’d seen her.
They finally passed the accident that had made the delay so intense for the past forty-five minutes, and the traffic got a lot lighter. They talked about other things, less heavy things, for the rest of the drive—their last vacations, favorite restaurants, what they’d both been reading. And all too soon, he pulled off the freeway.
Margot lifted a hand and pointed.
“To get to my house, you turn—”
“I know how to get to your house,” he said.
“Oh. Right.” After what she’d said about Elliot, he’d worried that she was embarrassed by what had happened between the two of them. But she still had that smile in her voice, and—he saw when he glanced over at her—on her lips.
A few minutes later, he pulled up in front of her house. And then he turned to face her, to see her smiling at him. But her smile was different from what he’d seen before. Not flirtatious and confident, like the night they’d met; not cool and professional, like at work; not even that friendly smile she sometimes gave him at work, when they managed to be normal and relaxed with each other. The smile on her face now was warm, trusting, open. It was his favorite way she’d ever looked at him.
“Thanks for the ride,” she said. “And . . . for listening.”
“It was my pleasure,” he said. “Really. And thank you, too.”
She didn’t move to get out of the car. They both just sat there, looking at each other, until he lifted his hand and cupped her face. God, her skin was so smooth. He made himself drop his hand, before she could pull away. Everything in him wanted to kiss her.
“I hate this, you know,” he said.
“I hate this, too,” she said in a low voice. And then she turned and got out of the car without another word.
Thirteen
MARGOT PULLED ON HER black wrap dress on Monday morning, this time with flat caramel sandals, a denim jacket, and simple gold jewelry. It would be too hot for the jacket by eleven, but for now it was still just overcast and cool enough that she needed it. It was going to be a busy day today; she had a bunch of calls, appointments back-to-back all day, and a few tours, one of which she’d let Marisol do, and another she might let Luke do.
Luke. She sighed. What had she been thinking the day before, telling him all of that about her and Elliot? Talking to him like she had? Looking at him, right before she got out of the car, like she knew she had.
She knew what she’d been thinking. That she was frustrated and needed a sympathetic ear, and that Luke had appeared out of nowhere with those thoughtful eyes and that kind smile and that warmth in his voice for her. Everything had come spilling out, and it had felt so good to say it all out loud, to voice the resentment and frustration and confusion that she usually kept bottled up inside. And Luke had just listened. He hadn’t given her advice, or told her it would all be okay or that maybe she’d heard Elliot wrong or that maybe he hadn’t really meant it, or tried to play devil’s advocate, or any of the things that would make her regret having told him. He’d just listened. That’s why she’d looked at him like that. That’s why she’d wished they were actually just Margot and Luke.
She usually rolled her eyes when men said “you can trust me” like Luke had. It was usually one of many signs that you absolutely should not trust them. But with Luke . . . it felt different.
She’d thought, for a moment there in the car when he’d dropped her off, that he was going to kiss her. He’d looked at her like he wanted to. But he hadn’t done it, hadn’t even tried. If he’d tried, she would have had to stop him, and it would have ruined the bond they’d woven together during the course of that car ride. If he’d tried, she would have known he hadn’t listened to her when she’d said not to do it again. If he’d tried, they would have had to become boss and employee again, and said goodbye to Luke and Margot, friends. That look on his face when he’d wanted to kiss her, but hadn’t, had been one of the most attractive things she’d ever seen. That he hadn’t kissed her made her feel closer to him than if he had.