He kissed her again, definitely passionate this time, definitely goodbye-worthy, while Stella shrieked with delight.
“THIRTY BUCKS! That’s gotta be worth thirty!”
Luke pulled back, grinning at Meg’s dazed expression. “Better?”
“Um. Yes?”
“Good.” He winked at Stella. “Put me down for ‘second kiss within a minute’ in Bernie’s next pool.”
“You’re all terrible,” Meg managed.
“Terribly happy for you,” Luke corrected, backing toward his truck. “Think about the house, Meg. And San Francisco. And staying.”
He drove off, leaving Meg standing there, lips still tingling, while Stella filmed the entire aftermath.
“This is better than Netflix,” Stella announced. “Tyler! They kissed TWICE! What’s that worth in the betting pool?”
She headed inside, face still burning, to find Tyler surrounded by paper chaos and Stella doing a victory dance in the kitchen.
“Twenty bucks!” Stella sang. “Twenty beautiful dollars!”
“I can’t believe you bet on my love life,” Meg said.
“Everyone bet on your love life. It was like watching a nature documentary. ‘Will the marine biologist approach the skittish businesswoman? Let’s observe.’”
“I hate you all.”
“No you don’t.” Stella pocketed her winnings. “You love us. That’s why you can’t figure out where to live.”
Out of the mouths of teenagers.
Meg looked at the chaos of papers, thought about the empty house with its mysterious flowers, the kiss still warm on her lips, and Luke’s words echoing: San Francisco’s too far away.
Maybe it was time to stop living in limbo.
Maybe it was time to choose.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Margo set out the good cups, the ones with tiny painted roses that Richard had bought her for their twentieth anniversary. Her hands trembled slightly as she arranged them. She’d been to Sam’s house this morning, changed the flowers like she had every week for three years. Pink roses on the kitchen table, where Sam used to drink her coffee and plan her next escape.
The trembling annoyed her. She was Margo Turner. She didn’t tremble.
She hadn’t invited Meg tonight. The guilt of it sat like a stone in her chest, but how could she talk about Sam with her daughter in the room? How could she finally say the words she’d been swallowing for three years?
Vivian arrived first, took one look at Margo’s face, and poured the wine without asking.
“That bad?” Vivian asked quietly.
“I did something this morning.” The words came out before Margo could stop them.
Vivian waited, knowing when to push and when to let silence do the work.
Eleanor arrived next, followed by Nadine and Letty. They settled into their usual seats, but the absence of Meg felt like a presence itself.
“Where’s our girl?” Eleanor asked, because Eleanor always asked what everyone was thinking.
“I didn’t invite her.” Margo’s voice came out rougher than intended.
