“Do you have two more seconds?” I asked like an awkward teenager.
“I have all the time for you, Margo,” he said softly into the phone, then it sounded like he took a gulp.
“Are you having a drink?” I blurted.
“Yep. A Macallan in the chair in my room. Nothing better. It’s quiet, and there’s only you to fill my ear.”
“I’m having a wine. See? That’s sort of what I mean ... do you think this is crazy? How we met? Our dubious beginning? How in sync we seem to be, so compatible and easy?”
My mind spun, spitting questions out of my mouth faster than I could control them.
“No, how we met wasn’t crazy. It was serendipitous. And if you ever tell any of my buddies that I used that word, I’ll deny it.”
This made me laugh out loud. “Okay, okay, I promise.”
“While we’re on the subject, we didn’t have a dubious beginning because of what happened to you behind closed doors. Your marriage was over, just not on paper. And fuck yeah, it’s easy, because that’s how real feelings are. Easy.”
“How do you know?”
“True, true. I’m guessing, but I’m usually right when it comes to my intuition.”
“Cocky much?” I teased, the wine making me brave.
“My track record suggests I know what I’m doing. Moving on, I’ll bring dinner tomorrow. And no pressure, but if you want to grab dinner this weekend just the two of us, we could.”
“Like a date?”
“Exactly, smarty-pants.”
“I’ll check in with Priss, okay?”
“Absolutely,” he said, his voice sincere yet gravelly with need.
“You know what? This may sound strange, but I need to redo this house. It’s weird being here. It doesn’t feel like me.”
“You will, in time. Right now, it’s about breathing and putting one foot in front of the other, just making it to the next day.”
He was so right.
“You know,” I said, “you really do know it all.”
“Now go to bed, because I didn’t forget you’re meeting with your editor tomorrow. Remember, you don’t owe her every detail, but you definitely should gun for some more articles. Did you work on your pitches?”
It was unreal how Mick remembered every detail we’d discussed on Saturday and Sunday. It was probably why he was so successful—his attention to detail. There was no denying that I liked being one of those details.
“Not as much as I should have, but yes.”
“Then off to bed you go ...”
“Night,” I whispered.
“Back at you, Margo.”
We disconnected, and I ran to check on Priscilla, wash my face, and crawl in between the covers and sleep like the dead.
Another side effect of no longer sleeping next to the enemy.
Mick
