“Thank you.”
He nods, his expression softening. “You’ve got this.”
It’s then I’m sure. Ross loves me, and I love him. We’ve both changed. I’m ready to let go and trust him again. Because he’s proved it to me. So without any hesitation, I say, “Move out of the guest bedroom and come back to ours.”
Chapter 28
Margot--Six Months Later
It's been six months, and Ross and I are doing great. The trial is officially over. And tonight, for the first time, I’m not locking the bedroom door. He’s welcome. But first, we're hosting a dinner party. It’s something we’ve never managed.
The dining room smells of rosemary and garlic, a sharp, grounding scent. The table is a mismatched collection of plates and wine bottles, with candles perched in their necks.
I place the last fork down and look around. My paintings cover the walls, chaotic and colorful against the neutral tones. The table itself is Ross’s handiwork, sturdy, sanded wood he built over the past few weekends.
A knock at the door breaks my focus.
I open it to find Wren standing there, waving a bottle of wine.
“I brought the good stuff!” she announces, brushing past me.
“You didn’t have to,” I say, laughing as she hugs me.
“Of course I did. A dinner prepared by the infamous Ross Calder demands good wine.”
“Don’t overstate my skills,” Ross calls from the kitchen. He’s bent over the counter, plating the chicken, brow furrowed in concentration.
The doorbell rings again. Chan and Elias step inside. Chan holds up a glass dish.
“Dessert,” Chan says. “No pressure, but if anyone asks for seconds, it’s mine.”
“Now we’re in trouble,” Wren says, eyeing the dish.
I slip to the cabinet to grab the wine glasses, my nerves humming.
Dinner is loud. Ross brings out the roast chicken, setting it down on a trivet.
“Ta-da. Roast chicken, from scratch.”
“You did this?” Chan asks, brow raised.
“Believe it or not, there’s more to my life than takeout,” Ross says. He glances at me, a quick, shy look that belies his confident tone.
“To Ross!” Elias raises his glass. “For stepping up his game.”
Chan concurs. “Yes, and for giving great advice. Best decision I ever made, listening to you. The new firm is great.”
Ross flushes but grins.
Midway through the meal, Ross’s phone buzzes on the table. The screen lights up. I feel a reflexive tightening in my chest, the old fear that he might disappear into a crisis.
But he glances to read without touching it, then flicks his eyes back to the group.
“Good news,” he says lightly. “The Hemlock project got approved.”
He says it like he’s commenting on the weather. No urgency to leave. No mental checkout.
Wren catches my eye and smiles.
