Chapter 7 Home Run （Margot） #3
But before, it was always in an upscale wine bar or after a short hike in the park. Or maybe after watching an Arizona sunset too perfect for life while some cute dumb Scottsdale boy invites me on his dad’s private jet.
That’s happened often enough over the years.
Men like me, and I like men.
I just don’t really date them.
I’ve stayed away from lethal older single dads for good reason.
Messing around with a guy casually, that’s one thing. But when kids are involved—oof.
And I’ve been happily keeping my distance from men ever since Kelso Tully cheated on me just when we were getting serious.
Fending off fuckboys, that’s normal and boring. Old habit.
Then along came Kane Saint with his panther-like bedroom eyes and hockey body and big heart behind barbed wire.
Down went my shields.
Now, I’m cut to ribbons.
Stupid. So, so stupid.
This actually feels worse than college. I’m grown now, not innocent and na?ve and forgivable because I haven’t learned how to keep my hands to myself with guys who bring nothing good.
What was I thinking?
The obvious answer is I wasn’t.
Goddammit.
Thankfully, it’s early enough for me to pop next door and see the Babins. That’s what I decide to do.
I could use the distraction, and the excuse.
If the kids ask why I wasn’t around tonight—I didn’t give a reason, I just fled—then I’ll have a real alibi.
I also text Hattie in a panic, firing off messages until my thumbs hurt.
Hattie!!!
I did something dumb. help
What would you do if you kissed a guy you’re accidentally living with?
And by what would you do, I mean what should I do
Because I might’ve kissed my renter
And it might’ve been really good
And his kids might have walked in on us
And now I am freaking OUT so text me back when you finish laughing. Thanks and bye
She doesn’t reply.
I’m sure it’ll be a while, now that she’s living a normal life with my brother and running the best bookstore in Portland.
I pace the driveway, waiting for an answer.
This always happens when I don’t want it to.
The second I let my guard down just an itty bit.
Historically, I’m drawn to terrible men.
I fall too hard, too fast, and get stupid fast.
Then comes the cannonball to the heart.
Kelso, the only prick I truly dated for years, just played me for my looks and my name.
I didn’t see it at the time, but looking back, it was so obvious.
The way he had Margot Blackthorn in huge letters on our assigned seats at this stupid crypto conference with his venture capital friends should’ve been a dead giveaway.
Back when I thought he liked me for me, I thought he saw past the Blackthorn mystique.
I thought he admired the real me.
But all he wanted in the end was my name next to his, my smile plastered on his Instagram, and eventually, my money backing his dumbass investments in a questionable start-up.
Ethan warned me off him more than once, but I was lovestruck and I thought I felt something.
Stupid and in love?
That’s a miserable place to be.
In the end, the way he broke my heart was vicious, getting so careless with his cheating it didn’t matter if I found out.
He couldn’t just end it like a normal human being and spare me the agony.
Especially not after I said no to a ten-million-dollar investment in crypto-backed meme tokens for public toilet access.
Even now, my heart stings a little, the way it always does whenever I think about him.
If I hadn’t been so easily charmed, so obsessed, I would’ve seen it coming.
I’m not close enough to Kane to be damaged like that—not yet—but we’re definitely close enough for me to do some damage.
He’s a father.
And I still know basically nothing about him.
Hattie’s obviously busy, so I give up and drive to the Babins’ place next door.
I’ve never been here before, but it’s nicely marked with a big sign in blue letters with hand-painted blueberries surrounding their name.
It’s charming in a rustic way.
The house itself looks like a large cottage, a little worn but in an endearing way.
A bit like the owners, I suppose.
Soft lights gleam from the windows through the curtains, and I tuck my hair behind my ears as I approach the front door.
Calm. Sophisticated.
They were probably used to dealing with Gramps. He could make business deals in his sleep, and he never lost his head in a professional setting.
I knock gently and hear footsteps a few seconds later. Then the door swings open, revealing Viola Babin.
She looks more casual this time, wearing an oversized grey hoodie with a pair of blueberries on the front. When she sees me, her fraught expression dissolves into a smile.
“Joe, get over here,” she calls over her shoulder. “It’s Margot Blackthorn!”
“Invite her in!” Joseph calls from somewhere in the house. “I’ll put on some blueberry tea.”
Dang, do these two have a life beyond blueberries?
Viola holds the door open wider.
“I’m so glad to see you again,” she says, welcoming me inside.
The air feels warm, slightly dough-scented like they’ve been baking. The interior is just as quaint as the exterior, very much old farmhouse style before it became a modern suburban thing.
I step around the long vine-like leaves of a potted plant and into the kitchen. Joseph stands by the stove, beaming at me.
“What a surprise.” He wipes his hands on his apron before approaching. “How are you, Miss Margot?”
“I’m good, thanks. I didn’t have much going on this evening, so I thought I’d stop by to talk about the lake house.”
“Of course,” Viola says warmly. “Make yourself at home, please. We’d have tidied up if we’d known you were coming.”
She laughs. Kind of a worn cackle, like it’s been smoothed down by years of disappointment, not quite a comfortable sound.
“Don’t put yourself out for my sake,” I say honestly.
The kitchen has faded yellow walls and looks dated. Like it was put in twenty years ago and not updated since. And sure, there are dishes piled on the sides from dinner, but in general, it looks pretty neat.
Homey. Warm.
The kind of kitchen I always pictured my parents having if we were normal and didn’t have hired help cleaning dishes spotless the instant we finished eating.
“That’s mighty nice of you to say,” Joseph says over his shoulder. “Blueberry tea? We’ve got fresh honey too.”
“Sure.” I’m surprised these people haven’t turned into Smurfs with their blueberry rich diet.
But I can’t complain.
It’s admirable to devote your life to something with this much passion.
“How are you settling in, dear?” Viola asks. “I heard you all went to the craft market?”
“News travels fast in these parts, huh?”
“Like the wind,” Joseph says, setting a mug down in front of me and taking the seat across from me. “If we’re dry on gossip, well, that’s worse than running out of beer in Sully Bay.”
He winks at me.
“I bet. You’re lucky to live in a town where a few tourists passing through can make news instead of real problems.”
“Just the famous ones, mostly, Miss Blackthorn.” Joseph smiles.
I smile back, trying not to seem too awkward.
“We’re truly blessed. It’s a gorgeous season in a pretty place,” Viola gushes. “And your granddad’s lake house always was the crown jewel in these parts as far as land goes.”
She talks on about the way they used to fly kites as kids and ride horses with their cousins when they were older, right up to the edge of Gramps’ property.
And sometimes they’d catch the odd hiker wandering up from Acadia, which still happens to this day.
I can’t imagine PopPop or Holden chasing people off like they did, but the Babins boast about their barbed wire, big dogs, and No Trespassing signs supposedly posted every thirty feet around their large farm.
“Like we said before, if you ever feel it’s time to part ways with the old place, give us a holler!” Her smile fades. “Only thing is, though, I’m afraid we might not have the cash to buy it outright. But if you were flexible on financing…”
Oof.
I figured there were a few strings attached.
Then again, it’s not like I need the money.
I can afford to be generous and patient with folks who need a little breathing room, especially when I’m not sure the blueberry business is making them rich.
This house is big and warm, but it’s outdated and a little musty, the longer I’m here.
My eyes flick over a couple old water stains on the ceiling, not well painted over to blend back in.
“That could work. If I decide to sell,” I say carefully.
The thought makes me sadder than I expected, and I don’t know why.
They could give the old place a second life, couldn’t they?
The Babins are farmers. There’s probably a ton of untapped potential in the soil, but that would mean losing the house forever, sooner or later.
That stings when I can still feel PopPop in every room.
Joseph leans back in his chair with a sigh that seems to come from his feet.
“Would be nice to do something useful with that land again. It’s been ages going to waste with rich people owning it, just rotting away.” He snorts with disgust.
Um, what?
I jerk my face up just in time to see Viola shoot him a sharp look.
That sting in my chest deepens.
“Dearie, I apologize. My Joseph doesn’t always think before he yaps. He meant no disrespect,” Viola says hastily.
“Yeah, uh, sorry ’bout that. Ma always told me I was born with foot-in-mouth fever. You Blackthorns always had a knack for keeping things pretty around here. There’s a reason your family’s so loved in these parts.” He grins uncomfortably.
That’s not what he implied a minute ago.
I sip the blueberry tea, which tastes more like syrup with way too much sugary honey.
Joseph shakes his head. “I just meant—aw, it’s nothing, but my family owned that land once.”
“Extended family,” Viola corrects.