Chapter 26 Ethan
Ethan
Admittedly, the Aspen house was not the most financially responsible decision my brother and I have ever made. But whenever I pull up to the cabin, I can’t bring myself to regret it.
Tires crunch over the gravel as I ease to a stop in the driveway. In the passenger seat, Margot leans forward, taking in the two-story cabin with its wraparound porch and stone chimney.
“This is your small cabin?” She arches one brow so high it’s practically burrowed in her hairline.
“It’s small compared to most of the mega mansions around here. This place doesn’t even have a wine cellar,” I joke.
Margot scrunches up her face, feigning disgust. “Wow, what a dump. We should probably just turn around and go home.”
We both laugh as we get out of the car. I get our bags out of the back while Margot stands beside the car, taking a deep breath of crisp, mountain air.
I stop what I’m doing just to watch her.
The way her chest rises and falls. The way a few tendrils of hair dance across her neck, blown loose from her hair tie by the gentle breeze.
The way she burrows into her blue sweater a little more and smiles over at me.
At that moment, it feels like I might float away if she wasn’t there to ground me.
The feeling is so unexpected that it knocks me off kilter.
I never expected to feel this way about someone.
Now that I do, I’m constantly surprised by how much those feelings continue to grow with each moment I spend with her.
Before we head up the steps to the front door, I fish my phone out of my pocket and discreetly disable the outdoor security cameras. My brother has access to the camera feed as well, and that’s certainly not how I want Garrett or Emma to find out that Margot and I are dating.
Margot has been oddly evasive about this particular topic.
She doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to tell her best friend about us.
Not having to explain ourselves to my brother or his fiancé used to put me at ease, but it’s starting to feel a little strange to keep this from the two most important people in our lives.
But until the board takes their final vote on Margot’s promotion, the fewer people who know, the better for both of us. I’m fine with tabling that discussion until a later date.
The door opens with a gentle creak, and I drop our bags in the foyer.
Margot steps inside, wide-eyed and slowly turning to take in the vaulted ceiling, wood beams, and massive stone fireplace.
But it’s the sweeping mountain views out the back window that have her scurrying across the room, failing to even notice the collection of books flanking the fireplace.
In one swift move, she unlocks the back door and steps outside onto the deck.
I follow her, leaning against the door frame and crossing my arms.
“It’s on a river?!” she says, turning back to me. “How is this place even real?”
I smile, watching her. “That’s the Roaring Fork River.”
“Ethan,” she says, dropping her chin and suppressing her smile like she’s about to say something very serious.
“There’s like an eighty percent chance that you’re going to have to call in a SWAT team to drag me out of here.
I could seriously spend the rest of my life sitting in that chair reading a book.
” She motions to a wood lounge chair with a thick blue cushion at the edge of the property.
I can see it: Margot and I sitting out here together as lazy mornings turn into blissful years.
“I’m glad you like it,” I say, walking up behind her and wrapping my arms around her. We both look out past the river at the sun setting over the mountains. “I wasn’t sure you would. Never really pegged you for the outdoorsy type.”
She laughs. “I’m definitely not. We used to go camping when I was a kid.
Big family, you know? It was easier to cram six kids into a tent and cook a package of hot dogs over a campfire than to pile us all into a hotel room or a nice restaurant.
But I haven’t been camping in years. Jeremy wasn’t really a fan of nature or the great outdoors.
” I feel her wince slightly at the mention of her ex-boyfriend, but she recovers quickly, laughing as she adds, “But let’s be honest, this is a far cry from roughing it in a small tent with eight people. ”
“It is,” I smirk. “And much more private.”
Margot turns to face me, wrapping her arms around my neck. Her eyes meet mine with a playful look. “I noticed.”
Then my mouth is on hers, hungry but unhurried.
We move together, never breaking the kiss as we head inside.
I pull her down to straddle my lap on the brown leather sofa in front of the fireplace.
With a click of a button, the gas fireplace turns on, casting an orange glow across the room while the sun begins to set out the picture window.
“I’ve always wanted to have sex on this sofa,” I say, grinning against her mouth.
She laughs against mine. “Why haven’t you?”
“Because you’re the first woman I’ve ever brought here.”
“Really?” Margot tilts her head back to look at me.
“Really.”
She pulls her shirt over her head and flings it to the floor. The look she gives me is wild and mischievous. “Well, let’s christen the couch then.”
***
The next afternoon, Margot is lounging in a chair overlooking the river reading a book. She’s traded her signature wool skirts and black booties for a comfortable pair of jeans and some white sneakers, but the oversized mustard yellow sweater is distinctly Margot.
Instead of half-naked aliens or domineering bosses, this book cover features a couple who look like they just dropped three grand on cheesy engagement photos in a field of wildflowers.
“Any good scenes in that book you’d like to reenact?” I ask anyway, winking at Margot as I take a seat beside her.
She smiles over at me, squinting against the sun. “It’s not really that type of book. It’s a slow burn about a divorced couple who find their way back to each other years later.”
Well, there’s something I have zero interest in reenacting.
I pull a face. “Sounds terrible.”
It’s meant to be a joke, but I can tell by the flicker of disappointment in Margot’s expression that it didn’t land right.
And I get why: I still haven’t told her about Rachel.
Without that important bit of context, it sounds like I’m cynical about marriage in general.
There was a time not so long ago when I was.
But now, I’m not so sure. I know Margot wants marriage, children, the whole thing.
Part of me thinks… maybe I want that too.
Not right now, but maybe sooner than I would’ve thought.
Margot closes her book, resting it on her lap. She looks at me then pauses like she’s second-guessing whatever she’s about to say. Even as her lips part, she hesitates for a beat before asking, “You really don’t ever want to get married?”
Here it is, my chance to come clean. Everything up to this point has been a lie of omission. I’m not proud of that, and it’s time to make it right.
Pulse spiking in my veins, I take a deep, steadying breath and sit forward in my chair. “Margot, there’s something I need to talk to you about.”
She sits up straighter. Curiosity mingles with concern in her expression. “Okay…”
For the first time, it occurs to me that Margot may not take this very well.
She might be pissed, and I suppose that would be a reasonable response.
I never meant to keep such a big secret from her.
This whole thing with Margot just snuck up on me.
I’ve spent so much time thinking about her, and so little time thinking about my past that it barely occurred to me that the two were bound to collide at some point.
Running my hand through my hair, I search for the right words.
The words that might make this situation seem not as bad.
“I’ve actually been—” I start. Then my phone starts to ring, cutting me off.
Fishing my phone out of my pocket, I see Garrett’s name on the screen. Perfect timing, brother. I don’t hear from him for weeks at a time with this new job of his, and now, this.
For a split second, I consider answering. My brother doesn’t call just to chat. But then I glance up at Margot, watching me with pinched brows and tense shoulders.
This conversation matters more.
I thumb the side button on my phone, silencing the ringer, then slip the phone back into my pocket. “I’ll call him back,” I mumble, mostly to myself. “Where was I?”
“You were saying that you’ve actually been…?” Margot replies.
“Right.” I hold her gaze, unflinching and determined to get through this conversation, as rough as it might be for both of us.
But once again, we’re interrupted. This time, it’s Margot’s phone that starts vibrating on the table beside her.
She reaches for the phone and reads the name off the screen.
“It’s Emma.” Her brows pull together even tighter, a small crease forming between them.
She frowns, looking up at me. “I should probably answer. Maybe something is wrong.”
I nod because she’s right: something must be wrong.