19. Margeaux
19
MARGEAUX
The sounds of country music and voices greet me as I roll up to the cottage, even through my rolled-up windows. The thrum of the beat, alternating with the loud voices, is both oddly welcoming and a new chink in my anxiety armor. Glancing at the clock, my brain short-circuits, unable to actually process the numbers and their meaning.
All I know is that I’m supposed to have already arrived.
And by the sounds of it, I’m the last to get here.
Shit…
Sucking in air until my diaphragm hurts, I blow it out fast and hard, more than a little unsure what that move was supposed to accomplish. It sure wasn’t calming me down. It also did nothing but waste my time while I was already late. Good job, Margeaux.
Way to fuck up your first Friendsgiving…
This is what I get for thinking I could squeeze in a trip to the grocery store before heading over here. I knew better. But no, I convinced myself that going today would mean the veggies would be that much fresher, even though, let’s face it, they are probably the same ones that were sitting on the shelf yesterday. Hickory Hills isn’t that big and Wright’s Grocery isn’t that in demand. It’s doubtful they got an overnight delivery just so I could have fresher bell peppers.
Yet, in my head, that’s what was happening. Since today was an official half day at Hayes, I reasoned that I had more than enough time to pop over to Wright’s before coming home to help cook Friendsgiving.
I mean, to Gus’s. Gus’s home. Because it’s not my home. Even if I have let my imagination run wild and picture what it would be like to live here with him. Doesn’t make it mine.
Truthfully, I should have had time. The office officially closed at noon. Since so many Hayes employees end up working at the Gobble Wobble on actual Thanksgiving, the company gives everyone a half day on Tuesday, plus Wednesday and Friday off to make up for it. Which is wonderful. If it had actually worked out that way.
“Margeaux!”
The chorus of voices calling out my name makes it hard to tell exactly who notices me first as I get out of my car, but it doesn’t matter. Because there’s only one man I care about. And that’s the one who is currently jogging my way.
My insides hush, a calmness taking over, leaving room for only the sound of my racing pulse as I watch Gus close the gap between us, his dark jeans and fitted hunter-green Henley making him look like he belongs on a site for some autumnal photoshoot. Like the kind of photo that belongs on the cover of a romance novel.
As he slows down, Gus’s smile grows wider. But with it, my worry returns. My panic about being late. That I’m ruining this whole afternoon.
He starts to talk, but I cut him off. “I’m sorry I’m late. I?—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa…”
Strong hands land on my hips, steadying me. They’re an anchor I didn’t realize I needed, but somehow Gus did. I suck in another long, hard breath, letting my diaphragm stretch once again, this time holding it for a beat longer, trying to relax. It doesn’t work though. All it does is force my words out of me like vomit.
Word vomit.
“I’m late, I know. I meant to be here…I don’t even know. But I got out of the office later than…and then the grocery, and I didn’t see Mrs. Burch this time but?—”
Gus captures my mouth with his, cutting me off with a punishing kiss. His lips are hard, strong, and in charge. As are his hands as they dig into my hips, my flesh giving way underneath the fabric of my jeans. He’s not gentle about anything, walking us the half a step backward, pushing me up against my car, and pressing his body over mine. He rocks his hips against me, and I mewl, whimpering into the kiss and wrapping my fingers into his shirt, trying to tug him in closer.
Fuck me, I need more.
Gus gives it to me too. My brain goes blank as he runs his fingers along the inside of the waistband of my jeans, never letting up on the kiss. The kiss that I can feel all the way in my toes. Nothing else matters. Not as long as he keeps kissing me like this. Keeps me pinned against him—his hard body holding mine captive in a way that lets me know I’ve never been safer or more adored by anyone. Ever.
Pulling back slowly, he keeps his hips pressed against mine. I’m unable to move, both from the way he’s holding me and because my knees are still weak from that kiss, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.
“You were saying?” he asks, wearing the ridiculous smirk of a man who knows he did good. Which, to be fair, he did. More than good, actually.
I blink, my pleasure-drunk self returning to earth. “Ummm… ”
“You’re not late. I don’t know why you’d think that. It’s not even two, we’re not planning to eat until six-ish, and we never start on time.”
I heave out a sigh, relaxing into him even more. “But all your brothers are already here…”
“Not everyone.” Gus throws a look over his shoulder, my gaze following. Sure enough, there’s one missing. “The Booby Trap doesn’t close ’til four, and Ewan will be busy all day, since it’s hunting season, so doubtful he’ll be out of there before five. The rest of them have been here causing trouble all day.”
I nod, the nerves lightening, helping to ease some of the tension. But only some. Knowing that certainly helps me feel better about not ruining the afternoon, but it doesn’t undo my crappy morning.
Gus can read it all over my face. Scanning me, as if I were an open textbook lying on a table for public consumption, he knows I’m flustered about way more than running behind.
“What happened?” he asked. For a second I consider blowing off his question. Telling him nothing. I don’t want to burden him with this any more than I have to. Today is not about that. Today is about being with boyfriend Gus and his family. Not boss Gus. But he beats me to it. “And don’t tell me ‘nothing.’ I can read you, Margeaux. And I know when something is upsetting you. What’d she do?”
The fact that I don’t even have to say her name should say something. Everything actually.
“She cornered me about the drugstore building,” I admit. “We were the only two left in the office after about eleven-thirty, and I went to go print something, and she caught me in the copy room, blocking the door, refusing to move until I told her what I know. I insisted that I don’t know anything, but she doesn’t believe me.”
“Probably because I asked, again , why I don’t have that report that was due last week, and what’s taking so long. Told her that if I didn’t have it on my desk by Monday, there would be action taken. Percy will be back, so we can start getting back to normal. Which might also have her a little on edge, since he won’t be happy with what I have to report back.”
“Yeah, well, she seems to think I have some magic answer. Threw this whole hissy fit, stomping her feet, flailing her arms, telling me that if I don’t tell her what I know, then she’s going to ‘make my life miserable.’”
Gus reels backward. “Make your life miserable? Were those her exact words?” I nod. Because yes, crazy lady has really lost the plot now. “Do you feel threatened?”
I sputter out a laugh. Reaching for him, I wrap my fingers in his shirt again, pulling him back in for a kiss. It’s slower, sweeter than before, but just as powerful. My knees are still jelly, because the power this man has over me is undeniable.
“No. I just wish she would turn her focus on someone else. Let me do my job.”
Soft, gentle lips press against my forehead, as strong arms wrap around me. I follow his lead, circling his waist, squeezing, and holding on as tight as I can, relishing the feel of being in his arms. The safety. The security. The love.
Yeah, love.
My pulse skitters and my breath catches, the realization that I’m falling—hard—for this man catching up with me. As is the growing desire to put a voice to those feelings.
Gravel crunches behind us, and I stiffen in Gus’s embrace, all the tensions he kissed out of me returning with the harsh noise. Gus chuffs, the sound reminding me of the family dog back home expressing his displeasure with being disturbed. Neither of us lets go however, our hold on each other remaining as steady as our heartbeats, holding on to the moment as long as we can. The beautifully serene and intimate moment.
“What are you doin’ here?” Anton asks, his voice full of accusation and irritation rather than curiosity or welcome.
So much for our serene and intimate moment.
“Am I not allowed to come say hello?” Willa replies, her voice as saccharine sweet as homemade simple syrup, her Georgia accent just as thick. All of it put on for show too. I don’t even have to turn around to know she’s up to something.
“I do believe you have your own Friendsgiving,” Anton shoots back, clearly ready to push some buttons.
From what Gus has told me, this shouldn’t come as a surprise—he is the family instigator. A statement that I am still in awe of, since each one of these boys has a mischievous side. Each one of them knows exactly what to do to get the others riled up, so for one to stand out as the “instigator,” Anton must have some serious tricks up his sleeve.
Then again, so does Willa.
“Fine. Then I’ll just leave. And I’ll take the peach pound cake with me.”
The way she emphasizes the words peach pound cake— long, drawn out, and like they are worth their weight in gold—catches my attention. More than that, the way Gus’s head pops up, like a gopher popping up out of its hole.
“Peach pound cake?” he repeats, once again making the words sound like she just told everyone she had the winning lottery ticket.
“As in, the peach pound cake?” Milo asks.
I peer around Gus, suddenly realizing that it’s not just Anton who has joined us, but all of the Hayes boys. Milo, Anton, Hux, and Jace, all lined up in age order like they were getting in formation for Captain Von Trapp, stand at attention behind Gus, waiting on confirmation from their sister .
All because of peach pound cake.
Forget a milkshake, those three words brought all the boys to the yard.
“As in the peach pound cake!” Willa very proudly declares, holding a saran-wrapped plate above her head and sashaying toward her brothers.
Her poise and grace shine through, her beauty queen days still deeply engrained in her, even while gloating. Although, I have to admit, I’m more than a little lost as to why she’s gloating. Clearly there is something very special about this pound cake.
“Mama K gave you the recipe early?” Milo asks, excitement laced in his words.
“Let me see your left hand,” Gus demands.
Willa holds it up, solely displaying one very specific finger. Although not the one that generally gets a solo. The one to its left.
Gus breathes a sigh of relief, and I can’t help but chuckle, even as he reluctantly lets go of me so we can join the group. Cool air swirls around us, making me miss him instantly. Sliding his hand into mine, he quickly rectifies our lack of contact though, sending a zing through me.
Willa shakes her head. “She gave Bronwyn the deviled egg recipe last year for Friendsgiving, so she thought it was only fair that I got a recipe for my first as a Keller as well.”
“You’re not a Keller yet,” Anton pokes.
Okay, I take it back. I see it now. Family instigator…
“I will take this pound cake with me,” Willa declares, her voice as icy as Jack Frost’s touch.
Hux shoves Anton, a single hand to his shoulder, sending him stumbling. Everyone laughs—except Anton who grumbles something about how he’s right. The move is enough for them to break formation, Milo running up and hugging her in celebration, while Hux rescues the plate so she doesn’t drop it.
“I missed something…” I whisper to Gus.
“Mama K…that’s what we call Lucy Keller, one of Miss Belle’s best friends and mom to Nash and Noel…well, she’s this amazing cook, and she has this whole box of old family recipes.”
“Keller family tradition states that they get passed from Keller woman to Keller woman, on her wedding day and not a day before,” Willa continues. “Except, well, Mama K jumped the gun and broke tradition?—”
The heavy slam of the front door slices through the air, cutting Willa off, bringing the entire group to a halt. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Hux tense up, his jaw ticking. It’s subtle, almost imperceptible, but the same tell as Gus when he’s holding back. His hazel eyes rage—with fire or ice, I can’t tell—and I immediately know who just walked outside. I don’t even have to hear the tearful voice.
“No, no, it’s fine,” Dolly says, a long pause following her words. “If you have to work, you have to work.”
Gus’s jaw twitches, almost in time with Hux’s, and I look over to Milo, whose scowl of disapproval is rooted firmly in place. Loyalty runs deep in this family, and through that loyalty, there is no love lost for Dolly’s fiancé.
“But you did know about it…it’s always the Tuesday before…no, I know you have an important job?—”
“Important…” Hux scoffs. “He sells used cars.”
I hold back my comment, not wanting to insert myself. I have so many questions about these two, and why they aren’t together. Gus gave me a brief history—that they’ve been best friends since they were cast as Peter Pan and Wendy in the school play back in the third grade. The same old ladies who are still running the rumor mill—and trying to set me up with the town grocer over bell peppers—were all atwitter about how cute they were and them growing up and getting married, and neither one took to that idea, vowing to only ever be friends.
“I said it was fine. Just call me when you’re done. I’ll save you a plate.”
Tapping her phone hard, Dolly sucks in a hard breath, trying to pull herself together. My heart hurts for her, knowing that pain. That unique searing burn that comes from being let down by someone you care about. I want to run to her, throw my arms around her, and let her know that she’s not alone. But I also want to give her the chance to wallow. Because I know—also firsthand—that wallowing is needed too.
Another long, stuttered breath is followed by what I think is a silent curse, her attempt at collecting herself going a bit sideways. That is, until she looks up and discovers she has an audience.
“Hi!” Swiping under her eyes, she forces her smile as broad as the meadow behind the cottage, and finishes plastering on her brave face. Oh girl… “Jeff’s stuck at work, so looks like it’ll only be fourteen for dinner. Good thing you didn’t get that extra bird.”
“Doll,” Hux says, starting toward her.
She waves him off. “Huxley, it’s fine. I shoulda known better; this is always a busy week for him. Same thing happened last year and the year before. Next year, once we’re married and we’re not savin’ for this wedding and honeymoon, then everything will be different.”
She forces another smile, then turns to head back inside, letting the door slam behind her again. Hux takes off, and I turn to look at Gus, trying to silently voice the hundred and one things running through my head.
“You can say it. It’s okay,” Willa says to me, trying to pull me in .
I shake my head, not taking the bait. “Nope, staying out of it.”
“Psssh, I’ve told you, it’s a whole thing in this family,” she says, then turns toward Hux, raising her voice. “Because since Hux didn’t get on that…"
“We’re just friends,” he fires back, almost as if on instinct.
“Suuuure you are,” Milo mutters.
“Could be more you know,” Willa pokes.
Hux stops at the top of stairs, shaking off her comment and centering himself. Whatever inner turmoil is raging inside seems to simmer just below the surface, making my heart ache. My eyes are glued to him, the whole scene playing out like a dark, silent monologue on the stage. Only this is real. The outcome full of actual consequences, with real hearts on the line.
Turning halfway to face us, the brother that both Gus and Willa have described as steady and unflappable looks tortured.
“Just friends,” he repeats. “Because?—”
“Yeah, it’s sundown somewhere, we know,” Anton finishes for him, before he can repeat the phrase he’s notorious for.
“Ever stop to think that maybe sundown is currently in your kitchen?” Milo asks, his pointed question lingering for a moment.
“Even Peter Pan chose to grow up at the end,” Willa snarks.
“Don’t you have your own Friendsgiving to be at?” Hux snaps.
“If I remember correctly, little sister, removing your head from your ass required actual surgical intervention, so…” Jace tosses out.
“Buuurn…” Anton says.
Gus turns to me, physically biting back his laugh, causing me to have to do the same. I know I shouldn’t lose it at a time like this, but his family’s antics make it difficult.
Never a dull moment when the Hayes kids are together.
Willa simply shrugs, letting both the jab and the extra commentary slide off her like water off the proverbial duck’s back. “I’ll take that as my cue to go.”
Blowing us each a kiss, she heads back to her car, but no one is paying her any attention. We’re all too focused on Hux, who is standing just outside the front door. Staring at it. Like he’s considering whether or not he should go in.
“You have to turn the handle,” Anton calls out. “That’s the round silver thing about halfway up on the right-hand side.”
Hux flips him off, a move that is so instinctive he does it without the rest of his body moving a muscle. A rather impressive feat. I stifle a giggle, stealing Gus’s attention for a second. He presses a kiss to the top of my head, and I melt into him more. But only for a second.
Because something about Hux’s posture tells me something.
And instantly, I know. That’s my cue.
How, I’m not sure. Whatever it is though, it’s innate. Something inside telling me that this is something that only another woman can help with.
I rock back, looking up at Gus and then over at Milo, the two brothers I know that Hux is closest to. Their matching expressions confirm whatever my notion is. The brief, understanding nod Milo gives me is all the go-ahead I need.
“I got this,” I volunteer, pulling back from Gus. “This kind of thing calls for cheddar hush puppies.”
Squeezing my hand, Gus winks. The sweet, subtle gesture sends butterflies racing through me. His words are what truly level me, however.
“Welcome to the Hayes family, baby.”