Chapter 20
Margot
"He'll be pulling into the driveway any second now," Sabrina says, leaning against the kitchen doorframe with the popcorn bowl tucked under one arm.
"I'm aware. The sauce needs at least another ten minutes anyway." I give the pot a slow stir, watching the steam curl up off the tomatoes, and reach for the pasta.
"Better hope it finishes before the power goes and our stupid electric stove quits on us," Sabrina says from behind me. "God, it just won't let up. I mean, I love a cozy rainy day as much as anyone, but rain? In Napa? In May? It's unheard of. I'm telling you, it's a bad omen."
I glance toward the window, past the crowded collection of cacti on the sill. The rain is descending in heavy, grey curtains against the side of the cottage, a persistent and uncharacteristic downpour for late spring.
"It isn't an omen, Sabrina, it's just a... very weird low-pressure system."
The drum of the storm against the roof intensifies right as the words leave my mouth, hard enough that even I glance up at the ceiling and have to admit there's something a little unnerving about the way it keeps building.
"Famous last words," she continues, moving to my side.
"I already got hit with my share of it, so you're bound to be next.
I left campus today in sandals and the most microscopic denim shorts imaginable and got absolutely biblical-drenched.
Ruined my shoes and I dropped my burrito straight into a puddle. "
"Hmm. Yes. That is tragic." I turn back to the stove, ignoring the omen hysterics. "Hopefully Cillian is careful on the roads."
Her eyes go wide with sudden, theatrical alarm.
"Yes, let's pray the omen doesn’t claim him!" She gestures with a dramatic flourish before tilting her head, her expression turning thoughtful. "But don’t worry too much. Since he’s from Ireland, I bet he’s comfortable in the rain, unlike us fragile, fair-weather Californians.
Besides, the man is like rich rich, right?
Doesn't he drive a fancy car? I’m assuming it’s something very high-end. "
I pause, trying to recall a single specific detail about his car, and find my mind a total blank.
Something expensive, almost certainly. I personally couldn't care less about cars other than them being safe and functional.
Sabrina, however, has a soft spot for the classics and drives a tiny, and temperamental, vintage convertible that she dotes on like a newborn despite its bi-weekly mechanical failures.
"I honestly couldn't tell you. But I will say his apartment is very nice. Huge, modern, views of the whole city." I shrug. "I prefer a bit more of a cozy grandmother style myself."
She shakes her head. “A penthouse millionaire, and this is what you're doing with it. Fine. If you won't secure the benefits, I think it's only fair they trickle down to me. Ask him to buy me a moped.”
"You're insane," I laugh and taste the sauce, and I'm reaching for the salt when a knock echoes through the house. Sabrina straightens instantly, alert as a meerkat.
"Don't you dare interrogate him on the doorstep and freak him out. Wait for me to—" I warn, waving the wooden spoon at her.
"I'll get it!" she sings out, already racing toward the entryway with an impish look over her shoulder.
I set the spoon down, wipe my hands on the dish towel, and follow the voices already drifting in from the hallway.
Sabrina clicks the door shut as Cillian clears the threshold, holding a bottle of wine and chuckling at whatever quip she's already managed to deliver. His dark hair is damp from the rain, a fine mist clinging to the shoulders of his jacket from the short sprint from the car.
"The feature presentation is Legally Blonde," Sabrina informs him with the gravity of a customs official. "It's the ultimate comfort film in this house, and I consider Elle Woods to be my spiritual guide, my role model, and, should it ever come to it, my attorney."
"I've no complaints about that," he says, aiming a dimpled grin her way.
"Good, because unfortunately for you, visitors don't get a vote on movie nights until their tenth appearance." She looks at him regretfully, as though she has no say whatsoever in a rule she personally created.
"Is this a new rule?" he asks, looking amused, glancing at me with a quick wink as I approach the entryway to watch the show.
"No. To be honest, I had to implement it against Margot's last boyfriend, when he tried to get us to watch the Dirty Dancing remake," she says gravely.
"The remake?" His eyes go wide. "And he was allowed to remain in the house?"
He tsks and smiles, shaking his head at me in mock disappointment, and I throw my hands up like I wasn't even there for it.
"I know," Sabrina says gravely. "It was a dark chapter for this household."
"Sabrina," I groan, leaning against the hallway arch as I watch the two of them by the door.
"What? His taste in everything, apart from you of course, was dreadful." She beams back up at Cillian. "So I'm hopeful you'll raise the standard around here."
He laughs and crosses the entryway to me, leaning in to press a quick kiss against my cheek while I smile up at him.
"Hey, Ace." Then he turns back to Sabrina. "Though if it's just the two of you living here and casting votes, how do you usually break the ties for movie night?"
"Don't even start—" I begin, attempting to stifle a laugh as Sabrina cuts me off.
"She just pulls the 'I'm the oldest and it's my house' card, so technically Margot always wins," Sabrina says. "You'll need to be prepared for that level of tyranny if you're planning on hanging around."
He laughs and looks at me, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Is that so?"
"Yes, and it's an excellent system," I say. "How were the roads?"
"They were completely fine, just a bit of rain, though every driver on the highway was acting like it was the apocalypse.
" He shakes his head, a few damp strands of dark hair falling over his brow.
"One person spun clean out in front of me and nearly took me with him. Barely a misting of rain and they’ve all lost their minds, unbelievable. "
"Yeah, well, California drivers and a sprinkle of rain are a dangerous combination," I laugh, then my gaze drops to the label in his hand. "Wait, is that a bottle of the St. Lucia’s reserve? I've been dying to get my hands on a bottle of that!"
He grins, looking pleased with himself. "Well, you mentioned it would be the perfect pairing for a tomato-based pasta, so I figured I’d make good on the suggestion."
"I'm so excited!" I exclaim, unable to mask my enthusiasm. "I’ve heard the complexity of their blends is amazing. That vineyard is known for doing some really experimental things with their grapes. And it’s so expensive."
I smile up at him, my heart doing a stupid little dance, and I glance back to see Sabrina nodding approvingly. She mouths 'rich' with a wink that I ignore.
"Okay, that's a solid move, hockey boy. I'll award you a single brownie point," Sabrina says. "But for future reference, I do expect a sister tax to really impress me, so..."
He smiles and lifts his hand from my back, reaching into his rain-damp jacket to produce several bags of candy.
"Margot mentioned you're a sour candy fiend and that you two love the shop in town," he says, "so I picked up three kinds of sour candies from that boutique on Main, plus some dark chocolates for Margot. I'd never risk showing up without the sister tax."
Sabrina eyes me suspiciously. "Did you coach him?"
"No," I insist, shaking my head with a laugh. "I promise, I only mentioned the candy thing once, and it was entirely in passing."
Cillian looks appropriately smug as he offers the candy, which Sabrina accepts with a slow, impressed nod of her head.
"Very good, hockey boy. Very well played," Sabrina admits. "You clearly spent your childhood surrounded by sisters."
"Four," he says with a chuckle. "And every one of them is just as wonderfully opinionated as you are. I learned the social hierarchy very early on."
"Alright,” Sabrina says. “You win. I'm officially impressed.
And I expect to be included on the next Ireland trip to meet the family.
" She laughs and starts toward the living room, then turns back.
"I'll get the movie queued. And by the way, I'm glad you didn't get in a car accident on the way over. "
Cillian's smile falters, a flicker of confusion crossing his features. "Uh, was that a likely outcome?"
I snort, shaking my head. "She's convinced this weird weather is some kind of bad omen. You not crashing just means you've escaped your share of the bad luck."
He nods as though that's perfectly reasonable. "Ohhh. That makes sense."
Sabrina nods back, gravely, and I roll my eyes.
"I already got hit," Sabrina says. "My red suede sandals were destroyed leaving campus today. They died doing what they loved. Being adorable." She looks at me with a pained little grimace. "Poor Margot hasn't been hit yet, though. So. Something's incoming."
"You're insane," I say, and Cillian laughs.
"I'm looking out for you," she says primly. "I'll start the movie. But don't say I didn't warn you."
She turns for the living room, already ripping open a bag of candy with her teeth, calling back something about fate favoring the prepared.
He looks at me and smiles, his hand coming to rest steady on the small of my back. "Hi."
I look up at him, a slow smile spreading as I catch his gaze. "Hi."
"You're looking lovely tonight," he murmurs, his voice dropping into that low, private register meant only for me.
"Really?" I laugh, striking an exaggerated little pose in my huge hoodie and fluffy socks, one hand on my hip like I'm working a runway. "This aesthetic is doing it for you? Messy bun and all?"
"Oh, it definitely is." He grins, leaning down to press a lingering kiss against my temple.