Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 135300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
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.