Page 85 of Lovewell Lane

She walked right through the open doorway that was intended for Margo and turned around to laugh softly at me. Her hand pressed to my chest as she insisted, “Margaret. Please, I’m not an old woman.”

My eyebrows raised, and I didn’t say a word.

“What does it take to get a drink around here?” she asked. “Margo says there isn’t a single bar in town.”

“There’s one outside of it,” I said. “You could probably get a cab there if you call.”

Her high-pitched laugh pierced my ears again.

“Oh, Derek, you are so funny.”

I followed her to the kitchen where she helped herself to my wine cooler. “Shall we open this up?”

I shrugged. “Where is Margo?”

“Oh, who knows, she’s so obsessed with that little store of hers. Probably bussing tables.”

I blinked while she rummaged around my kitchen until she found two wine glasses. She poured a glass for each of us before joining me at the opposite side of the kitchen island. Sitting on the stool right next to me, she scooted closer than necessary.

I stood up partially to pull my stool closer away from her when the door burst open.

Margo stood in the front doorway, glaring at the two of us. Her mom was leaning forward with a wine glass in her hand as I leaned away from her. Without context, we probably looked like two adults sharing a glass of wine before getting up to other adult activities.

Margo had clearly just gotten back from Lucky’s. She looked like she’d been pacing, her hair up, keys in hand, jaw tight.

“Get. Out,” she said to her mother.

“Oh, Margo. I figured I’d let you have your room back. This place is a little more my speed anyway,” said her mom as she looked around at the high ceilings of my house.

I stood up. “Actually, I think it’s time you leave,” I said.

“Oh, Derek,” Margo’s mom chided. “We just poured the wine.”

Margo walked closer to us and yanked her mom by the arm until she was out of the seat. “Get out,” her voice was ice cold.

“I’m your mother.”

“I don’t care,” Margo said. “Get out. You can go sleep at the Inn if you can’t keep your hands to yourself.”

Looking the least bit embarrassed, Margo’s mother walked to the back door and turned to look at Margo. “I can’t believe you’d treat your mother this way.”

“Funny, I can’t believe you’d treat your daughter this way,” Margo said.

We both stayed silent as we watched her mother turn and walk back to the guest house. My shoulders were tight from clenching them together. I had a feeling this wasn’t the first time this had happened to Margo before.

“She was only in here for a few minutes,” I explained. “I wasn’t sure what to do with her.”

Margo’s eyes were guarded. “Did she try to make a move on you?”

“She was a little touchy,” I admitted. Subconsciously, I put a hand to my chest as if to brush off where she touched there. “But no, all she did was pour us wine.”

Margo sighed and nodded. She kicked off her shoes and sank onto the couch with an unceremonious huff. “I’m sorry,” she groaned.

“Don’t apologize to me. Is she always like that?”

“She tried to sleep with my best friend in college twice. We never dated, but she always thought he was my secret boyfriend.”

“Gross.”

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