“Are you squatting here or something?” I asked, following him inside. “I thought this place was vacant.”
“This is whereTravel and Tasteput me up,” he replied and flicked a light switch that activated a massive crystal chandelier above the foyer.
I’d never been inside one of the Bluebell Lane houses. The glossy hardwood floors stretched up a bifurcated staircase with brass railings, beneath a maroon rug that looked older than both of us combined. I could see the rain pelting the back gardens through several sets of French doors beyond the foyer, grey light pouring in from the towering windows beyond each threshold.
It certainly wasn’t the kind of wealth I’d encountered in New York.
Gilded-framed artwork, taller than me, hung like silent butlers flanking the entryway. Their centuries-old strokes of oil paint in shades of cream and navy and burgundy scowled at the puddle that steadily formed around my feet, as if they’d have to sweep in behind me to clean up the mess.
“Fancy,” I muttered after an extended silence.
Teddy jerked his chin to our right. “I can light a fire. Maybe you can dry your… coat.”
I didn’t miss the way his lips quirked before he turned away. Flushing, I wrenched the damp ball from beneath my sweater and ironed it with my palms as I followed him.
Floor-to-ceiling bookcases lined the sitting room, a set of bay windows, a leather Chesterfield couch and matching armchairs situated before a gaping fireplace with an engraved mantle. My eyes scanned the endless display of titles on the walls, complete with the rolling ladder of my dreams. Dripping in ruined boots and wielding a crumpled coat, I felt more like a wet rat that had accidentally stumbled into Cinderella’s castle.
Teddy dragged a hand through his hair, peeled off his denim jacket and stooped beside the fireplace. It was completely quiet aside from steady rain pelting the windows and the sound of scraping wood as he pulled some logs from the rack. I shifted from foot to foot, the idea of braving the storm suddenly feeling ten times more attractive than it had before.
He turned abruptly as the logs caught aflame. I dragged my gaze away and pretended I’d been studying the collection of novels all along, and not the rippling shadows beneath his wet sweater. From the corner of my eyes, he pulled off his sneakers and launched himself back onto the couch.
“Are you just going to stand there?” he teased and patted the leather. “I promise I won’t bite.”
My lips parted but no words fell out.
Teddy lifted a brow. “I’m happy to walk you back to the diner, Margot.” As if on cue, a clap of thunder rattled the windows, and the rainfall promptly intensified against the glass. He sent me an infuriating smirk, stretching an arm along the back of the couch. “But it seems you’re stuck with me.”
An unwelcome flurry of butterflies exploded in my stomach.
“Fine,” I replied through gritted teeth. Gingerly pulling my boots off, I draped my coat over one armchair and pointedly curled up into the other. For a minute, I ignored his studyinggaze and fixated on the sway of ochre-dotted branches lining the road and the streams of water traveling down the windowpanes.
Beside me, the fire slowly glowed warmer and warmer.
“You’re not on a sabbatical, are you?”
It landed like a bucket of ice on an otherwise pleasant moment. “I can’t believe you can still do that,” I said with a frown.
“What?”
“Never mind,” I murmured, playing with the hem of my jeans.
Even in silence, Teddy’s gaze grew more expectant. “So?”
“Why do you want to know?” I retorted, squinting at him.
He groaned. “I’m just trying to have a conversation with my old friend. Arealconversation.”
Old friend.So, he didn’t even see me as his ex-girlfriend. The fact somehow felt more humiliating than what I was about to tell him.
“I was… let go.”
“Margot Wade? Fired?” Teddy shook his head. “I seem to recall that they tried to make you a manager at the Morning Bell after only a month working there one summer. You’re not telling me the whole story.”
I sighed and swallowed the thick lump that formed in my throat. “I submitted my own manuscript under a pen name, and got rejected. So, I kind of… uh, freaked out and fled New York. Without telling anyone.”
My face bright red, the explanation poured out in a rush. No one knew but Georgie. Nothing was quite so embarrassing as flaming out because I couldn’t handle the same rejection I doled out to authors for years.
I doubled down on my failure, effectively lighting my future on fire and stranding myself in my hometown in the process.Brilliant.
