Page 48 of Already Callin’ You Mine

“Um, no, it won’t. You’re about to eat a dinosaur ketchup and bologna sandwich. Ew. As the granddaughter of a chef, I can’t allow it. Come with me.”

She takes my hand, gently tugging me out of my chair and toward the lunch line. I go with—not only because it’s becoming increasing clear I don’t have a choice—but also because I’m curious. Excited. The idea of maybe finally making a friend in Hickory Hills is too good to pass up.

“I’m Margeaux, by the way.”

Margeaux. As in Margeaux Finnegan-Hayes. Shit.

A quick flick of my eyes at her left hand confirms what I already know, the very large diamond right on a very specific finger leaving no room to wonder. She is absolutely the wife of Gus, oldest Hayes sibling, executive vice president of Hayes Industries, and heir apparent to take over once Auggie retires. While also being an incredible lawyer and businesswoman herself.

Oh, and Jace’s sister-in-law.

“Presley,” I sputter. “I’m the new⁠—”

“Social media gal. So I’ve heard.”

Great. She’s heard of me. Just great. Sure, that could be because Bronwyn has been talking up a storm about all the plans we have and how she’s thrusting social marketing onto every department. But it could also be because Jace has said something.

Lord only knows what Jace would have said to his family about me.

“That’s me.”

“I’m excited to see what you do with it. I was always in awe at the things the marketing team at Sulonen came up with, because my brain does not work that way at all. It almost felt like a degree in psychology was needed to listen to them talk some days.”

I chuckle, because I can’t completely disagree with that. “There’s definitely an aspect of knowing what will and won’t resonate with an audience.”

We pause our conversation long enough to order—Margeaux opting for the curry chicken wrap, while I still try and keep it light, going with a Cobb salad.

“Get the hot honey mustard-and-bacon dressing. You won’t be sorry,” Margeaux tells me.

Okay then. I request the dressing that she suggests for my salad, getting an approving nod from the kind-looking older gentleman behind the counter. He tells us it’ll be a few minutes as he finishes punching our order in the computer and they’ll call our names when it’s ready.

“You were with Sulonen?” I ask, the e-commerce giant a well-known and respected firm.

Margeaux nods as she types in her employee number to add our lunch to her tab. “Three years, two of them spent over in Amsterdam. I left to go to law school, thinking I would probably end right back up at Sulonen, but…fate had different plans.”

She smiles—the smile of someone who is still riding high on cloud nine—her cheeks turning a slight shade of pink. There’s no blaming her. If I were mere weeks off my wedding to the love of my life, I would probably be just as giddy. Maybe more so, because that would mean that I would have found someone who not only loves me, but Otis. Someone I fully expect to not find at this point in my life.

A fact that I have come to terms with. I love my kid and the new life we’re building together. Everything is exactly as it should be.

Doesn’t stop me from being the teeniest bit envious of Margeaux’s smile.

“If you want to hear God laugh, tell him your plans,” I offer, the platitude feeling extra hollow today.

“Spoken like a woman who knows.”

Boy am I ever…

“Very much so. I thought I had a whole plan, and then I got pregnant.”

“Oh! How old? Girl? Boy?”

“Boy. Otis, after his grandfather. He’s three. Best curveball ever; I just wish the curveballs had stopped after him.”

Margeaux forces a polite smile, but her eyes are full of empathy. As if her mind is running wild with different scenarios.

“My ex, Otis’s father, turned out to be a piece of work,” I continue, hoping that might ease her mind some. “Spent the last few years in court thanks to him.”

“Custody?”