Page 20 of Margo and the Faux Good Luck Beau
The cackling chatter dies down. The sound of their clicking heels recedes into the distance.
“They’re retreating. See? We stood our ground. They backed off.”
“We hid.”
My lips quirk.
Margo peers around the corner. “Uncle Harlan cornered them and is likely blathering about his underwater civilization theory. If he ever asks you if you like to Scuba dive, pretend you don’t speak English.”
I’m not sure whether to laugh or be concerned. “Looks like a good diversion.”
“You’re my faux good luck beau.”
I shift uncomfortably because I’m doing my best to rid my life of lucky charms—not the cereal.
Taking Margo’s hand, I move us in the other direction toward a short hallway and away from a potential encounter with Wren and Celeste.
When we’re in the clear, I say, “You asked if you’re a horrible person. No. You’re reacting to horrible people. The better route is to respond with sound reason. Granted, your judgment back there was questionable, but lucky for you, you approached a guy who was willing to go along with it.”
“I still don’t understand why, but sure. Lucky me,” she says with a warm smile that doesn’t match the despondency in her voice.
“I’m surprised you recognized me. Goaltenders usually slide under the radar.”
“Until last week, I’d never given hockey a thought. The woman who owns my favorite bakery gave me two tickets to see the Kings versus the Knights. My best friend came too and gave me a Hockey 101 lesson. Suffice it to say, I did not pass the exam at the end.”
“But that game was in New York.”
“That’s where I live.”
For some reason that piece of information makes me feel like my itchy wool sweater shrunk a couple of sizes.
“I’m from here though,” she adds.
“Cobbiton is a hockey town, but you’re not a hockey fan?”
“Do I need to know any positions besides goalie?” Margo asks.
No, no she doesn’t.
“I left Cobbiton without looking back except for weddings and funerals.” She suddenly goes still. “Uh, oh, I think they’ve traced us. Should I make a run for it or face the firing squad for questioning?”
I’ve never run from anything other than my life back in Concordia. Well aware of that kind of desperation, I sense Margo already knows the answer to her question. Do I leave her to fend for herself or offer cover? Fight or flight? ...or we could flee.
“I know just where to go.” I hold out my hand.
Her eyes lift to mine, bright again.
She slides her palm into mine, exciting the sparks inside.
CHAPTER SIX
Beau’ssix simple wordsI know just where to goscramble and rearrange themselves into sounding something likeI don’t want to gowhich is officially in the thesaurus as a synonym forI don’t want tonight to end.
Or maybe that’s the hopeful optimist in me. However, if I were to be less kind to myself—a la my mother, sister, and relatives—too dumb to be alive.
I’m racing into the night with a veritable stranger. Snowbanks flank the sides of the road and slush lines the gutters, yet the cement sparkles in a way that makes the hope that he’s different, special rebound like a boomerang.
Beau stops abruptly and something lights in his eyes. He tears off his jacket and then drapes it over my shoulders.
