Page 2 of Margo and the Faux Good Luck Beau
Tate bobs his eyebrows. “I keep telling you, I’ll be your sugar daddy.”
Sophie is a gentle doe, but the words that come out of her mouth are anything but, “And I keep telling you that I’m married and if you don’t cut it out, Teagh is going to show you who’s daddy.”
He chortles. “I feel like you just spanked my inner child.”
“Tate,” Sophie says in a low warning tone.
He frowns as if defeated again. “Okay, fine. I’ll take a small coffee. Be generous with the cream.”
So much for ladies go first.
When it’s my turn, the tray with the little cranberry and white chocolate scone doodle label is gone. “Defeat snatched from the jaws of victory or something like that,” I say with a sigh.
Sophie laughs. “Good morning, Margo. I take it what you wanted is no longer in the case.”
“I have to start getting here earlier.”
“Especially if you want to avoid Tate. Sorry about that. He’s harmless once he’s fed and watered.”
“Sounds like a real beast.”
She subtly sniffs the air. “Good news. We have chocolate chip and banana muffins coming out of the oven. I can grab one for you.”
My taste buds light up. Crisis averted. “That would be phenomenal. Thank you!”
I don’t want to be rude and occupy too much of her time, but when she comes back and asks me how things have been, I say, “I have a wedding to attend later this month and one to plan for March, so I’m doubling up on the reminders that I’m singlewith no thanks toTate. But other than that, I’m good.” I smile because I mean it in achin up and stay chipperkind of way.
Sophie offers an understanding smile that suggests she recognizes how hard I’m trying to keep my head above water because she’s been in my shoes too—though, like a normal person, she’s wearing cute sneakers rather than stiletto leather boots.
She says, “Teagh scored free VIP tickets for a hockey game tonight, but we couldn’t get a sitter, so?—”
I adore kids and light up. “I took a babysitting course in high school and am certified. I’d be happy to look after your daughter.”
She laughs. “That’s sweet, but Franny has a sniffle. I think we’re going to enjoy a nice night in. However, the two tickets are up for grabs if you want them. You could invite a plus one.” She lifts and lowers her eyebrows.
In a whisper, “Please don’t say you mean—?” I gesture behind me. Thankfully, Tate is out of earshot.
She slaps her hand to her chest. “Bless your heart. No, not him. I’m sorry you had thedispleasure of a morning chat. He has a bad habit of trying to pick up doughnuts and dates in here.”
She gets my order, and I’m about to pay when I realize I don’t have enough cash for a tip and don’t dare overdraw my debit account again. My credit cards are maxed out. “Actually, I’ll just take the coffee today. I’m meeting a friend here and am afraid I won’t want to share the muffin.”
She laughs. “Sounds good. I’ll find you in a bit when the line thins out and give you those tickets.”
I take my coffee and navigate my way through the crowd to find my best friend, Juniper, seated at a table by the window.
Without preamble, she says, “I see you had your first encounter with Tate. Consider yourself in the club.”
“The lonely hearts club? FYI: I’m not here for the sweet meet market. I come for the coffee and scones. Though, at some point in the not-too-distant future, I wouldn’t mind meeting a sweet guy,” I say, gazing into the middle distance.
She chuckles and taps her coffee cup against mine. “You and me both.”
I moved to Manhattan thinking I’d live a cosmopolitan lifestyle, including:
Building my event planning empire—proving to my family that marrying rich isn’t the only path to happiness and success.
