Page 47 of Margo and the Faux Good Luck Beau
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Margo slept in my jersey.Well, it’s a sweatshirt, but it has my last name and team number on the back.
She whispers, “So you do have a smile.”
It flickers. “I don’t.”
“It’s a rugged smile, just as I predicted.”
Forcing a frown, I deny it. “Nah.”
“I like it.” The residue of my smile must rub off on Margo because the corners of her mouth lift. Her grin is so wide and bright, I’d bet it’s visible from space even without a sophisticated satellite. If aliens are watching, they’re definitely wondering what’s making this earthling so happy.
“Don’t get used to it,” I murmur.
Her grin dims which makes me wish I could take the words back or return the smile to my face. I cannot do it on demand. I’ve tried and look like a deranged ape.
She asks. “Why were you smiling?”
I drag my hand through my beard. Instead of telling Margo how seeing her in my jersey made me feel like we belong together, I tell another truth. “It’s my birthday.”
She inclines her head. “Today is your birthday?”
“I always watch the sunrise on my birthday. Even though it changes from year to year or depending on where I am, I was born at dawn. Come on. Let’s go inside. You’re cold.”
Her teeth are starting to chatter.
Instead of going to the SkyBnB one level down, she exits the stairwell on my floor.
I say, “You live downstairs.”
“I’mstayingdown there. Youliveup here. I want to see your lair.” She smirks.
“Fine. You can come in. But ignore the spilled cereal milk, Honey Butter. Watch out for pirates and all the socks littering my floor.”
She laughs and then with an air of surprise, she adds, “You just made a joke.”
So I did.
Standing just beyond the entryway where the open-concept condo spills generously toward a big bank of windows, she crosses her arms in front of her chest. “Spilled milk? Socks on the floor? Pirates?” She steps closer to me, eyes narrowed. “Maybe your secret is that you’re a liar.”
Or I just don’t tell the entire truth. Some things are better left in the past.
She takes an unabashed spin around the space, offering commentary, “Your condo is tidy but lived in. It’s practical but also functional and not quite minimalist. I don’t get sterile hospital ward vibes, but neither would I be led to believe you cohabitate with a bunch of gamers who get the munchies. My brother went through a phase.”
I brew some coffee and take out the cereal milk along with the cream and sugar I picked up in case Margo came over.
She bypasses both and adds the cereal milk, same as me, measure for measure. “So, that talk we were supposed to have a few days ago ...”
“Yeah. I’m not usually this busy. I had to take a trip.”
“To Colorado. Good game by the way.” She takes a sip of the coffee with cereal milk and her eyes light up.
“It was apretour.” I rub my face, hoping the coffee kicks in soon because the jet lag is real and I only got in a couple of hours ago, hoping to share the sunrise with Margo.
“I’m learning hockey lingo, but don’t know that term.”
“Like a detour, but instead of going a different way to my destination, I went to Concordia first.”
