Page 80 of All I Want For Christmas Is You

With his free hand, he cinched her waist. “I can’t wait till nap time.”

“Nap time? How old are you?” But she had a gleam in her eye that told him she understood what he meant.

“Old enough to know how to multitask when babysitting a toddler.”

She grinned. “And I’m old enough to know there are other things to do than sleep.”

Chapter Fourteen

They never made it to nap time. Beau got a call from the office that required him to go in, leaving Margot alone in the house.

Well, not alone. Lorelei was still in her bedroom, but that only made it worse because Margot felt like she had to be quiet. She was literally tiptoeing around, yanking the kettle off the burner before it screamed, and making sure cabinet doors didn’t slam.

Also, Beau had taken Colt to work with him, and that had been an awkward conversation. He knew she’d let her business slide over the past few days, so he’d insisted. But come on. It didn’t make sense to take a two-year-old when he had serious work to do. Whatever. In time, they’d get the hang of living together, and it wouldn’t be so fraught with tension.

She didn’t want to snoop or anything—well, no, she totally did—but she needed to get the lay of the land, so after Beau left, she’d wandered. It was a very well-lived-in house with stacks of books on tables and nightstands and scented candles in the kitchen and family room.

She found Jessa’s bedroom—that was obvious from the framed photos and sketches pinned to a corkboard. The space was crammed with clothes, books, instruments, sports equipment, and trinkets like snow globes, stuffed animals, and jewelry. It reminded her so much of Emerson that her heart contracted into a hard knot.

Did her kids miss having a bedroom with a lifetime of memorabilia? Except for some clothes and books, Owen had thrown most of his stuff away. Emerson had boxed hers—did she ever think about it? Or had she forgotten about most of it like Margot had?

As she continued through the house, she couldn’t help imagining holidays here. She could picture Emerson and her husband—maybe with a few kids in tow—and Owen and his future wife sitting around the dining room table for Thanksgiving. She’d have that alone time with Owen first thing in the morning, right when he got back from his run, and she’d get to go shopping in town for baby clothes with Emerson.

She liked that idea. A whole lot.

All in all, the furniture was high quality and comfortable, and the bathrooms were luxurious with big shower stalls and gorgeous tiles. Yeah, she could be very happy here.

After her tour, she caught up with the business side of her work—mostly, printing out mailing labels and returning emails. She had a glitch on her site that called for technical support, but she was pretty much done for the day. At her aunt’s house, she’d do her art next, but here, they hadn’t figured out where she’d work. She’d brought her watercolors and brushes, but her aunt would have to ship the ornament supplies and canvases.

Until she was cast out of her marriage, she’d never taken the time to define her art. To get there, she’d needed to play, find inspiration, and find her voice. That had only come once she’d had nothing left.

With all those free hours at the lodge, she’d wound up drawing and painting, and she’d found herself opening up more and more. She needed to keep that momentum going. If she was going to live here, she needed a studio.

After pouring herself a fresh mug of tea, she took a second tour of the house, this time considering spaces that might not be used very often. Does it have a basement, maybe?

When she passed Lorelei’s room, she heard the humming, strumming, and occasional outbursts that had been going on all day.

“Shit.”

“Ugh, are you high? That doesn’t work.”

“La la la. You suck.”

She hadn’t seen her since last night, so she wondered when she’d last eaten. She knocked lightly. “Lorelei?”

The strumming stopped. “Yes?”

“Can I come in?”

“Yeah, sure.”

When Margot opened the door, she found the singer sitting on the floor with a guitar on her lap and crumpled bits of notebook paper strewn around her. “Sorry to interrupt. I just wondered if you wanted something to eat?”

Lorelei glanced at her phone. “Oh, wow. I had no idea it was so late.”

She came into the room. “You doing all right?”

“Oh, yeah.” She plucked her guitar strings. “I’m on a tear. I’ve got so much material I can’t even keep up with it.”

---