Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 121578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 608(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 608(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)
“It’s small but elegant. Beautiful. And—most important—deadly.”
She laughs softly. “I really love it.”
I exhale a sigh of relief. “Good.”
“Will you be upset if I stick it in my pocket right now?” she asks. “Instead of putting it back in the box?”
“No, why would that upset me? I want you to use it.”
She shifts to the side slightly and wiggles her hand into her front jeans pocket. “Well, I don’t want to lose it.”
I should’ve gotten it engraved. Something sappy like “J loves M?” No, I haven’t actually said that to her yet. How weird would it be to give it to her on a knife? Maybe something funnier she’d appreciate, like slay all day?
“I can take it and get your initials engraved on it if you’d like?”
“That might be nice.”
I twist the key in the ignition to get us moving. “We don’t want to be late for dinner or everyone will mercilessly rag on us.”
She turns and sets the bag on the back seat. “We wouldn’t want that.” I wait while she clicks her seat belt into place. “I thought it was just a bonfire? Like hotdogs and s’mores.”
“It started out that way but then Murphy said he was going to make chili since it’s chilly out.” I roll my eyes. “His dad jokes are reaching a new level of annoying lately.”
Margot titters with laughter.
“Heidi wanted to make cornbread to go with the chili—oh, and the chili meat is probably venison because a bunch of the guys hunt up at the property.”
“I like venison,” she says.
Thank God. I’d been bracing myself for a lecture about how mean hunting is. But I should’ve known Margot’s more practical than that.
“Shelby’s allergic to tomatoes,” I continue, listing off the bits of the menu I remembered, “so Trinity said she’d make mac and cheese.”
“Ooo.” Margot lets out a delighted moan. “I love homemade mac and cheese.”
“I’m sure there will be other stuff—I should’ve mentioned earlier that the menu expanded. You didn’t eat dinner, yet?”
“Nope. I was planning to stuff myself with s’mores.” She turns slightly, gesturing toward the back seat. “I didn’t want to come empty-handed, so I made a batch of inside-out chocolate chip cookies.”
Cookies? I’d been too nervous about giving her the knife, I didn’t think to ask what was in the box. “Inside-out cookies?”
“They’re fudgy chocolate cookies with white chocolate chips. Sometimes I put pecans in them too, but I wasn’t sure if anyone was allergic to nuts.”
“Those sound awesome. Give me one now.”
“What! No. They’re for the party.”
I turn toward her and smoosh my face into pleading puppy mode. “Come on, please? You know how much I love cookies.”
Laughing, she turns and stretches, reaching for the container. After some muttering and cursing, she settles back into her seat and hands over a dark brown cookie speckled with white chips. The sweet, chocolaty aroma hits my nose and my stomach grumbles. “They look tasty. Smell good too.”
“I’m happy with how they turned out.”
I bite it almost in half and groan with happiness. They’re chewy at the edges and softer in the middle. Too good to share. “You leave these right where they are tonight. They’re all mine.”
“No!” she laughs and slaps my thigh. “They’re for the party. I’ll make you your own batch next time I bake. Promise.”
I’m too busy munching on the other half to complain. “Mrfkay,” I mumble around the cookie.
Margot uncaps the bottle of Coke in my cupholder and hands it to me. I take a long swig and hand it back to her. “Thanks.”
I hit a jagged piece of road and from the corner of my eye, catch Margot bracing herself against the door.
Shit.
My sour mood about the truck roars back to life. For fuck’s sake, she’s going to think the only kinds of vehicles I like are death traps. “Sorry.” I tighten my grip on the wheel. “The suspension is kinda stiff. Gonna be even bumpier when we reach the clubhouse.”
“I’m fine.” She bounces once in the seat, testing it like it’s an office chair she plans to bring home. “Don’t forget, I’m used to my tiny classic car. It’ll rattle your teeth on rough roads sometimes.” She leans forward, staring straight ahead. “Besides, I really like how high up this sits. I don’t feel like a bug some monster truck could drive right over.”
She’s just being nice, but her words take the edge off of my frustration.
After that our conversation dwindles down to not much. It’s not the usual comfortable silence we’re able to share. It leaves me tense and itchy. I glance over at Margot a few times. Her hands are clenched tight in her lap and she’s staring out the window with a grim expression.
“You all right?” I ask, reaching over and resting my hand over hers.
She slowly unclenches her fists.
“Margot, what’s wrong?” I try again.