Count Your Lucky Stars: A Novel

Contract signed and deposit placed, Olivia quickly updated the Google Sheet itemizing Annie and Brendon’s wedding budget—hello—filling in the field beside venue. The rest of the column auto-adjusted, doing the math for her. Olivia saved then toggled over to her calendar, blocking out a time slot for a cake tasting with a local bakery ECE and Lori had worked with many times and who was willing to accommodate the tighter timeline. Immediate tasks accomplished, Olivia cast a quick glance around the venue’s courtyard. Annie and Brendon had wandered off a few minutes ago, hand in hand, stating their desire to get the lay of the land for the photos. Across the courtyard, Brendon’s sister blushed when her girlfriend whispered in her ear, both of them lost in their own little world. Olivia made another sweep, craning her neck to peer past the fountain and through the glass-paned door. She frowned.

Margot was missing.

Margot Cooper.

Olivia fought the urge to shiver, fingers curling into fists at her sides as a flush inched its way up her jaw without her permission.

She’d call this fate, if she weren’t unsure whether she still believed in that sort of thing. Four million people in this city and M. Cooper and her Margot turned out to be one and the same. Olivia swallowed hard. Not her Margot. Not anymore.

Olivia puffed out her cheeks, her exhale measured. Now was not the time to lose herself in the past, in old hurts that should’ve healed. She had a wedding to plan. Lori was counting on her to pull this off. Olivia’s future was riding on the success of this wedding, on her ability to put her skills to task and pull this off. Screwing up was not an option.

Flipping the cover over the screen of her tablet, Olivia tucked it away inside her purse and left the courtyard in search of Brendon and Annie.

They weren’t in the dining room or the ballroom, either. Olivia hiked her purse higher on her shoulder and made a left down the winding hall, which more closely resembled a maze, what with the sheer number of intersections and doors to choose from. It was a place she could easily get lost in if she wasn’t careful, her memory of the exact layout a little hazy from the anniversary party she’d assisted Lori with months ago.

From the outside, the venue was unassuming, plain brick like any other warehouse in the area, not a place anyone would look at twice. Stepping inside was like falling through a looking glass, like entering a whole new world, a wonderland of glitzy chandeliers, ornate murals, creeping vines, and old-world exposed brick. It was achingly romantic, like something out of a fairy tale, the sort of place where Olivia had dreamed of getting married when she was little.

Olivia’s thumb brushed the bare skin beneath the knuckle of her third finger as she ducked her head through an open door. She drew up short, heart rate ratcheting, and cleared her throat. “Hi.”

Margot spun toward her, dark eyes wide behind the lenses of her cat-eye glasses. “There’s an elephant in this room.”

A laugh bubbled up inside Olivia’s throat. “You think?”

Margot’s face turned red, matching the color of the plaid shirt she wore unbuttoned over a black crop top so tight it might as well have been a second skin. The bare strip of her stomach was pale and flat, and Olivia’s own skin pebbled with goose bumps.

“Funny.” Margot gestured toward the life-sized and lifelike elephant, wrinkly and gray with huge ivory tusks, stationed in the corner of the room. “Who the fuck puts a fake elephant in a dining room?”

Olivia stepped inside the room, leaving a healthy distance between her and Margot as she lifted a hand, curling her fingers around the elephant’s right tusk. “It was built in 1931 for the Paris Colonial Exhibition.”

Margot’s eyes followed her, watching her like a hawk. “Since when did you become a fount of obscure knowledge?”

“Eleven years is a long time,” Olivia said, hating how that was meant to come out like a joke but her voice cracked halfway through, earnestness seeping out like blood from a wound.

Olivia regretted leaving her coat in the car. What she wouldn’t have done for one more layer, another defense against Margot’s unflinching stare that managed to strip Olivia down and leave her feeling naked despite her sweater. She glanced down and winced. Her sweater that was covered in cat hair. Cute.

“The, um, facility manager, Chris, mentioned it at the beginning of the tour,” Olivia explained, trying to surreptitiously brush away the cat hair. “I guess you weren’t paying attention.”

Margot’s throat jerked. “Maybe I was distracted.”

Olivia ducked her chin, fighting a losing battle against the upward twitch of her lips. Distracted. That was . . . something. “You cut your hair. It looks great.”

Margot ran her fingers through her lob, causing her plaid shirt to open further and reveal more of her bare stomach. “Thanks.”

She’d dyed it darker, too, black instead of brown. It barely brushed her collar when she moved her head.

Olivia uncurled her fingers from the elephant’s tusk and dropped her hand, crossing her arms under her chest. “How’ve you been?”

Margot shrugged. “You know.” No, not really. “Fine? And you? How are you? How’ve you been?”

“How much time do you have?” Olivia joked.

Margot braced her shoulder against the wall. “So you and Brad, huh?”

Leave it to Margot to dive directly into the deep end. Never afraid of charging in headfirst. “Divorced. Last spring.”

“My condolences.” Margot’s brows rose over the black rim of her glasses. “Or congratulations? I’m never really sure what’s appropriate.”

Olivia was over the split, but talking about it usually didn’t make her laugh, not like it did now. Divorce wasn’t funny. Most people treated it like something to be ashamed of, like she should be ashamed of herself. “We, uh, we just wanted different things.”

She could say more. Start at the beginning instead of the end. She could tell Margot all about dropping out of college when Brad had suffered a football-career-ending injury. About how she’d followed him back home to Enumclaw and how they’d gotten married because he’d asked and that’s what she’d always wanted . . . right? About years spent giving and giving and giving, handing over pieces of herself until Brad had asked her for the one thing she wouldn’t give him.

But she’d rather not say all that. There was no point.

Margot was just someone Olivia used to know, and now Olivia was planning her friend’s wedding. It would be in both their best interests to keep things strictly professional.

As professional as possible when she knew exactly how to touch Margot to make her babble and beg.

“How’d you meet the groom? Brendon,” Olivia asked before Margot could pry harder.

“Elle and I, we created Oh My Stars.”

“I follow you guys on Twitter.” And Instagram, too. She’d been following Oh My Stars since its inception years ago, back when Margot had still been at UW and Olivia had only just become Mrs. Brad Taylor. “You were always interested in astrology.”

The skin between Olivia’s shoulder blades itched, a memory of Margot tracing constellations into the bare skin of Olivia’s back surfacing.

Margot nodded. “We partnered with his app, OTP, a couple years ago to add astrological compatibility to their matchmaking algorithm. Brendon introduced Elle to his sister, Darcy, and he and I became friends.”

“That sounds really great, Margot.” Olivia smiled. “It sounds like everything worked out the way you wanted.”

Like all her dreams had come true. Good for her.

Margot dropped her gaze, tracing the mosaic tile floor with the toe of her boot, expression giving nothing away. Margot had always been too good at that, locking everything up, impossible to read. Olivia had tried, God, had she tried, but every time she thought she’d figured Margot out, Margot would do something to make her second-guess everything she thought she knew. Everything she believed to be certain.

“How long have you been in Seattle?” Margot asked, changing the subject.

“Since last summer.”

Not even a year.

“There you are.” Brendon poked his head inside the room and grinned. “We were wondering where you two wandered off to.”

He stepped further into the room, Annie by his side. Elle and Darcy followed.

Margot pushed off the wall, tucking her thumbs inside her front pockets. Her black denim rode lower in the front, revealing another inch of smooth, pale skin and the barest hint of black ink curving around her hip. Olivia’s mouth ran dry. That was new. “You all set?”

“Sure are. We were thinking dinner. Maybe that Indian place we like since we’re not far from Darcy and Elle’s,” Brendon said. “Olivia, you should join us.”

Olivia blinked, long and slow, forcefully tearing her eyes from that bare expanse of skin, gaze lifting and landing on Margot’s face. A knowing smirk played at the edges of Margot’s mouth. Heat rose in Olivia’s cheeks, creeping up to her hairline, her skin likely matching the color of her burgundy beanie. She swallowed hard and smiled apologetically. “I wish I could, but I should really be going. I need to email the florist and—”

“It’s nearly seven,” Annie said, looping her arm through Brendon’s. “What are the chances the florist is going to email you back?”

“Annie’s right.” Brendon smiled. “Come on. I’m sure you and Margot have plenty of catching up to do.”

She met Margot’s eyes. One of Margot’s brows rose as if daring Olivia to . . . what? Say yes? No? Olivia bit her lip. Margot was more of a mystery than ever.

Dinner. Brendon and Annie would be there, too, at the very least, as a buffer, and at the end of the day, all of this was about the two of them. Their wedding. As long as she kept that in mind, she should be fine.

“All right.” Olivia slipped the strap of her purse down her shoulder, where it caught against the crook of her elbow. She reached inside for her phone, wanting to, at the very least, set a reminder for herself to email the florist first thing in the morning. “Let me just . . .”

She’d missed a call, having set her phone to silent during the tour. Mrs. Miyata, her landlady, who lived three doors down, had left a voicemail.

Olivia bit back a sigh. Considering the time, Cat was probably kicking up a fuss. If she didn’t get her dinner by seven, she’d start yowling as if she were dying, little drama queen. Luckily, Mrs. Miyata had the spare key, so she could pop open a can of Friskies to keep the monster at bay. She’d done it before and hopefully wouldn’t mind doing it again.

“Let me just make a quick call.”

*  *  *

Olivia was barely out the door when Brendon zeroed in on Margot, sporting a shit-eating grin. “So.”

“So what?”

Brendon shook his head slowly, eyes narrowing minutely, studying her with intent. As if she were a puzzle he planned to solve. “Olivia seems nice.”

Great. Margot should’ve seen this coming: her friends—lovable bunch of nosy assholes that they were—giving her the third degree. Except, no. Call it kismet or fate, serendipity or just a damn coincidence, but Olivia had appeared without warning. Nothing could’ve prepared Margot for this.

“She is.” Margot crossed her arms, fighting against the urge to shift her weight from one foot to the other. “Or she was, I guess. I don’t know. A lot can change in eleven years.”

Clearly, it had. Olivia had married Brad and divorced him in that time. We just wanted different things. What a pat answer that told her nothing. It was like when celebs split over irreconcilable differences and it later turned out to because someone had cheated or their finances were fucked. Who pulled the plug? Olivia? Did it even matter?

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk about high school,” Brendon said. “Not once.”

Elle nodded. “You hardly even talked about it when we were in college.”

“Because it was high school,” Margot said. “High school in Enumclaw. Not exactly riveting stuff. There’s really nothing to tell.”

Nothing she wanted to or had any intention of telling, at least.

“You know”—Brendon’s lips quirked—“when someone says there’s nothing to tell, there usually is.”

Brendon was perceptive. Sometimes a little too perceptive. His tendency to stick his nose where it didn’t belong made for a dangerous combination.

“We were friends.” Margot shrugged, throwing Brendon the smallest, least likely to bite her in the ass, of bones. “We drifted apart after high school. Plenty of people do. I went to UW and she went to WSU. End of story.”

Brendon stared, scratching his chin.

“Leave her alone, Brendon,” Darcy said, cutting in, saving Margot the hassle of having to do it herself. “If Margot doesn’t want to talk about it, she doesn’t have to.”

Margot sighed. Finally someone who saw reason.

“Besides, have you met Margot? When have you ever known her to do something she doesn’t want to?”

Margot frowned. “I mean—”

“She’s locked up tighter than Fort Knox.” Darcy ignored her. “If Margot doesn’t want to talk about something, good luck wheedling it out of her.”

“Me?” Margot jabbed her thumb at her chest. “When have you ever known me to shy away from speaking my mind?”

And that was rich, coming from Darcy, considering how tight-lipped she’d been about her feelings for Elle at the beginning of their relationship.

Darcy turned to Brendon. “See, stubborn.”

Annie snickered and Elle’s lips twitched, like she was trying not to laugh. The effort, while quite clearly in vain, was noted and appreciated.

“Wow,” Margot intoned. “Really feeling the love here, guys.”

Brendon opened his mouth.

“Margot’s right.” Elle met Margot’s eye and smiled. “If she says there’s nothing to tell, there’s nothing to tell, and that’s all there is to it.”

Margot’s shoulders relaxed, the tightness in her chest replaced with warmth. Elle got it. Margot mouthed a quick thanks, and Elle winked.

Three weeks. As the Best Woman, how often would her path cross with Olivia’s, really? Margot had to get through tonight, and then there’d be . . . what, the rehearsal and the wedding itself? They both had a vested interest in making sure this wedding went off without a hitch. They could set aside their past for one month. One month and Margot could forget all about Olivia Grant. Out of sight, out of mind.

Olivia was probably out in the hall, thinking the same thing.

Speak of the devil. Olivia returned, looking pale-faced and wan, her phone clutched tightly in her right hand. She stopped just inside the room and cleared her throat. “Hi. I’m really sorry, but I’m going to have to bail on dinner. Something came up, and I have to go take care of it.”

Margot frowned at the way Olivia’s voice quivered. She opened her mouth to ask if Olivia was okay, but stopped before she could voice the question. It wasn’t her business.

Brendon didn’t have the same reservations. “Is everything all right?”

Olivia started to nod before the move morphed slowly into a shake, her head swerving. “I just got off the phone with my landlady. Apparently there was a—a problem with the plumbing in the unit directly above mine that caused the bathroom to flood. My ceiling is . . . The damage was pretty extensive, I guess, and they’re going to have to bring in fans so mold won’t set in, and after, they’ll have to replace the joists and the . . . I guess the drywall or plaster or . . .” Olivia shut her eyes. “I’m not even really sure. It was a lot to take in.”

“Jesus,” Margot muttered. That sounded like a nightmare.

“I’m imagining you’ll have to find somewhere else to stay,” Darcy said, face pinched with concern.

Olivia nodded. “I guess the integrity of the ceiling is questionable. It’s leaking and . . .” She laughed, frazzled. “It’s a mess.”

Annie pressed her fingers to her lips. “Oh, shit.”

Brendon raked his fingers through his hair. “Did they say how long the repairs are going to take?”

“No. My lease is month-to-month.” Olivia’s bottom lip started to tremble, and she quickly pursed her mouth, a dozen little dimples forming in her chin. “I have a feeling I won’t be moving back in any time soon.”

A sharp twinge of sympathy shot through Margot’s chest.

“I’m sorry,” Olivia blurted, batting at the air. “Geez, you don’t want to hear about this. This is—this is not your problem. I’m, um, I’m just going to go—”

“Do you have somewhere you can stay?” Brendon’s eyes flitted to Margot, then back to Olivia. “A friend’s place, maybe?”

What.

No.

Shit.

Olivia’s eyes went glossy, welling with tears. “I’ll figure something out.”

Margot’s stomach dropped.

Fuck.

Brendon turned, his brows rising pointedly, managing to communicate plenty without him having to open his mouth to say a thing. I’ll figure something out wasn’t an answer. Or, it was, just not the one Margot had been hoping to hear.

Clearly, whether Olivia was willing to admit it or not, she was in need of a place to stay and Margot . . . fuck her life . . . Margot had a spare room. All her friends knew she had a spare room. And as far as they also knew, she had no reason not to offer it up to Olivia . . . the girl she knew from high school.

An old friend.

Nothing to tell was swiftly coming back to bite her in the ass.

Margot swallowed a groan because, fuck, she was probably—no, definitely—going to regret this. It was a catastrophe waiting to happen, but she couldn’t not offer, not when Olivia was standing there, close to tears but refusing to let them fall, putting on a brave face instead.

It was so typical of her, of the girl Margot once knew. Olivia was so quick to blot everyone else’s tears, to serve as a shoulder to cry on, but never to let anyone see her fall apart.

The ache in Margot’s chest grew sharper, harder to ignore. She wouldn’t be able to sleep at night if she didn’t at least extend the invitation.

“Hey.” She crossed her arms, standing straighter even though Olivia still towered several inches over her. “If you need a place to stay, you can crash at mine. If you want.”

Olivia’s lips parted, hazel eyes rounding. “That’s kind of you to offer, but I wouldn’t want to impose.”

Annie tugged on Brendon’s arm, leading him across the room. Elle and Darcy followed, giving Margot and Olivia some semblance of privacy. Except for the part where they were conspicuously quiet, eyes averted but clearly listening in.

Margot focused on Olivia and tried to tune out her well-meaning-but-nosy-as-fuck friends. “You wouldn’t be. Imposing, I mean. I’ve got two bedrooms and no roommates, which I’ve been meaning to do something about.”

Margot hadn’t anticipated the universe giving her a big ole kick in the pants, but hey. Unexpected.

Olivia stared at Margot with big, unblinking eyes.

“Roommate?” she asked, sounding unsure.

“I’m not suggesting it has to be permanent. Not that I’m not suggesting . . .” Damn it. Why was this so difficult? With anyone else, Margot had no problem saying exactly what she meant. “It could be on a trial basis. Or if you just need a place to crash for however long it takes you to find somewhere else, that’s chill, too.” Margot’s throat narrowed, more words creeping up without her consent. “It’s not like you’re a stranger. We—we know each other. I mean, I think my parents honestly tried to claim you as a dependent on their taxes one year.”

A smile played at the edges of Olivia’s mouth, and Margot . . . was staring at Olivia’s lips. Margot didn’t know where to look. She crossed her arms, but that felt defensive, so she dropped them to her sides, where they hung, aimless. Margot had no idea what she was doing.

Olivia’s eyes darted to where Margot’s friends stood, and Margot followed her gaze. Brendon whipped around and stared up at the ceiling, honest to God starting to whistle. Olivia huffed out a quiet laugh and dropped her voice, whispering, “Are they always like that? Your friends?”

Margot arched a brow. “Are they always . . . what? Nosy?”

“No.” Olivia’s lips quirked. “Well, yeah. That, too. Are they always so bad at hiding it?”

She smiled fondly. “The trick is to let them think they’re stealthy. That way they never try to improve.”

“Clever,” Olivia praised. Her throat jerked, and her smile waned. “Look, I didn’t mean to imply that I didn’t want to—to take you up on your offer.” A faint blush rose in Olivia’s cheeks. “I’m surprised you’re offering. That’s all.”

Margot frowned. She had zero desire to rehash their past, not ever, but certainly not here, where her friends were listening.

“It’s ancient history, Liv,” she murmured, scratching her nose so Brendon—snoop that he was—wouldn’t try to read her lips. “How about we leave the past in the past?”

So what if they’d had a week-long fling while Olivia and Brad were broken up over spring break senior year? Brad had returned from Mexico, skin tanned and hair bleached from the sun, and when he’d begged Olivia to take him back, she’d said yes.

Sure, Margot had thought their week together had meant something, but clearly it hadn’t, and now it was nothing but a chapter in Margot’s past. No, a footnote. Time healed all wounds, yada yada whatever. Margot wasn’t carrying a grudge, she wasn’t carrying a torch, and she didn’t need to talk about it.

Olivia tugged her beanie down over the tops of her ears and gave a short, sharp nod. “Right. I can do that.”

Of course she could. She wasn’t the one who’d had feelings.

“Cool.” Margot cleared her throat. “So?”

“Are—are you sure about this?”

No, not one bit. But she wasn’t about to back out. Not after offering, not with her friends standing by. Not when Olivia wasn’t just someone Margot used to know, but Brendon and Annie’s wedding planner.

She’d show Brendon sunshine and rainbows.

“I wouldn’t have offered if I weren’t.”

Olivia’s lips curved upward in a tentative smile. “Thanks.”

Margot shoved her hands inside her pockets and jerked her chin at the door. “We should probably head out and grab your stuff before it gets too late.”

“Packing. Joy.” Olivia heaved a sigh. “I swear I feel like I only just got settled.”

“Packing?” Brendon rocked back on his heels. “Did I hear you say packing? Because we can help with that. I’ll order pizza.”

Olivia’s eyes sparkled with mirth, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip. She shot Margot a look, nothing more than a brief flicker of her eyes, but it put a weird lump in Margot’s throat because it was the start of something new, even if it was only a shared understanding that Brendon wouldn’t know subtlety if it bit him on the ass.

Margot rolled her eyes and took a step in the direction of the door. Olivia reached out, cool fingers brushing the back of Margot’s hand. Despite being a whisper of a touch, it made Margot’s pulse roar inside her ears.

A soft pink blush crept up Olivia’s jaw as she dropped her hand to her side and smiled sheepishly. “You’re not allergic to cats, are you?”