Take the Chance (Top Shelf Romance #9) - Brittainy Cherry Page 0,303

my ink.

“I just don’t understand you these days, Margot. First the scone thing, then this volunteer business at a homeless shelter, and now a tattoo?” She shook her head. “Whose daughter are you?”

“Calm down, Mom.” I patted her taffeta shoulder. “You should be happy about the tattoo. You wanted me to major in English, didn’t you? The Awakening is a classic.”

“Margot Thurber Lewiston, that is not the point. Your erratic behavior is.”

“I’ve explained and apologized for the scone thing a hundred times. And I started volunteering at the shelter because I like helping people. And it only costs my time.”

Muffy looked at me like I was nuts. “We donate money to those places so we don’t have to spend time there.”

I sighed. There was no use trying to explain it to her. “Well, I don’t mind the time. What else have I got to do?”

“I’d rather hoped you might start dating again.”

I took another sip. “It’s not that easy.”

“It is. You’re simply too picky.”

“What’s wrong with picky?”

“Nothing, when it comes to hiring a cook, gardener, or maid. But finding the right husband shouldn’t be that difficult.”

I clenched my teeth. “I’m not going to settle, Mom. I want to fall in love.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Everyone settles in marriage, Margot,” she said, rolling her eyes like I’d said something childish.

“Even Thurber women?”

“Especially Thurber women.” Again she looked at me as if I were crazy. “Every Thurber woman I’ve ever known has settled. Marriage isn’t about being in love. It’s about merging two families to create a better one. It’s about preservation and lineage. It’s about tradition.” She sniffed. “Love is for children and poor people.”

If I hadn’t grown up listening to such ridiculous bits of Muffy’s “wisdom,” I might have been horrified. But she couldn’t help the way she was. In her mind, falling in love was probably akin to Causing a Scene. Loud, messy, and indiscreet. But I didn’t have to perpetuate her strange notions, and I’d teach my daughter differently.

“I’m sorry you feel that way, Mother. But this Thurber woman isn’t settling.” It was a small thing, maybe, talking back to Muffy like that, but for me it was huge. It had taken me years to find the voice to do it. “I’m holding out for what I want.”

“And what is it you want?” Muffy sounded miffed. “The Prince of Wales?”

“Not even close. I don’t need a prince, Mother. Just a good man. Someone who—” Over Muffy’s shoulder, I noticed someone moving toward me. Someone tall, dark, and handsome. Someone dressed in a black suit. Someone who took away my ability to speak, think, or breathe.

My skin prickled with heat. My mouth fell open. I blinked. It couldn’t be. Could it? What was he doing here?

Dizzy, I swayed on my feet, and my mother grabbed my arm. “Margot, are you all right?”

“I’m not sure,” I said, still watching in disbelief as Jack drew nearer. Our eyes locked. “I feel a little dizzy.”

“Dizzy? You never felt dizzy before you got that tattoo,” she said, studying it suspiciously. “Maybe it’s poisoning you.”

“It’s not the tattoo,” I said. “Excuse me for a moment.” I started to walk toward him, and my heart clamored faster with every step. Jesus Christ, he was gorgeous. The cut of the suit emphasized his slim torso and broad chest. His shoulders looked even wider. He’d gotten his hair cut, and it had been styled with some kind of product, slicked away from his face. His scruff was trimmed way back too. He looked polished and sophisticated.

And nervous as hell.

I felt a rush of protectiveness. He hates crowds. He hates dressing up. He’s doing this for me.

But I also nursed some lingering anger and doubt. Was this just another ‘I need to see you’ thing? Was he here just to get a fix? Or punish himself? I wasn’t going to play that game.

We met in the middle of the room and stood nearly chest to chest. My emotions were all over the place, my breath coming fast. Someone behind me dropped a glass, and at the sound of the crash, he glanced around sharply. My heart ached at his anxious expression, the tension in his neck, the sheen on his brow.

“Hey.” Compassion moved me to slip my hand into his, lock our fingers. I was angry with him, but I also recognized how difficult this was. “Look at me.”

His facial muscles relaxed slightly as he refocused on me. “Sorry.”

“What are you doing here, Jack?”

“I came to apologize.”

“For what?” I