Page 8 of All's Fair in Love and Blackmail
India,Juliet, and Aurora live in a little house about half a mile from Cyrus. I know this because after my best friend all but kicked me out of his house, I sat in my car in the driveway and texted Poppy for India’s address, and she sent it.
I’m not surprised that all four Marigold siblings live back in the town where they grew up, even if none of them live with their parents anymore. There’s something almost magical about Lucky, Colorado. I couldn’t put my finger on what, exactly. I never planned to end up here, but when the opportunity came calling, I took it, and so far I have no regrets.
The air always smells crisp and clear, and the people are friendly, and something about the mountains soothes my soul. My little Idaho hometown is a day’s drive away if I ever want to go back, which I do sometimes on long weekends, so I can see my parents. I’m not super close to my dad—he’s not a bad guy, just grumpy and abrasive—but I would stand in front of a moving train for my mother. I try to visit when I can, and my mom likes knowing I’m only a couple states away.
It’s a pretty sweet setup, job included. I interned with the Four-Leaf Gazette—Lucky’s one and only newspaper—back in college, which I attended in Boulder. I went home to Idaho after graduation, and I liked my job there well enough, but when the Gazette reached out a few months ago, I jumped at the chance to come back here. The paper is losing steam, and they’re desperate to revamp and revitalize so they don’t die out completely, so they were reaching out to past interns. I don’t even have to commute to Boulder for work like so many people in Lucky do—although as long as I have some good music to listen to on a drive, I’m happy.
It’s “Roadhouse Blues” that’s blaring over my speakers when I pull into the driveway of Cyrus’s sisters’ house. There’s a motorcycle parked in the open garage, with a sedan parked out front and another in the driveway ahead of me. I recognize the one on the street as the one India drove to Cyrus’s, so she must be back here by now.
Perfect.
It occurs to me not one second before I knock that I have no idea what I’m going to say when the door opens. My fist comes down before I can think it through, though, and even though I’m usually a planner, I guess this time I’ll feel it out and see how things go.
I have to knock three times before anyone answers. Finally the door lurches open, and there she is: India Marigold, the woman who could not be less interested in me—the woman I need to talk to for that very reason.
I didn’t really take a good look at her at Cyrus’s place, but now that she’s standing right in front of me, I let myself examine her. Her hair is still in the ponytail she pulled it into earlier, and her skin is golden against the white of her t-shirt and the denim of her shorts. Her toenails are painted pink, I notice—why does that make me want to laugh?—and there’s a faint dusting of freckles over the bridge of her nose.
I’m a simple guy. I see an attractive woman, I smile. And India? She’s cute. I’d never tell Cyrus that, of course. But even when her big brown eyes are narrowed at me like right now, she’s cute—and there’s something highly enjoyable, too, about the way she always looks at me with a faint frown.
Like the one she’s currently sporting.
She steps forward, propping her hip against the door frame and folding her arms across her chest. Her eyes narrow further as she looks me over. “Did you follow me home, Felicia?” she says.
“Sure did,” I say, smiling broadly at the nickname. She started using it a few years ago; when I asked, she just said she likeFeliciabetter thanFelix.“I wanted to run an idea by you.”
“Why?” she says, and I have to say, her suspicious look is slightly hurtful. “You could have just called.”
“I don’t have your number,” I point out.
“And why are you smiling like that?” she goes on, unfolding her arms and pointing at my face. “Is your mouth stuck?”
“I’m smiling to counteract all the negativity coming from your general direction”—I could swear her lips twitch at this, which I count as a win—“and to make myself seem more likable and harmless so that you’ll hear me out.”
When she just stares at me, I say, “Well? Is it working? Am I likable and harmless?”
She hums, raising one eyebrow. “Debatable, but I’ll listen. What do you need?”
I gesture past her. “Can I come in?” I say. “This might take a second.”
“Nope,” she says, popping thep. “Juliet would actually murder me if I let in someone like you when she’s in the middle of an emotional crisis.”
I give her a questioning look. “Someone like me?”
“You know. Someone…” she trails off, gesturing vaguely up and down my body. “Tall. And male.”
“Tall,” I say blankly. “And…male.”
“Yeah,” she says with a shrug. “So what did you want?”
I debate for a second. “How about you sneak me in so Juliet doesn’t see me,” I finally say. “I don’t want to do this out on your porch. Plus it smells like a bakery in there. You can offload some more stuff onto me and I’ll eat all of it.”
“No good,” India says with a shake of her head. “Juliet has a keen hot-guy radar. She’ll know you’re there. She’ll be able to sense it.”
“Now you’re just being ridiculous,” I mutter. A grin springs to my lips, though, when I realize what she’s said. “But you think I’m hot?”
“When you’re not trying to be charming or flirtatious, you’re passable,” she says in a flat voice. “Now get to the point or I’m closing the door.”
“Fine,” I say. “You win. But—but—I’m being serious here, okay? I need help with something for work, and I don’t have a lot of options. I don’t know many people in town.” I meet her gaze and hold it. “So don’t write me off without thinking about it, okay?”
