“Margot.”
“Grady,” I said as stiffly as I could.
He folded his heavily muscled arms across his wide chest and glared down at me. “Got something you want to tell me Margot?”
I froze for a second, and wondered if the gossip had reached him, but Grady was the kind of man to face problems head-on, and he hadn’t directly asked me, so I shook my head. “Nothing other than my order. Just those short rib nachos and a lemonade, thanks.”
He continued to stare at me as if he was waiting for me to say something more. “Right.”
My shoulders sagged. “I didn’t come here to fight with you Grady. I just need to eat, and if that’s going to be a problem, make it to go. Please.”
His icy gaze stared down at me for a long time, and my heart raced against my chest loud enough that I swore the whole bar could hear it. Finally, Grady shook his head with that familiar look of disgust on his face.
“I guess this is all your world, and the rest of us are just bit players. Everything is only about what you want and screw the rest of us, right?” He shook his head one last time without giving me the chance to say anything, and walked away.
I didn’t need to ask the question though, because it was clear that the gossip of my pregnancy had made its way to Grady. He knew. He had to. It made sense that he’d heard the rumors, especially considering drunk people gossiped louder than the rest of the town, and I knew that everywhere I went conversations stopped abruptly and all eyes turned to me.
Everyone was talking about me, and not because of my work bringing The Old Country House to life, for helping to keep the town’s economy booming, bringing big city dollars to our small town way of life. Nope, it was all about Margot being too old to be pregnant, and how sad it was that she didn’t know who fathered her child. It exhausted me to hell and back, but I knew the gossip would die down and move on to something—and someone—else soon enough.
My reproductive state was nobody’s business but mine, and I would keep my mouth shut until, or unless I had reason to share with anyone, for any reason.
“Hey Margot!” Carlotta squeezed into the spot beside me and the empty stool with a wide smile. “Everything all set for the July Fourth town party?” Her eyes stared at me with concern, and I resisted the urge to bite back tears.
I nodded and assured her all the details had been handled. “Vendors have their delivery locations and everyone has maps to all the places they can go if they don’t want to celebrate alone. I’ll do one final check of everything tomorrow just to make sure, but yes, everything is all set.”
“If you need anything you know where to find me,” she offered with a friendly smile that made me feel guilty over the uncharitable thoughts I’d had about her over the years.
Carlotta was the only person in town who had offered me sympathy and friendship instead of judgment, making sure I didn’t overdo it for the sake of doing it all on my own. “I know where to find you. The Mayor’s office.”
She giggled. “Nah, mostly it’s my office, because his place is too busy. Too many people coming in and out for a proper afternoon delight.”
I laughed at her words, feeling a little lighter after the tense exchange with Grady. “You’re a bit loony aren’t you?”
Carlotta’s eyes widened in surprise. “You’re just realizing that now?” Her gaze slid behind me and I had no doubt Grady stood there, staring a hole into the back of my head, probably wishing horrible things for me.
A few seconds later a tall glass of lemonade sat to the side of my heaping platter of nachos, and one angry bartender growled at me. “Anything else?”
“No thank you.”
“I’m here to pick up my lunch order,” Carlotta beamed a smile up at him. “Make it to go, please.”
“Already did,” Grady answered with a half-smile. “Be right back.”
Carlotta leaned in when Grady disappeared behind the swinging door. “What crawled up his butt?”
“Probably just me,” I admitted. “You know he and I are like oil and vinegar.”
“The perfect vinaigrette?”
“Water and oil, I mean.”
She laughed out loud and shook her head. “That, my friend, is what the eggheads calls a Freudian slip. Maybe you two are more like oil and vinegar,” she said thoughtfully and her gaze slipped below the bar to my belly and she gasped. “Oh. My. God. Does he know?”
“Carlotta please,” I whispered and she snapped her mouth shut so fast it would have been funny if the situation wasn’t so dire.
“My lips are sealed,” she promised. “Just tell me if he knows.”