Maybe it had been, to use Margot’s word, presumptuous of him to think he’d be staying when the last he’d seen of her, she’d stormed out of his house and made it clear she never wanted to speak to him again. But that sense of his had been tickling at the back of his thoughts, telling him he should probably pack an overnight bag, just in case, and so he’d followed his instincts and thrown the bag in the trunk of his car before heading down here to Jerome.
Now more than ever he was glad of this odd gift of his, the one that had always guided him to make the right choice. Because he could come back to Margot’s house after a truly marvelous dinner and know he didn’t have to go anywhere else.
Almost shyly she led him into her bedroom, which was less than half the size of his, but charming, wit
