Page 33 of Us in Ruins
Fictional adventurer Wren Cahill had just wrangled the jewel thief into a headlock when Van plopped a filthy trowel-spade at Margot’s feet.
Margot peeked over the screen of her laptop, her attention snapping away from her Word document and back to reality, as Van swiped the back of his arm across his forehead, leaving a streak of dirt behind in the afternoon sweat. “How’s it going down there?”
They’d abandoned their old dig site and migrated to the grassy knoll and its mounds of freshly upturned dirt to excavate Venus’s temple. Which was fine by Margot. She didn’t mind if she never saw Plot D again in her life.
“Topher and Rex just discovered a first-century spatha, so Suki’s taking bets on who loses an eye first,” Van said as he sank into the pastel-colored folding chair next to her, beneath Dr. Hunt’s white tent.
Margot laughed. “My money’s on Rex.”
The boys’ underhanded comments at Margot’s beginner’s luck had ceased immediately when they realized that her name would be added to their textbooks someday.
Even Astrid had surprised her by turning delightfully tepid, too excited by the prospect of new documents she’d get to translate to keep up the charade of annoyance.
Neither of them would ever admit it, but now that they were partners, Van and Astrid managed to get along—her academic prowess paired well with Van’s hands-on know-how, and a century-old feud fizzled out with every studied scroll.
The Campania sun had sprinkled new freckles across Van’s cheeks, and his face had a pink tinge, newly sunburned.
His steps had grown lighter with every day since the curse had broken. The divot of his single dimple appeared as he said, “I’ve also got something I want to show you.”
“It’s not Rex’s eye, is it?” she asked.
Van leveled her with a look.
“Okay, great, because as soon as Wren finishes kicking this guy’s butt, she’s going to realize she’s totally lost.”
Her nails tapped against her laptop keyboard as Margot pressed the save button before closing out of her half-written manuscript.
Wren was the kind of archaeologist Margot had wanted to be. She didn’t care if she got dirt in her nail beds and wasn’t squeamish around bones and wouldn’t take no for an answer, even if it meant leaving her comfort zone behind.
And while Wren was stuck in Ariadne’s labyrinth trying to save the crown of King Minos from a masked thief (who was obviously secretly super hunky and going to be forced into working with her), Margot had never been more certain of her own footing.
On the page, Margot could become anyone, but every word somehow brought her closer to herself. There was something magic in every sentence, every finished chapter. Writing was the one place where she didn’t have to try to stop herself from getting carried away, from diving in too deep, too fast. All her daydreams and every one of her wildest ideas—they weren’t just allowed. They were encouraged.
While the rest of the class unearthed and analyzed every golden artifact from the buried temple, Margot had spent the last few weeks dreaming up Wren’s story, every emotional arc and unexpected plot twist. Van helped, fielding any world-building snags she ran into along the way.
Margot could hardly believe Dr. Hunt managed to convince her dad to let her stay the rest of the summer under the guise of auditing the class for research. And next quarter, she’d sign up for a creative writing elective. This one, she was certain, would stick.
“Don’t suspect you’ve found a Cretan treasure map down there, have you?” Margot asked, still ruminating on her looming plot hole.
Just then, a trio of other students came up carrying big plastic bins of sorted discoveries. They quieted when they noticed the two of them. One of the boys whispered something that made another one laugh. Van stiffened, standing, and extended a hand to Margot.
She took it and slid her computer into her chair in her place. Wordlessly, Van led her to the other side of the tent, behind a stack of crates that shielded them from their classmates’ prying eyes.
“We don’t have to hide. Everyone knows we’re dating, Van,” she laughed. “It’s not a secret.”
He reached into his pocket. “No, but this is.”
She didn’t know what she expected—an actual piece of Cretan gold from Minos himself?—but it wasn’t a bouquet of delicate white myrtles. Nestled in the blooms was a wax-sealed envelope with a familiar school crest.
“What is this?” The cardstock envelope was heavy, a thick ivory. Margot recognized the spilling maroon seal from her own Radcliffe acceptance letter. “How is this?”
Van rocked his weight between his feet. Nervous, almost. “Dr. Hunt wrote one hell of a recommendation letter since I’d never actually finished high school. And tuition’s covered, all things considered.”
Margot threw her arms around his neck, lifting onto her toes to reach. “You’re seriously coming?” When he nodded, she squealed, squeezing tighter.
“Oh,” he said casually as he pulled out a scroll and started walking down the alley between the ruins, “and there’s this.”
Margot ran, shaking her flowers and shouting after him, “You had a treasure map, and you didn’t lead with that?”
“What?” Van asked, and she could hear the smile on his lips. “I thought you said girls like flowers.”
“Girls are not a monolith!” she said, her feet pounding the cobbled pavement.
“I’m sure you’ll keep on surprising me.” Van sped up, even if he kept a hand in his pocket, pretending to be unbothered. But when he darted a glance over his shoulder, Margot saw the way he grinned.
Framed by the gauzy afternoon sunlight with laughter bubbling out of her as she chased Van through the ruins, a breathless kind of happiness took Margot by surprise—and it wasn’t just the unexpected cardio. She was enough to be loved, exactly as she was.
And as Van caught her hand and twirled her into his arms, pressing a kiss to her lips, she knew that their happy ending was only the beginning.