One More Day
Chapter thirty-six
The resort was in chaos when they arrived.
Margot reminded herself, for perhaps the tenth time that day, that she wasn’t in charge anymore. Jolene was running the expo. Margot was supposed to stay out of the operational decisions while Harker’s investigation played out.
She was benched. Then her phone lit up with three emergency messages in less than thirty seconds.
Dana’s van.
Lou’s cake.
A threat against the gala. A typed note left at the front desk: CANCEL THE GALA OR SOMETHING WORSE HAPPENS.
And just like that, every professional instinct she’d spent years developing took over. Benched or not, she couldn’t stand in the middle of a disaster and do nothing.
She walked through the damage.
Dana was standing beside her van in the service lot, arms wrapped around herself, staring at four flat tires.
“My supplier is in Raleigh.” Dana’s voice was controlled, but her eyes were red. “Even if I call now, they can’t deliver until tomorrow afternoon. The gala is at eight.”
“What do you have on hand?”
“Greenery. Some hydrangeas from the morning arrangements. Nothing gala-worthy.”
“Greenery and hydrangeas with Christmas lights and ribbon. That’s not nothing. That’s coastal Christmas. We’ll make it work.”
Dana looked at her. A sliver of hope crossed her face. “You really think so?”
“I know so. I’ve built events from less.” Margot squeezed her arm. “Trust me.”
The words came out just like that. Trust me.
Exactly what she’d been afraid to ask for. And exactly what she’d been learning all over again how to give.
Lou was in the kitchen, surrounded by the ruins of four days’ work. Frosting coated the floor. Cake layers leaned against a prep table like casualties.
He looked at her.
“Can you make another one?” she asked.
Lou looked at the mess, his hands, then back at her. “It won’t be the same cake.” He straightened his apron. “But it’ll be mine. And nobody’s going to push this one off a counter.”
“That’s all I need.”
At the front desk, Jolene handed over the note. Plain white paper. Eight typed words. No fingerprints worth pulling.
“Elaine’s deciding whether to cancel,” Jolene said.
“She can’t cancel.”
“That’s what I told her.” Jolene’s expression was grim. “But the note changes the calculation.”
Before Margot could answer, Elaine stepped out of her office. Phone in hand. Reading glasses low on her nose.
The look on her face suggested she’d spent the afternoon fielding insurance questions, board members, and nervous guests.
She stopped in front of them. “Not canceled.”
Relief rushed through Margot.
Then Elaine continued. “Postponed.”
The relief vanished.
“What?”
“The gala and fireworks move to tomorrow night.”
Silence settled across the lobby.
Jolene blinked.
Dana looked up from the front desk.
Even the clerk behind the computer paused.
Elaine raised a hand before anyone could protest. “Harker asked for another twenty-four hours.”
Margot frowned. “He thinks we’re close?”
“He thinks whoever’s behind this is running out of options.”
That sounded like Harker. And if she was honest, it sounded right. The sabotage, the note, the empty storage unit all screamed desperation.
Caleb wasn’t executing a careful plan anymore. He was scrambling.
“And the guests?” Margot asked.
“We’ve already sent the email.” Elaine held up her phone. “Extended festivities. Expanded closing celebration. Fireworks tomorrow night.”
Jolene snorted. “That’s a very polite description of complete chaos.”
“It took me three drafts.”
Margot’s phone buzzed. The email had arrived. She scanned it quickly. Professional. Reassuring. Not a word about threats or vandalism. Just operational adjustments and an enhanced guest experience. The language of hospitality. The language of making problems disappear.
Tomorrow night. Twenty-four more hours. Twenty-four more hours to find the ornaments. Twenty-four more hours to catch Caleb. Twenty-four more hours before she had to leave Harbor’s Hope.
For the first time all day, the postponement felt less like a setback and more like an opportunity.
Caleb wanted the gala stopped. Instead, he’d just bought them another day.
Margot stood on the terrace overlooking the harbor.
The sun hung low over the water. Christmas lights already glowed beneath the pavilion roof, visible even in the fading daylight.
The ocean rolled beyond the dunes, steady and indifferent beneath a sky beginning to soften toward evening. The expo was crumbling. The ornaments were gone. The storage unit was empty. And someone was threatening the closing gala.
Town gossip had been spreading all day. She’d heard it from three different people. The event planner is a suspect. She botched the security on purpose. The resort should never have hired an outsider.
Her phone buzzed. Unknown number.
You should have stayed out of it, Ms. Pine.
The words glowed on the screen. Personal. Aimed.
Behind her, the terrace door opened. Footsteps crossed the boards. She knew who it was before he spoke.
“Margot?”
She held up the phone without turning around.
Evan took it. Stepped closer. Not in front of her. Beside her. “He’s panicking.”
“The sabotage, the note, this text. This isn’t a man with a plan anymore.”
“This is a man losing control.”
“That makes him more dangerous.”
“Yes.” He handed the phone back.
Their fingers brushed. She held on for a second before letting go.
“But dangerous men make mistakes,” he said. “And we’ll be watching when he makes his.”
She looked out at the water. At the lights. At the resort she’d come to save and had nearly lost and was now preparing to fight for one more time.
She’d been cornered before. After David, she’d sat in an apartment with an empty bank account and rebuilt everything from scratch. She’d answered every angry phone call. Paid back every deposit. Printed new business cards because she refused to let someone else’s choices define her future.
Caleb Henson had slashed tires and destroyed cakes and sent threats. He’d stolen ornaments. Framed her. Put a girl in the hospital. He’d smiled through all of it. The same way David had smiled while walking away from the wreckage he’d created.
But Margot wasn’t sitting alone in an apartment this time.
She was standing on a terrace with the ocean at her back and a man beside her who had driven to detectives’ offices, searched storage units, and held her hand across a truck seat because somewhere along the way he’d decided she was worth fighting for.
That was the difference. That was everything.
She turned toward him. “The gala happens.”
“The gala happens.”
“Tomorrow night.”
“Tomorrow night.”
“And we end this.”
His gaze held hers. Steady. Certain. The same look he’d given her on the beach. The one that said I’m here. The one that said whatever comes next, we face it together.
Margot reached for his hand. Not the stairwell grip. Not the dock handshake. She simply took it.
The way you take something you’ve stopped pretending you don’t want. And held on.
Tomorrow. The gala, the confrontation, and the truth.
Tomorrow, one way or another, Caleb Henson would run out of places to hide.
The ocean rolled against the shore below.
The lights glowed.
Evan’s hand remained wrapped around hers.
And for the first time in days, tomorrow felt less like something to survive and more like something to meet head-on.