10. Cal
CAL
T he front parlor is glowing with warmth, music, and joy.
The Honeysetts are dancing—if you can call it dancing—arms flailing in that endearing, retired-professor way, while Clara twirls around them with Jo, Imani, and Daryl clapping offbeat by the fireplace.
Even Amee’s in the melee, laughing louder than anyone.
Somehow, this town makes chaos look like magic.
I lean against the doorframe, letting the noise wash over me.
Margot is seated off to the side, for once. No clipboard, no bustling. Just her, curled on a vintage armchair, a glass of punch in her hand, laughing at something Aunt Edie and Sam are saying. Her shoulders aren’t pulled tight like they usually are. She looks… soft. Like sunlight on Sunday morning.
And it hits me—I haven’t thought about my company in days.
Not once. Not my overflowing inbox, not the quarterly reports, not the passive-aggressive board meetings. Not even the articles or headlines or press stalking me like a shadow.
All I’ve thought about is her.
Margot Hartwell, with the expressive face and that sharp brain of hers. The way she makes hot tea taste like a conversation. The way she apologizes like it’s her job but never lets anyone get away with anything. The way she makes this whole inn feel like a home.
I don’t know what that means. Or where it leads. But I can’t take my eyes off her.
And for the first time in years, I don’t feel like I’m running. I feel like I’ve arrived. Where? I don’t know.
Just as I’m sinking deeper into my quiet moment, Amee appears out of nowhere like a glittery tornado and grabs my hand.
“Come on, mystery man. You’ve been brooding in that corner long enough.”
“I don’t dance,” I say with a helpless laugh.
“Neither do the rest of us. That’s the fun part.”
Before I can object, she’s already dragging me into the center of the room. Waffles barks like he’s cheering me on. I glance over my shoulder—and there’s Margot, watching with a smile she’s trying to hide behind her glass.
So I try. God help me, I try.
I sway. I turn. I get the beat completely wrong. Clara shrieks with laughter. Jo does something with her hips that makes everyone holler. Someone hands me a maraca. Waffles bounces in the middle like he’s the star of the show.
I’m sweating and laughing and trying not to trip over a throw pillow when Mr. Honeysett suddenly claps twice, loud and clear.
The music fades.
“I’d like to say something,” he says.
Everyone hushes and eases toward their chairs. His wife looks surprised but delighted. He holds her hand and helps her stand beside him. His fingers link with hers like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Like it’s muscle memory after forty-eight years.
He looks around the room, then down at her, his voice quiet but strong.
“I’ve loved this woman since the day she threw her shoe at me in a campus hallway,” he starts, and the entire room chuckles.
“But what I’ve come to learn is that love is not about how you feel in the beginning.
It’s about what you choose every day after.
Through the ordinary. The terrible. The wonderful.
Through the raising of children and the loss of parents.
Through job changes and health scares. Through burnt dinners and quiet Sunday mornings. ”
She blinks at him, her smile trembling.
“I don’t just love her because of what we’ve shared, but because of how she’s stayed. Who she’s stayed. She’s the same woman who threw that shoe—just with wiser eyes, kinder hands, and a heart that’s carried me through more than I deserve.”
He lifts her hand and kisses her knuckles.
“I’d marry you all over again. Every version of you. Again and again and again.”
There’s a thick silence.
Then Clara lets out a dramatic sob. Imani claps once and wipes her eyes. Amee whispers something like “dang” under her breath.
And Margot… Margot presses her lips together, blinking fast.
As for me, I wonder—suddenly, foolishly—if that kind of love might ever happen again.
If maybe, someday, it could happen to me.
Not like I’ve ever given love a chance. But now, tonight, more than ever, I feel ready.
Mrs. Honeysett sniffles and shakes her head fondly. “After all these years, you still make me feel like I’m twenty.”
“And you still make me feel like the luckiest man in the world,” Mr. Honeysett says softly.
Then he leans in and kisses her.
A full, sweet, slow kiss.
Amee throws her hands in the air. “Okay, get a room! I’m a thirty-year-old virgin who doesn’t want to see this.”
Everyone bursts into laughter, the kind that echoes and lingers. Clara is dabbing her eyes with a napkin, still weeping into her cup.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” Imani mutters. “You’re worse than your youngest during Disney movies.”
Clara snorts, then shoves her. “Shut up. You’re just jealous I have a heart.”
“You wish,” Imani shoots back with a smirk.
It sets off another round of laughter as music filters back in and someone starts humming. The clatter of cups, chairs being dragged, and more cake being served blend into the cozy chaos of the evening.
Sam waves me over from where he’s sitting with Aunt Edie, Jo, and Margot. I slide into the empty seat between him and Jo. The cushion squeaks beneath me, and Waffles immediately curls up at my feet.
“Enjoying the madness?” Sam asks, handing me a second slice of something dangerously sweet and topped with what looks like roasted pecans.
“I’m beginning to think this place runs on sugar and gossip.”
“Don’t forget tea,” Jo adds.
“And nosey neighbors,” Aunt Edie says, not even pretending she’s joking.
I glance toward Margot. She’s quiet, sipping her tea, eyes cast toward the fire. She hasn’t looked at me since I sat down. But I know she’s listening.
And maybe—just maybe—she’s enjoying that I’m sitting here too. Who knows?
I lean back and let the warmth of the fire, the laughter, and the subtle pull of her presence settle around me like a blanket.
Aunt Edie leans in toward Margot, her teacup raised halfway to her mouth. “So, when do we give the Honeysetts their bouquet surprise?”
Margot groans. “As soon as I can feel my legs again. I can’t remember the last time I sat down like this.”
We all laugh.
She leans back with a contented sigh, her eyes half-lidded from warmth and tea. She looks relaxed—softened. Almost as if this is a version of her that she only lets out when she feels safe.
Jo nudges my arm gently. “Cal, why don’t you come over to the house for breakfast tomorrow? I’ll be making something special.”
I’m still smiling when I open my mouth to reply, touched by how easily I’ve been folded into their world. But before I can say anything?—
“What?” Margot’s head jerks toward her mom. “Mom, no. Cal is just a guest. That’s… that’s inappropriate.”
The air stills.
Even Aunt Edie sets her cup down too quietly.
I feel it immediately. That tight squeeze in the middle of my chest.
Her tone wasn’t cruel, just sharp enough to draw a line in the sand.
I shouldn’t care. I’m a stranger in her world, passing through. I have no right to expect anything.
And yet—I do.
Because for the first time in years, I felt something shifting. Like maybe I’d found a place where I didn’t have to wear the whole CEO mask. Like maybe this town, this inn, this woman, could be something more than temporary.
I let my guard down. That’s on me.
The hurt is real, but I smile anyway, because that’s what I do. “No worries. I appreciate the invite. Really.”
I stand and pat Sam’s shoulder lightly. “I think I’ll step out for a bit of air. Thanks for the company.”
No one says anything as I walk away.