12. Cal
CAL
T he sun is hot on the back of my neck as I dig into the soil, sweat beading at my temple. I wipe it away with the inside of my wrist and keep going, the earthy scent of mint and rosemary thick in the air.
Three days.
Three days of tilling Aunt Edie’s herb garden as penance for stealing her “rarest” tea. She takes her leaves seriously—like holy relics stored in velvet-lined drawers.
Honestly?
Could’ve been worse.
Margot got the real punishment: thirty-minute foot massages every night. That was the deal Aunt Edie handed down like a mafia boss in floral slippers.
I’ll take dirt and sunshine over feet any day.
Still, I don’t really mind the work. There’s something calming about it—hands in the earth, birds singing in the background, the inn just out of view behind the hedge. Peaceful. Simple.
And it makes Margot laugh when she sees me out here like some kind of Victorian farmhand. That alone makes it worth it.
I hear the screen door creak open behind me.
Speak of the devil.
Aunt Edie walks out with two tall glasses of iced tea, condensation dripping down the sides. I stop tilling, wipe my hands on my jeans, and smile as she approaches.
She hands me one. “Take a moment to rest, farmer boy.”
I chuckle and accept the glass. “Thank you kindly, ma’am.” I settle on the bench beside her, the ice clinking softly in the glass as I take a long sip. It’s cold and sweet, with a hint of mint. Perfect.
We sit in silence for a while, the bench creaking gently beneath us. Above us, the sky is a wash of clear blue, the kind that makes you feel both infinite and small at the same time.
Aunt Edie takes a sip of her iced tea and says, “It’s a beautiful morning.”
I nod, wiping the sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand. “Can’t appreciate it fully when the sun’s trying to kill me.”
She lets out a laugh, soft and warm, and it makes me smile. But despite the humor, I notice the shadows in her eyes.
“You seem worried.”
Her smile fades, and she stares down into her glass like the ice might offer some kind of answer. “I just… stumbled on the inn’s financial to-do list this morning. It was in the kitchen drawer. Margot probably forgot it.”
I purse my lips, remembering she was working on it three nights ago.
I stay quiet, letting her speak. Sometimes silence is better than any comfort.
“I feel terrible,” she says. “I’ve put so much pressure on her—on all of them—without meaning to. My medical bills are… a lot. I wish there was something I could do to help ease it. Instead, I’m just another line item weighing her down.”
There’s a tightness in her voice she’s trying to mask, but it’s there. The kind of guilt that festers quietly under responsibility and pride.
I reach down, pluck a weed from the garden, and let the roots dangle between my fingers. “You’re not a burden, Edie. You’re the reason this place feels like home.”
She looks at me, eyes bright but stubborn. “Tell that to the debt collectors.”
I laugh.
She watches me for a moment, then frowns. “I don’t like that you’re enjoying my punishment.”
I grin. “No matter what punishment you give me, I’ll enjoy it. I like this place a little too much. Everything here feels like an experience, not a chore.”
Aunt Edie gives me a look—half amused, half wary—and stirs her tea with her straw. “Sometimes,” she says, her voice low, “we end up exactly where we’re meant to be by accident.”
I pause, her words hitting deeper than I expect. I glance at her. “Was that accidental wisdom or intentional meddling?”
She shrugs, but the curve of her mouth betrays her. “Just an old woman observing life.”
“You’re not that old.”
She gives me a look. “I’m old enough to see right through you, young man.”
“Right through me?” I frown. “What do you mean?”
She pats my knee—gentle, but it lands like a command. She stands, brushes off her skirt, and walks away like she didn’t just throw my entire heart into a tailspin.
“I expect that garden weeded by sundown,” she calls over her shoulder.
I let out a low breath and lean back on the bench, staring up at the wide blue sky.
“Yes, ma’am.”
The day goes by faster than I expect—but it drags too, in that annoying way time does when you’re bored out of your mind.
Margot had to go to town, so I barely saw her today. Not even a glimpse during Kettle Hour. Ana said she’d be back later, but “later” is still not now.
Once the weeds are pulled, I spend the rest of the afternoon in my room, slouched on the bed with my laptop warming my thighs as I respond to emails I’ve been avoiding for days. Nothing too urgent—just people asking questions I’m too tired to answer.
Later that evening, suddenly, everything goes black.
The lights cut off with a soft click. My laptop dims into battery mode. The ceiling fan above me slows to a stop, blades groaning like they’re annoyed too.
I sit up. “Huh.”
The room feels instantly warmer. I wait for a second, wondering if it’ll come back on. It doesn’t.
Great.
I set the laptop aside and get up, heading for the door. The hallway is quiet, dimly lit by the fading sunlight slipping through the old windows.
What’s going on? It’s strange, especially now that Margot is not around. I need to get the lights back on before the guests start getting cranky.
When I reach the hall, it’s empty. Still. Quiet. I head toward the back exit that leads to the utility shed, my feet moving automatically now that I’ve memorized half this place.
When I round the corner, I stop short.
There she is. Barefoot. Balanced halfway up a rickety wooden ladder in the fading evening light, poking at the old circuit breaker like it personally offended her.
Her hair’s pulled into a messy bun, there’s a smudge of something—probably grease—on her cheek, and she’s muttering to herself.
It might be the best thing I’ve seen all day.
“Oh,” I say, arms folding lazily. “You’re back?”
She glances down and lets out a breathy laugh. “Yes. What are you doing out here?”
I grin. “To fix the lights, of course.”
She gives me a look. “You really do like pretending you work here, don’t you?”
“I’m not pretending. I just want to relieve you of the stress.”
She laughs again—low and warm—and I feel it somewhere deep in my chest.
“I appreciate that. Truly,” she says, eyes on mine.
“Come down,” I say, moving closer. “Let me fix it.”
She hesitates. For just a second. Then, to my complete surprise, she steps down the ladder without arguing.
I take her place, inspecting the breaker like I actually know what I’m doing. I do, but still. The switch is old, finicky. A quick adjustment, a reset, and then?—
Click.
The lights flicker on.
When I step down, she’s looking at me. Really looking. I feel a sense of pride, and I have to physically stop myself from puffing my chest out like a baboon. Right now, I’ll move a mountain if she wants me to.
“Remind me again why you’re not on this inn’s payroll?” she says softly.
I smile. “You couldn’t afford me.”
She laughs, shaking her head as we head back toward the house, our footsteps crunching softly on the gravel.
“Oh,” she says casually, like it’s not a big deal at all, “my mom’s making breakfast tomorrow. You should come.”
I stop for a second. “You want me to come have breakfast with your parents?”
She turns slightly, walking backward now, a teasing smile tugging at her lips. “Yes.”
“Wow.”
She raises a brow. “Is that a yes or a no?”
I shake my head slowly, still stunned. “Will there be pancakes?”
She chuckles. “Possibly. Depends if Mom is feeling generous.”
“In that case…” I nod. “Yes. I’ll come.”
She smiles, and something warm flickers in her eyes. She keeps walking. And I do too.
But inside, I’m buzzing. Because she asked. Because she wants me there.
And because somehow, for the first time in a long time—I’m happy. Very happy.
Inside the house, the silence stretches between us after we say goodnight. Neither of us moves.
Then Margot clears her throat. “Do you want some tea?”
I nod, trying not to smile too quickly. “Are we stealing Aunt Edie’s tea again? Because if yes, I’m officially proposing we lace her dinner with sedatives. I can’t survive one more morning of tilling that herb garden.”
She laughs, and the sound shoots straight through me.
“I can’t survive one more night of foot massages, either,” she says, veering off toward the kitchen. “Which is why tonight, we’re using my personal stash.”
I blink. “You have a tea collection? And you’ve been hiding it from me? I thought we were past secrets.”
She grins and opens a small wooden drawer beside the sink. “It’s not as vast as Aunt Edie’s, but it’s something.”
I peer in. It’s smaller, yes—but somehow more her. The care, the arrangement and the simplicity is very Margot . There’s chamomile and a lemon-honey blend. A floral one in a clear bag with dried hibiscus petals. Something with mint. A couple of teas I can’t even pronounce.
“Pick one,” she says, crossing her arms.
I look at the drawer, then at her. Doesn’t matter what I choose. I’m not here for the tea.
“This one,” I say, grabbing the first thing my fingers touch.
She gives me a skeptical look. “You didn’t even read the label.”
“I don’t care,” I say, leaning back on the counter. “As long as I get to drink it with you.”
And just like that, her smile slips a little—not in a bad way. Just softer. Quieter. Like something’s shifting between us.
She boils the water. I watch her. I’m exactly where I want to be.
Moments later, she hands me my cup, watching as I take a careful sip.
I close my eyes for a beat, letting the warmth slide down. “Peppermint… and a little lavender?”
Her lips part in a smile. “Correct.”
I grin. “I’m getting really good at this.”
She rolls her eyes and is just about to sit when footsteps shuffle down the hall. We both glance up.
A young lady walks into the kitchen and stops at the doorway, glancing between Margot and me.
For a moment, I’m thrown.
She looks like Margot—same eyes, same sharp chin, same quiet sort of presence—but younger. Still very different.
I glance at Margot, then back to the girl.
Margot steps in, a small smile tugging at her mouth. “Cal, this is my sister, Thea. Thea, this is Cal.”
Thea gives a tiny wave, the corners of her lips lifting. “Nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard about you.”
I raise a brow, teasing. “Oh yeah? Hopefully good things.”
Thea smirks. “Mostly.”
I look at her again. “I haven’t seen you around the inn.”
“She’s always locked up in her castle,” Margot says, nudging her sister’s arm playfully. “Down in the basement apartment. We rarely drag her out unless something breaks or she runs out of snacks.”
“I work from home,” Thea defends, grinning. “I’m productive.”
“She acts like she runs the world,” Margot adds.
I take another sip of tea, amused. “A mysterious hidden sister. The plot thickens.”
The girls laugh, but I catch on quickly—Thea didn’t just wander in for a midnight snack. She’s here for something. And I don’t want to be in the way.
I down the last of my tea, stand, and say, “All right, ladies. I’m up past my bedtime.”
Margot’s eyes flick to mine. “You don’t have to rush?—”
“I know,” I say, offering a quiet smile. “But I should.”
I take my cup to the sink and rinse it out, trying not to look like I’ve done this a dozen times before. It’s weirdly… domestic. Comfortable.
I glance at Thea. “Nice officially meeting you.”
She nods. “You too.”
Then I look at Margot. She’s still watching me, like she wants to say something else but won’t. I also want to say something, but shouldn’t.
“Thanks for the tea, Margot.”
She gives a small smile. “Goodnight, Cal.”
“Goodnight.”
I head out of the kitchen, up the stairs, and back to my room.
As soon as I get to my room, I close the door behind me and pull out my phone, scrolling through my contacts to get my accountant. He picks up on the first ring.
“Mr. Hale.”
I’m surprised he takes the call, with the time difference and all, but I’m relieved to get him on the line immediately.
“I want to make a transfer,” I say. “Anonymous.”
My accountant doesn’t even pause. “I’m ready as soon as you send the account details.”
“Good.” I end the call.
I already have the inn’s account number. It’s on their website. I send it over without a second thought, together with the amount of money I want sent, then I toss the phone on the bed and sit at the edge.
It’s not about money.
It’s about that look on Margot’s face when she finally breathes—really breathes. When she smiles like nothing’s chasing her. When her shoulders soften and she forgets, even for a second, how heavy the world feels.
That look is peace.
And I’d pay anything to see it stay.