16. Cal
CAL
I ’m leaving Everfield in about forty-eight hours, and it feels like the end of the world.
My heart won’t stop pounding.
I haven’t booked my flight.
I haven’t made plans to return the rental car.
I haven’t even packed my luggage.
Instead, it’s ten a.m., and I’m lying on my bed, phone in hand, scrolling through Zillow like a man with no sense.
I’m looking up houses in Everfield.
I don’t know what I’m doing—or why I’m doing it—but everything I see feels… right. These houses are old, dated, probably have no ultra-modern amenities, but they look cozy. They look like peace. Like possibility.
Like maybe I belong here more than I ever did back there.
I pause on one listing—white porch, green shutters, a garden that looks like it’s begging to be tended. I stare at it longer than I should. Zoom in. Zoom out. Scroll through all the photos. Then scroll through them again.
I’m halfway through imagining a Saturday morning in that kitchen when a message from Marley buzzes in.
“Confirming you’ll be back in the city by the day after tomorrow. I’ve kept your calendar clear for now, but we need to lock things in. Let me know.”
I swipe her message without replying and go back to viewing the house. Until… knock knock . A soft knock at the door.
I open the door and instinctively smile when I see Sam standing there, arms crossed, a familiar half-grin on his face.
“Hi, Sam.”
“Hey, man. You didn’t come down for breakfast,” he says, eyeing me. “I’ve been around fixing things and realized I haven’t seen you in hours. That’s why I’m here.”
Something about that—him just showing up to check in—makes my chest tighten in the best way. Like I belong here. Like I’m not just some guest. I swallow the emotion and lean on the doorframe.
“I’ve just been lying in bed,” I say. “Nothing serious.”
“Well, can I interest you in hanging out?” His eyes twinkle. “Margot wants a new bench out back, and you don’t have to help, but I really do need good company.”
I laugh. “Say less.” I grab my phone. “And I thought we already agreed I’m better with a hammer than you are.”
Sam lets out a loud, satisfied laugh as we head for the stairs. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, city boy.”
We walk down together, and I realize this feels like something I’ll miss for the rest of my life if I leave.
So what do I do?
As we walk past the reception, Ana looks up from her desk and greets me with a smile.
“Hey, Cal. You ready for breakfast?”
“Not yet. But thanks,” I say with a wave.
Outside, the morning air is bright and already heating up. The backyard stretches out before us, green and familiar. I ask, “Where’s Margot?”
“She went to town to grab something real quick,” Sam replies. “She should be back soon.”
The tools are already laid out near the shaded patch by the herb garden. A small cooler sits a few feet away. Sam walks over, opens it, and pulls out two cans of cold soda. He tosses one to me.
“Hydration before hammering,” he says.
I catch it, crack it open, and take a long sip as Sam starts setting up the planks and brackets. I sink into the lawn chair beside the bench frame, letting the morning settle around us.
“Nothing like good company and mild manual labor to start the day,” he says.
I chuckle, lifting mine in salute. “I’m only here for the drinks.”
Sam grins. “It’s only a matter of time before you join me. You like to work as much as I do.”
I gasp, mock-offended. “So that’s why you called me? You don’t need my company. You just need free labor.”
He winks. “Is it really free when I already offered you drinks?”
“What?”
We both burst into laughter.
And he’s right. Thirty minutes in, I’m holding a drill and lining up planks like I’ve been part of this backyard forever.
The sun’s higher now, casting long lines across the grass, and we’re both sweating through our shirts—but it doesn’t feel like work.
We’re laughing about the crooked bench Sam tried to build once, comparing notes on stubborn screws and favorite wood stains.
Somehow, we veer into conversations about movies, football, and a wine-tasting event the inn is hosting tomorrow night.
“It’s fun,” Sam says. You get to taste as much wine as you like and unwind.”
“I’ll try,” I answer evasively. My three weeks are up, and ideally, I should leave either tomorrow night or early the next morning. But I want to stay. So badly.
I swing the hammer too hard and miss the nail by a fraction of an inch—my fingers almost taking the brunt of it.
Sam glances over sharply. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Almost caught my finger.” I flex it and laugh. “That would’ve been tragic.”
Sam shakes his head. “Careful, son. That pain can drive a man crazy.”
I grin. “Has it happened to you before?”
He scoffs. “Several times. I’ve grown desensitized to it by now. But I’ll never forget the first time.”
I look over, curious. “What happened?”
Sam wipes his forehead with the back of his hand, chuckling at the memory. “It was the summer after Jo and I got married. I was trying to fix a rickety kitchen stool to impress her. You know, be the man of the house.”
I smile. “Did it work?”
“Oh, it worked. But not before I smashed my finger so hard I blacked out for three seconds. Jo thought I’d died.”
I laugh out loud. “You passed out?”
“Straight to the floor like a sack of flour. She screamed, I groaned, and the stool never got fixed.”
“That’s the most heroic fail I’ve ever heard.”
Sam grins. “Jo still brings it up anytime I act like I know what I’m doing with a hammer. And it’s been decades of me fixing other things around the house,” he laughs. “Women.”
“Same thing happened to my dad. Not a hammer, but a drill.” I shake my head, a faint smile playing on my lips. “He drilled a hole right through his finger. I can’t even remember what we were working on, but he made a slip and—boom—blood everywhere.”
Sam lets out a full laugh. “Good lord.”
“I just remember screaming and screaming while Dad kept saying, ‘It’s okay, Cal. It’s not as bad as it looks.’” I pause. “But it was. It was terrifying. Mom grounded him for a month.”
Sam bursts into laughter again. “Sounds like you were close to your dad.”
“Yeah.” I nod, my smile softening into something more tender. “I was an only child. My parents were really all I had.”
The sun is climbing higher now, making everything golden. I wipe sweat from my brow and glance around the backyard—the half-built bench, the tools, the buzz of insects nearby. “This inn… It’s provided me more comfort than anywhere else has since I lost them.”
There’s a quiet beat. Then Sam looks up at me.
“You leave tomorrow?”
I blink, caught off guard that he knows. “Early morning of the day after tomorrow.”
He nods once.
Then, I ask, “Can I tell you something?”
“Yeah.”
I set the hammer down and look at him fully. “I don’t want to go.”
Sam watches me closely, patiently.
“When I first came,” I continue, “I honestly thought I wouldn’t last a week. Now it’s been three, and I don’t want to leave. Isn’t that weird?”
“No.” Sam’s voice is steady. “Not weird at all.”
He looks around us. “Some places,” he says, “just make it hard to leave.”
I glance down at my hands, now callused from all the activities I’ve been doing around here since I came. Even now, sawdust clings to my skin. My nails are a mess. But somehow, this feels more honest than any suit I’ve ever worn.
Sam doesn’t say much. He just keeps working beside me like time is nothing and words aren’t always required. And for some reason, that makes me want to talk more. I like that he never prods or asks difficult questions. It makes him so easy to talk to.
I reach for another nail and glance over. “What was Margot like as a kid?”
Sam looks up, amusement tugging at his lips. “Exactly as she is now.”
I raise a brow. “Oh yeah?”
He chuckles. “Margot’s always been sharp. Orderly. Knows how to take charge. She was the kid organizing lemonade stands like they were Fortune 500 companies.”
I grin. That tracks.
“She’s always cared more than she let on,” Sam adds. “Wanted things done right, wanted everyone taken care of, but didn’t want to look like she was trying too hard. Still doesn’t.”
I nod slowly, something warm building in my chest.
“I see that,” I say quietly.
“My daughters all have distinct personalities,” Sam says, his voice light but thoughtful.
“They’re all beautiful and special in their own way, and so dear to me.
But with Margot…” He trails off for a second, hammer paused midair.
“It’s different. I just wish she’d slow down sometimes.
Enjoy the moment. Let herself be young.”
I exhale, nodding. “Yeah. I’ve noticed that. Like she’s always carrying the whole world on her shoulders.”
Sam glances at me, something knowing in his eyes. “She always has.”
I sit back on my heels and sip from my can. “What was she like as a teenager? I know teenagers tend to let loose. I did my fair share.”
He laughs. “Not Margot. Responsible. Smart. A bit bossy. Loved lists—still does. She was the one making dinner when her sisters were goofing off. Always had her head screwed on straight. That girl came out of the womb with a five-year plan.”
I smile, picturing a younger version of Margot with her no-nonsense glare and planner in hand.
“Did she ever let loose?” I ask, grinning.
Sam snorts. “Hazel tried to corrupt her a few times. Took her to parties. Got her into one or two harmless scrapes. But Margot always found her way back to center. She’s just… steady.”
There’s a beat of silence.
“I admire that,” I say. “She’s built something special here.”
Sam nods. “She has. And she won’t admit it, but she wants someone who’ll see that. Who’ll sit beside her and let her rest for once. Someone who won’t let her run herself ragged trying to prove she can do it all.”
I look down at the wood we’re working on. My hands feel suddenly still. “I’m not sure she knows that.”
Sam’s voice is calm. “She will.”
I stay silent even though a thousand words are running around in my head. Margot. The mention of that name alone grounds me to Everfield. I don’t want to leave. This feels like an opportunity I should hold on to and explore. If I lose this, something tells me I’ll never find it again.