20. Cal
CAL
T he party is in full swing.
Live music drifts from the garden, soft and jazzy.
The smell of roasted pears and cinnamon bread lingers in the air.
There’s a warm glow around the inn—candles flickering in mason jars, string lights overhead, the laughter of locals echoing against the walls.
It feels… magical. Like Everfield has cracked open and let its soul breathe tonight.
I’m standing in the front parlor with Mr. Honeysett, nodding as he talks about tannins and fermentation. Something about the acidity of Cabernet Francs.
I’m listening. Sort of.
But mostly, I’m watching the door.
I haven’t seen Margot.
Okay, I saw her. But only for a few seconds. One second she was there, and the next she was gone.
It’s stupid, how much that bothers me. I tell myself she’s busy hosting, making sure everything goes perfectly—but it doesn’t stop the restless twitch in my chest. Like my body knows she’s close, and it won’t let me relax until I see her.
Mr. Honeysett hands me a fresh glass and raises his own in a half-toast. “Now that one’s from upstate New York. You’ll notice the difference right away—floral, a little wild.”
I take a sip. “It’s good.”
“It’s got a bite,” he says, grinning. “Like a woman with opinions.”
I laugh under my breath and glance again toward the back doors. Nothing.
Where is she?
It’s not like I have a right to miss her. Not after last night. Not after the look she gave me that felt… final.
Still. I want to see her.
I want to know if she’s okay. If she’s still angry. If there’s a chance she might forgive me—not for the lies, but for not trusting her with the truth.
Mr. Honeysett gets pulled into another conversation, and I drift toward the back porch. Maybe I’ll spot her out there. Maybe she’ll walk by and I’ll get a chance to say something—anything—that might fix the crack between us.
As I step outside onto the back porch, the music softens—just guitar now, mellow and warm. The evening air is cooler here. A breeze moves through the trees like a whisper. Somewhere nearby, someone’s laughter rises like a bell.
I pause.
Two women are leaning against the railing by the rosebushes, half-hidden in the shadows, sipping wine and chatting.
“…I’m telling you, the inn hasn’t felt this alive in years,” one says with a fond sigh. “Margot’s done wonders. All this? It’s her.”
“She could’ve stayed in Bardstown, right?” the other replies. “Fancy job, wonderful town. But she gave it all up when Edie had her heart scare.”
“Some daughters show up with casseroles,” the first woman laughs. “She showed up with spreadsheets and elbows deep in flour.”
“She’s something else.”
I freeze mid-step.
Bardstown. Fancy job. Left it all behind.
I suddenly realize… I know nothing about that part of her.
Nothing about what she gave up. What she used to want. What kind of life she walked away from to keep this place running. To take care of her aunt. To keep her family’s legacy alive.
I’ve been so wrapped up in hiding my own truth, I never thought to ask about hers.
I lean quietly against the post, still out of their line of sight, guilt tightening in my chest. I thought I knew her. I thought I understood the weight she carried—but I’ve only seen the part she’s allowed me to see.
And somehow, that makes me want her even more.
Not just the version I know—the quiet strength, the quick wit, the way she softens when she laughs—but the whole of her. The woman who walked away from everything she built. The woman who chose this.
Who chose family. Who chose home.
I glance back inside the house, my heart thudding hard. I need to find her.
And this time, I won’t walk away.
I’m not certain about opening myself up completely, but I can give her something. Anything.
I circle the yard twice—once by the old oak where someone set up a tasting table, once around the firepit where townsfolk are gathered with glasses and laughter. No sign of her.
I head back toward the house, my thoughts a knot of half-formed apologies and things I should’ve said. The music is louder now, the band warming into a familiar jazz swing. People pass me with flushed cheeks and half-full glasses, nodding in that Everfield way that still catches me off guard.
And then I see her.
Right by the front door, standing beneath the hanging lanterns. She’s talking with Imani and Philip. They’re laughing about something, and she throws her head back in that full, unapologetic way she rarely lets herself do.
She looks radiant. At home. Free.
The black dress she’s wearing catches the light. Her curls are pinned up loosely, with one stray lock brushing her cheek. There’s something about her in this moment that feels so utterly unreachable, and yet so familiar, it steals the air from my lungs.
I should be happy she’s smiling.
I am happy. Really.
But watching her now—so completely present, so fine without me—it stings.
It’s selfish. I know that.
But part of me hoped that maybe I wasn’t the only one lying awake last night. That maybe she’d see me, and there’d be something in her eyes. Recognition. Relief. That spark again.
Instead, she just looks content. At ease.
Like the part of her that reached out to me… is gone.
I hover there for a second too long, just outside the pool of warm light, wondering if I should keep walking. Wondering if I’ve already missed my window.
It’s Imani who spots me first. Her eyes light up, and she waves, nudging Philip beside her. He lifts his glass in greeting and turns slightly, just enough for Margot to notice.
She follows their gaze.
Our eyes meet.
For a second, something unreadable flickers in hers. But then, just as quickly, it’s gone—smoothed over with that calm, composed smile she wears so well.
“Mr. Reid,” she says brightly, like we’re strangers. “Hope you’re enjoying the party?”
Mr. Reid.
It lands like a slap. Can she stop already? Anything but Mr. Reid, please.
I force a smile and approach them. “It’s incredible. You outdid yourself.”
Imani laughs and reaches for my arm. “You have to tell us which wine you liked best. We’ve been arguing about the dry reds versus the fruitier whites all evening.”
“Fruit-forward,” Philip corrects with mock seriousness.
Margot’s already stepping back. “I’ll leave you to it,” she says lightly. “I should go check on the cheese trays.”
She turns before I can stop her, slipping into the inn like she’s not running away.
I stand there, holding a fake smile and a thousand things I didn’t say. The party hums on around me. But the second she disappears inside, everything goes quiet. At least, inside me, it does.
Because Mr. Reid is the name you give a guest.
Not someone you had late-night tea parties with. Or someone you had family breakfasts with. Okay, it was one time, but so what?
I excuse myself gently from Imani and Philip. They’re still debating wine like it’s an Olympic sport, and I use that to slip away. I follow Margot into the house.
I find her in the hallway by the kitchen, talking to Hazel and Aunt Edie. She’s smiling politely, half listening, half distracted, and just as I’m about to turn back around—too late—Aunt Edie sees me.
She lifts one elegant hand and waves me over with all the grace of a woman who’s been hosting parties for five decades.
“There he is!” she declares.
Hazel and Margot both turn to look. Margot’s eyes catch mine, and even though her expression doesn’t change, I swear I feel her pulse from across the room.
Great. Now she thinks I’m following her.
Which I was. But still.
I approach with the most casual smile I can manage.
Aunt Edie reaches out and takes my arm like we’re old friends. “You look very handsome, Cal,” she says with a wink. “If I were a few decades younger, I’d be dragging you to the dance floor myself.”
Hazel snorts. “Aunt Edie, please.”
We all laugh—even Margot.
But then she says, “I need to check the kitchen,” and starts to move away.
Hazel frowns. “You’ve checked it a million times. What’s wrong? Why are you so restless?”
Silence falls.
The room shifts. Just a little. Like someone tilted the air.
Margot doesn’t answer right away, and I don’t know whether to speak or leave them alone.
Aunt Edie turns to Hazel. “Since you say she’s restless, why don’t we go check the kitchen then? Come on. We’ve been lazing around all night while the poor girl runs around in heels.”
Margot and Hazel try to protest. “Aunt Edie?—”
“I said, come on.” She shushes them both with a flick of her hand and then loops her arm through Hazel’s before either of them can argue further. “Margot, darling, take a breath for once.”
I think Margot will leave too, vanish into a crowd or behind one of those vintage wooden doors. But instead, she turns to me.
Her eyes are unreadable.
“Have you been following me, Mr. Reid?”
There’s a sharpness to her voice, but not cruelty. Just the kind that cuts when you least expect it.
I exhale softly. “Margot, please. It’s Cal.”
“Is it?”
She doesn’t mean the name.
I know what she’s asking. I nod once, slowly. “It is. I promise it is.”
She doesn’t say anything for a beat. Just studies me with that steady gaze of hers. Then: “Hmm.”
“Margot…” I step in a little closer, voice low. “I’m not trying to lie to you. I just came here to hide.”
She lets out a short laugh. “Then it’s the wrong place for that, Cal. Everfield notices everything.”
I smile at the sound of my name from her lips. Not Mr. Reid. Not some cold formality to keep me at arm’s length. Just Cal.
And it loosens something in my chest.
“I’m not going to ask you anything anymore,” she says after a pause, folding her arms. “Whatever’s true or not… you’ll tell me when you’re ready. Or you won’t.”
“I will,” I say quietly. “There’s really nothing special about me. I was just… overwhelmed back home. Burned out. I came here to find a little peace.”
She tilts her head, skeptical.
“I mean… generally, I can call myself a tech businessman.”
Margot’s eyes light up. “Oh, that’s great! Thea would love to hear that—she’s a tech genius. Like, actual genius. Built a climate app when she was nineteen that people still use around town.”
She looks so genuinely thrilled, so proud of her sister, that I almost want to smile back. But a quiet alarm goes off in my head.
If Thea is really as brilliant as Margot says, there’s a solid chance she knows Calvin Hale. I do not want to take that chance.
Margot starts to turn, already scanning the room like she’s about to go fetch her.
I gently intercept her gaze with a crooked smile. “She really is impressive. Probably smarter than me.”
Margot laughs. “You’re just saying that.”
“I’m serious.” I shift a little, casually. “I wouldn’t survive a minute in a conversation with a real coder. I’m more business strategy. Team-building. Pitch meetings. You know, the boring stuff.”
It works—her shoulders drop a bit, her attention slides back to me. Just enough.
“Well, you’re in Everfield,” she says, tilting her head. “That’s already not boring.”
“I’m trying,” I say, and I mean it.
But in the back of my mind, I know this isn’t over.
If Thea is as smart as she seems, and she’s been paying attention… I might be out of time sooner than I think. I’ll tell Margot everything soon, I just need a week to… pull myself together. That’s all I need.
“Okay.” She smiles, and I feel my heart rest, so much so that I hold out my hand.
“Dance with me?”
She looks at me like I’ve just asked her to fly to the moon.
Then she blinks slowly. “Cal…”
“One dance,” I say, soft but certain. “Please.”
She hesitates, arms still folded, chin tilted up just enough to remind me that this is still her turf, her rules. Then finally, with a little exhale that sounds more like surrender than agreement, she nods.
“Fine. One dance.”