21. Margot
MARGOT
T hat night, after everything winds down, I shower and climb into bed, expecting sleep to come easily. It doesn’t.
My mind is still buzzing.
Not with the party—though it went well. Everyone had a great time. No fires, no kitchen disasters, no last-minute complaints. Ana was glowing with pride, Aunt Edie was practically high on sugar and praise, and even Thea admitted that the wine tasting wasn’t a complete waste of her time.
But that’s not what keeps me up.
It’s the dance.
Well… dances. Plural. We only agreed to one, but somehow, we had two. Somehow, I let him hold me just a little longer than necessary. Somehow, I let myself forget.
People noticed.
Ana mentioned it later, when we were closing up, how she overheard a few guests whispering that Cal and I “looked cute together.” One woman apparently even said we were a couple.
I should’ve been upset. Embarrassed, at the very least. It’s unprofessional. Inappropriate. The kind of thing I used to roll my eyes at when it happened in other inns.
But instead?
It was a struggle to hide my smile.
And now, lying here in the dark with damp hair and warm sheets, I can’t stop thinking about how his hand felt at the small of my back. How he looked at me like I wasn’t just someone he liked—but someone he trusted. Like I was a harbor.
Like I was his peace.
I shouldn’t feel this way. He’s a guest. A stranger. A man with more secrets than he lets on, even if he says “Cal” is his real name. Even if he says he came here to hide, not to deceive.
I don’t want to be someone’s hiding place.
I turn over, trying to push the thoughts away.
I try to focus on the night’s success. On the laughter in the parlor, the way the fire pit glowed outside, how everyone seemed genuinely happy.
That’s what matters. That’s why I came back.
To build something that lasts. Not to flirt with guests who look at me like I’m more than I am.
But then I remember his hand reaching for mine. The way he whispered “Thank you” after the second dance.
And I realize… I’m already in trouble.
I’m about to put a pillow over my head and summon silence in my mind when I hear a knock on the door.
I frown, glance at the clock. It’s almost midnight. I hope it’s not a guest complaining about the water pressure or asking for a spare toothbrush. Again.
I pad to the door, already bracing myself.
“Who is it?”
A beat. Then, quietly:
“It’s me. Cal.”
My stomach drops.
Of course it is.
I hesitate. My hand rests on the knob, frozen. I could tell him now’s not a good time. I could say anything that keeps the lines neat and professional and safe.
Instead, I find myself pulling the door open before I can stop myself.
He’s standing there in the hallway in a soft gray hoodie, his hair mussed like he’s been running a hand through it for hours.
There’s something uncertain in his eyes.
Like he almost didn’t knock. Like part of him still wants to turn around.
“Hi. Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
A beat. “Do you want to come in?”
“I’d love to.”
I open the door wider and step aside. He walks in.
He looks around the room. The lamps are low, the covers still messy from when I was trying—and failing—to sleep. I cross my arms and tuck my hand under my elbow, suddenly aware of how intimate this feels.
“I couldn’t sleep,” he says.
“Me neither,” I admit, softer than I mean to.
We stare at each other for a long moment. Then he runs a hand through his hair again and barks a short laugh.
“I’m sorry, I just, um…” He licks his bottom lip. “Um, thank you for dancing with me.”
I smile instinctively. “I-I loved it.”
He smiles back. “Margot, I know I should probably leave tomorrow. That was always the plan. My three weeks are up.”
My heart drops.
“But…” He looks at me then, really looks at me. “I want to stay. A few more weeks.”
My throat tightens. I keep my voice even. “Why?”
He hesitates. Breathes in. Lets it out slowly. “Because I like you, Margot.”
He says it so simply, like it’s the most natural truth in the world. Like it hasn’t just cracked something open in me.
“I like you a lot,” he continues, softer now. “And I want to stay and… figure this out. See what this could be. But I need you to be honest with me about how you feel.” His eyes are serious now, searching. “If you don’t feel the same, I’ll go. I’ll walk away. No questions asked.”
I stare at him.
My hands are still folded, fingers clenched so tight they’ve gone cold. I’m scared. I’m thrilled. I’m happy. I’m scared!
Cal looks like he wants to disappear, but he chooses bravery and meets my eyes. “I’m sorry, Margot, I struggled with saying anything, but I can’t hold it in anymore. I like you. I… like you.”
“I shouldn’t feel the same,” I whisper.
“But do you?”
My breath catches. I look away, but not before he sees it—whatever emotion just crossed my face.
“I shouldn’t,” I repeat, weaker this time.
“But you do,” he says, and there’s a thread of hope running through it, quiet and warm.
I lift my eyes to his. “I think about you when I shouldn’t. I look for you when I don’t mean to. I danced with you twice and wanted a third time. So yes, Cal. I do.”
He exhales, long and deep, like he’s been holding that breath for days.
The space between us shrinks, not from movement but from the heaviness of everything that’s finally been said. For a moment, neither of us says anything. Like we’re afraid we will shatter the moment.
Cal takes a step closer, and his voice is low when he says, “Thank you. For saying that. For not pushing me away.”
I can’t look away from him.
He adds, “I meant what I said, Margot. I want to prove it to you—that you don’t have to carry everything alone.”
My chest tightens.
Nobody has ever said that to me. Not like that. Not with that kind of quiet conviction.
He lifts a hand, hesitating just slightly before brushing a knuckle down my cheek. “You’ve been holding up the world on your own. Let someone hold you for once.”
I should pull away.
I don’t.
Instead, I lean in—just enough. Just slightly.
And he meets me the rest of the way.
His lips are soft and warm against mine. There’s nothing rushed about it, nothing urgent. Just a steady, sure kiss that feels like a promise and a question all at once.
I let myself answer with my whole body.
I don’t know how long we stand there like that. Minutes. Hours. Time folds in on itself.
When we finally part, his forehead leans against mine.
“I’ll prove it,” he whispers.
And I—stupidly, foolishly, hopelessly—believe him.
We stay like that, our foreheads pressed together, breathing the same air. I don’t want to move. I don’t want to ruin the fragile stillness that’s settled over us like snow.
Then he wraps his arms around me.
It’s not a quick, casual hug.
It’s deep.
Full.
The kind of hug that presses right into your ribs and makes your throat go tight because it says things words haven’t dared yet. I sink into it before I can stop myself, my arms coming around him like they’ve done it a hundred times before.
And suddenly, I’m blinking fast. My eyes burn, and I don’t know why. Or maybe I do. Maybe I’ve needed this more than I even realized.
He pulls back just slightly, just enough to kiss my cheek—soft and slow.
“Goodnight, Margot,” he says.
And before I can say anything, before I can ask him to stay a little longer or come back tomorrow or anything else foolish, he turns and walks out.
I stand there, staring at the closed door.
Then I press my fingers to my cheek, right where his lips had been.
And I whisper it back, even though he can’t hear me.
“Goodnight, Cal.”
I stand there for a long time, frozen in the quiet, the scent of him still lingering in the air.
My arms feel empty, like they’re missing something that was just there a second ago—something warm and solid and real. I press a hand to my chest. My heart’s still racing, my whole body still humming from that hug… that kiss on my cheek… those words.
He wants to stay.
For me.
I’m not breathing right. I think I forgot how. My head’s spinning, but it’s not the usual kind—the anxious, overthinking kind. This is something gentler. Softer. Like maybe, just maybe, it’s okay to want this.
I move in a daze. I turn off the lamp. I slip under the covers. The sheets are cool, but my skin is warm—too warm—and my thoughts are louder than the silence in the room.
I close my eyes, but I can still feel him. The way he looked at me when he said he liked me. The way his voice dropped when he said he’d leave if I didn’t feel the same. Like he was giving me the power to break him. And trusting me not to.
That trust… it undoes something inside me.
I roll over, curl into myself. My chest aches in the best way. I should be scared. I should be planning an escape route or thinking about all the reasons this is a bad idea. But I’m not. I’m just here. In this moment. Letting myself feel it.
My heart is full.
And for tonight, that’s enough.