23. Margot
MARGOT
I wake up with my lips still tingling from the kiss.
For a moment, I just lie there, staring at the ceiling, heart fluttering like I’m sixteen again. The memory is sharp, vivid—Cal’s hand on my cheek, the way he looked at me like I was something fragile and important all at once. And then the kiss. Slow, warm, deep. Not rushed. Not unsure.
I exhale and sit up.
When I step into the shower, I try to go about the morning like I always do. Shampoo, rinse, condition. Towel. Moisturizer. Clothes.
But everything feels… different.
Lighter. Like something tight inside me has loosened. But also more dangerous—like I’m walking along the edge of something I don’t fully understand.
Should I have kissed him?
I don’t know. But I don’t regret it. Not for a second.
I’d do it again.
I’m late. I should have been up and out of here two hours ago, but for some reason, I want my pace a little slower today. The inn will take care of itself. I want to take care of me.
Suddenly, I feel completely self-conscious about seeing Cal this morning.
I stand in front of the mirror longer than usual.
Debating whether I should wear the navy blouse or the white one.
Whether I should bother with mascara. My hair won’t stay where I want it to, and I redo the same parting three times.
It’s ridiculous. I’m a grown woman. I’ve managed business crises in high heels and fought off construction permits and PR nightmares without blinking. But today… I’m nervous because I kissed a man I actually care about.
I lean forward, studying my reflection like it might give me answers.
He kissed me. I kissed him. And it meant something.
So now what?
My phone rings, and I jump.
It buzzes against the bed and lights up with a video call from Juniper. I lunge for it and answer, breath still a little uneven.
Her face appears instantly, bright-eyed and dramatic as ever.
“Why are you still inside your room?” she gasps.
I laugh. “Good morning to you, too.”
“I’m serious, M. It’s almost ten. Are you sick?”
“I’m fine. Just… taking it slow today.”
Juniper narrows her eyes at me like she doesn’t believe me, but then smiles. “Good. I’m happy you’re resting. You work like a mule.”
I roll my eyes. “Thanks.”
“Okay, wait,” she says suddenly, straightening up. “Set the phone on your dresser. Step back. I want to see your outfit.”
“Junie…” I groan, already protesting.
“Do it,” she singsongs. “You know the rules.”
I sigh, but I prop the phone up and step back.
Juniper lets out a squeal. “Oh my gosh, you look good. Wait, do you have makeup on? You totally do. Why do you have makeup on this early?!”
I feel heat rush up my neck.
“Oh. My. Gosh,” she gasps. “There’s a man. There’s a man, isn’t there?”
“Juniper,” I groan again, covering my face.
“Margot, you have to tell me everything. I knew Everfield would bring drama. You’ve been glowing lately, and I thought it was just your skincare, but no. It’s a man.”
I’m still blushing when I say, “I’ll tell you. Just… not now. I really have to go.”
She pouts. “Ugh. Fine. But tell Thea to call me, okay? I’ve been trying her all weekend and she’s ignoring me. Or working on some evil tech plan, I don’t know.”
“I will,” I promise, already reaching for the phone.
“Don’t forget. And tell your man I said hi?—”
I hang up mid-laugh, still smiling like an idiot. I head downstairs, only to immediately trip over Waffles, who’s lying dramatically across the third step like he owns the entire staircase.
“Seriously?” I mutter, stepping over him as he gives me a bored yawn.
In the kitchen, the scent of fresh coffee lingers. I’m barely three steps in when Ana looks up from the pantry, eyes wide with excitement.
“Guess what?” she says, practically bouncing.
“What?”
“Cal’s extended his stay!”
I pause just long enough to give a small, knowing smile before turning toward the kettle. “I know.”
Ana gasps. “You knew? And you didn’t tell me?”
“We talked about it last night,” I say, reaching for the Earl Grey tin.
Ana’s brows shoot up, and for a second, I think she’s going to interrogate me. But then she tilts her head, narrowing her eyes. “Are you okay?”
I glance up, stirring honey into my cup. “Yeah. I’m okay.”
She doesn’t press. Just hums and heads to the fridge, pulling out a few bottles of cold sparkling lemonade.
“I’m taking these to Cal and your dad. They’re sweating buckets in the garden,” she says over her shoulder.
My heart skips. I knew he was still here—of course I did—but hearing it out loud sends a flutter through my chest.
He’s really staying for me!
“I’ll take it out,” I say, reaching for the cold bottles in Ana’s arms before I can change my mind.
Ana raises an eyebrow. “Okay…” She hands them over, watching me a second too long, like she knows something I haven’t admitted yet.
I leave my tea forgotten and step out the back door, the drinks clinking against each other as I press them to my chest.
The sun is already warm on my face, and the garden looks freshly alive—green, blooming, bright. Then I see them. Cal and Dad, laughing like they’ve been friends for years, crouched near the hose and a pile of tools like it’s a Saturday morning ritual.
My heart does a little skip. Then a tumble. Then another skip.
Dad sees me first and waves. “Hi, Margot!”
I laugh and wave back, walking toward them with the kind of nerves that make me wish I’d let Ana bring this out instead. I can’t even look at Cal. Not yet. Not with the memory of last night still blooming on my lips.
They stand when I get close, dusting off their hands like they’re getting ready for something important. I hand them the bottles—one to Dad, the other to Cal.
“Thanks,” Cal says, and when I finally glance at him, he’s already looking at me. He winks.
I feel my face go hot—cheeks, ears, neck, everything. I probably look like a sunburnt tomato. Great.
They both open their drinks and take long gulps, and I just stand there, trying to remember how to breathe like a normal person.
Cal lowers his bottle, his eyes still on me. “You look beautiful, Margot.”
I suck in a breath. It hits me low in the stomach, like I wasn’t bracing for it—because I wasn’t.
“Thank you,” I manage, my voice way too soft. And then, like a total coward, I turn away, “I-I should get back inside.”
I don’t wait for a reply. I just turn and walk—fast—trying not to trip over my own feet, trying not to grin like an idiot, trying not to think about how stupidly happy one compliment from him makes me.
Geez. What is happening to me?
Through the rest of the day, Cal and I don’t speak to each other.
Not properly, at least. I’m avoiding him—and not in a subtle way, either.
Every time he enters a room, I find a reason to leave it.
I keep myself busy, too busy, like that’ll stop me from thinking about his compliment. Or his wink. Or that kiss.
He’s always hovering nearby, though. Not in an annoying way—just close. Like he’s waiting for the moment I stop running.
But I can’t talk to him. Not yet. Not when I feel like a little schoolgirl with a crush, flushed and awkward and far too aware of the way he looks at me.
I keep stealing glances, though. Watching him move through the inn like he belongs here. And for the first time… I don’t push the thought away. The idea of him here, in this space, in my space—it doesn’t scare me. It doesn’t tighten my chest the way permanence usually does.
And that’s when it hits me.
Since Cal arrived, I haven’t felt overwhelmed. Not once. I haven’t snapped at anyone. Haven’t curled up in my room, paralyzed by the pressure of keeping everything running. I haven’t cried in the pantry once.
Because Cal doesn’t just see what needs to be done—he does it. He fixes things. He picks up my tasks before I even think to ask. It’s like he’s made it his responsibility to take care of the inn.
To take care of me.
And I don’t know when that started.
But now that I’ve seen it—I can’t unsee it.
It almost brings tears to my eyes. The realization sits heavy and warm in my chest—how quietly, steadily, Cal has made himself a part of this place. A part of me. I blink fast, willing the emotion away, and escape into the pantry to sort through some tea tins that absolutely don’t need sorting.
The door creaks open behind me, and I glance up, assuming it’s Ana.
But it’s not.
It’s Cal.
I freeze like I’ve just been struck by lightning. My fingers go still around a tin of chamomile.
He stands in the doorway, arms folded, that maddeningly calm smile on his face. “Miss Hartwell,” he says, voice low and teasing. “Have you been avoiding me?”
“What? No.” The lie jumps out too quickly, and it sounds as fake as it is.
He laughs softly, walks in like he’s got every right to be here—which, annoyingly, he kind of does—and kisses my cheek. Just a brush of lips, light but warm, and my knees nearly buckle.
“What are you doing in here?” he asks, looking around like he doesn’t believe me for a second.
I grab a half-empty jar of dried lavender and hold it up like it’s evidence. “Inventory,” I say. “We were running low on… on peppermint last week, and I thought I should double check…”
He raises an eyebrow. “Mhm. Very urgent peppermint crisis.”
I roll my eyes, but I can’t stop the smile tugging at my lips. I’m in trouble. And I know it.
Cal watches me for a beat, then says quietly, “I want us to spend some time together. Just talk. No distractions. No interruptions.”
My heart skips. Just talk. But I nod. “Okay.”
He smiles. “So when are you free for this very serious conversation?”
I pretend to think. “Tonight,” I say. “After the inn goes to sleep.”
He grins. “I’ll be there.”
Then he turns to the shelves. “How about I help you with the peppermint crisis?”
I laugh, but I don’t argue. We work side by side, our shoulders bumping sometimes, our hands brushing once—twice—and by the third time, we both stop.
The air thickens.
His fingers graze mine again, lingering. My breath catches, and for a moment, I think—I know—he wants to kiss me. And I want to let him.
But I pull back.
Too fast.
Too flustered.
“I’m not good at… whatever this is,” I whisper, eyes down, heart pounding like I’ve confessed something shameful.
He doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t tease.
Instead, he says softly, “I’m not asking for perfect, Margot. I just want real.”
That stops me cold.
“And I don’t want anything you don’t want,” he says. “We’ll go at your pace. You take the lead.”
He doesn’t push after that and that’s the thing I find interesting about Cal. There are times I see how clearly he wants me, but he just lets me set the pace. My walls are slowly coming down, and it’s strange—and exhilarating—that the universe sent me the type of man I need exactly when I need him.