25. Margot
MARGOT
T he doctor’s office smells like antiseptic and old magazines. I sit beside Cal, heart still racing, waiting for the worst.
But the worst doesn’t come.
The doctor smiles gently, flipping Aunt Edie’s chart closed. “It’s nothing alarming, Miss Hartwell. Her vitals are stable. She’s just severely fatigued and slightly dehydrated. Given her age and her cardiac history, her body is telling her it needs more rest.”
I finally breathe.
“She’ll be discharged later this evening. Just make sure she takes it slow for the next few days—light activity, plenty of fluids, regular meals. No stress.”
I nod. Too many times.
When we step out of the office, I lean against the wall, my body sagging with the weight of everything I’d been holding in.
Cal wraps his arms around me without hesitation. Tight. Warm. Steady. Like he’s holding the world still for just a second.
I don’t cry. But I feel it—all of it.
“Thank you, Cal.”
“Oh, please don’t,” he says softly. “I wanted to be here.”
“Thank you,” I say again, my voice barely audible. “Really. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you weren’t there.”
He brushes a knuckle down my arm. “You’d have handled it. But I’m glad I was there.”
“My parents and sisters are on their way,” I say after a beat. “You don’t have to wait around here. You should go back to the inn, rest. I’ll stay with her until she’s discharged.”
He hesitates. “Are you sure? I don’t mind staying.”
“I know.” I smile. “But it’s okay. Really.”
He nods slowly, then leans in and presses a soft kiss to my forehead. “I’ll see you later.”
And just like that, he’s gone.
I turn and head back into Aunt Edie’s room, heart still rattled—but grateful. So, so grateful.
When I walk into Aunt Edie’s hospital room, I expect her to still be asleep. Instead, she’s sitting up, propped against a few too-soft pillows, humming along to a song drifting from the little radio on the windowsill.
“Margot,” she says, smiling when she sees me. “Come listen to this. This used to be my absolute favorite. I loved it so much—every word, every chord.”
She sways gently, off-beat and utterly content.
I try to smile, but I must not do a good job of it because she rolls her eyes.
“Oh, come on,” she says, waving a hand. “I’m fine. Don’t look at me like I’m halfway gone.”
“You scared us,” I say, stepping closer. “You scared me.”
Her eyes soften. “I didn’t mean to.”
“The doctor said you need to rest more. Promise me you’ll actually rest this time.”
She sighs dramatically. “Fine. I promise.”
Before I can say anything else, the door swings open and chaos floods the room—Hazel, Thea, Mom, and Dad all spilling in at once with bags, flowers, and overlapping voices.
“There she is?—”
“Aunt Edie, are you okay?—”
“Move, I brought her favorite tea?—”
“She looks fine, let her breathe?—”
Aunt Edie lifts both hands like a queen greeting her court. “Well, I did say I missed the circus.”
And for the first time all day, I laugh.
As my family crowds around Aunt Edie—offering her water and fluffing her pillows—I step back, quietly inching toward the window.
I should be laughing with them. I should be relieved, fully and openly. But all I can think about is Cal.
From the moment Glen came rushing in—panicked and out of breath—Cal was there.
He was the first one to move, the one who helped carry Aunt Edie down the stairs, who drove us to the hospital like his life depended on it.
He signed the forms. He opened the doors.
He smiled at me like everything was going to be okay, and somehow, I believed him.
He told me not to call my parents right away. Said the doctors had her stabilized, and it would only cause more panic. And he was right.
And when the adrenaline wore off and the waiting began, he stayed. All night. Eyes wide open, sitting beside me, telling ridiculous stories to keep me awake, to keep me sane.
Not once did I feel alone.
Now, looking out the window, I realize my feelings for him have grown. He’s not just a guest anymore. He’s not even just a friend.
He’s become something more. Something steady and safe and good. I don’t know what that means yet—but I’m willing to plunge in. I’m no longer afraid.
Throughout the day, we make sure Aunt Edie gets exactly what the doctor ordered: rest, tea, more rest, and absolutely no excitement.
She rolls her eyes at the fussing, of course—tells Hazel to stop plumping the pillows like she’s punching them, tells Thea to stop asking if she needs anything every five minutes, tells me to go stretch my legs and stop hovering.
But underneath all her protests, I can tell she loves being loved this way.
By evening, she’s back to her usual self—bossing the nurses around, making jokes about hospital food, and flirting shamelessly with the young male orderly who wheels her to the car.
We take her home in quiet relief, our little family exhaling all at once.
By the time we pull into the gravel driveway of the inn, twilight has settled in like a soft blanket.
Aunt Edie is dozing in the backseat, her head tipped slightly, a peaceful look on her face.
I don’t want to wake her, but Ana opens the front door before we’ve even parked and comes hurrying out, her face lit up.
“Surprise delivery came in while you were gone!” she says as we start helping Aunt Edie out of the car. “New linens—like, really nice ones. Two full crates of cleaning supplies. And wait till you see the kitchen stock—truffle oil, saffron, imported pasta… I thought I was dreaming.”
Aunt Edie blinks, confused. “Did someone make a mistake? I didn’t order anything.”
“That’s what I thought,” Ana says. “But everything had the inn’s name on it, labeled and delivered perfectly. I even asked the guy twice if he had the wrong address. He said, ‘Key & Kettle, right?’ Then gave me this.”
She hands me an envelope. Inside is a printed invoice, simple and neat. Everything Ana described is listed—each item high-end, nothing frivolous, just… thoughtful. Useful. Expensive.
I scan the bottom, expecting to see a business name, a sender, something.
Nothing. No company. No person. No return address.
Just a single, typed line where the name should be:
Paid in full.
My stomach tightens. I glance at Aunt Edie, who’s now busy scolding Hazel for carrying her too quickly.
Ana looks pleased. Aunt Edie looks grateful.
But I’m suspicious. And I have a sinking feeling I know exactly who sent it.
I tuck the invoice into my back pocket, still thinking about that single, haunting line— Paid in full.
“Where’s Cal?” I ask Ana quietly as we step inside.
She glances around the empty common room and shrugs. “He said he needed a walk. Left maybe twenty minutes ago. Hasn’t come back yet.”
Of course he did.
We help Aunt Edie up the stairs slowly, all of us hovering as if she might shatter at any moment. She grumbles the entire way, saying we’re fussing too much, but the smile she gives us when we finally settle her into bed is warm and tired and grateful.
“I just need some sleep,” she says. “Go on, I’m fine.”
We file out of her room like a little parade of reluctant children, closing the door behind us.
Back downstairs, I follow the others into the kitchen. Everyone’s buzzing about the new deliveries like it’s Christmas morning.
Hazel unfolds the new linen samples across the counter like they’re couture gowns. “Feel this one. Is this Egyptian cotton? Aunt Edie might hoard this.”
“Whoever sent it has excellent taste,” Mom says, eyeing the gourmet coffee blend Ana set on the table. “And deep pockets. My money’s on an anonymous benefactor with a heart of gold and a crush on your aunt.”
Dad snorts. “Edie doesn’t have secret admirers. Or wait, does she?”
Thea holds up a pack of eco-friendly cleaning spray like it’s the Holy Grail. “Maybe it’s from the cleaning gods. A thank-you for keeping the Kettle running.”
Laughter rings out. Everyone throws out more wild guesses—an old guest, a secret investor, the Honeysetts.
But I’m barely listening.
I lean back against the counter, hands wrapped around a mug I don’t remember filling, and I keep going back to one person.
Cal.
It feels like him. The timing. The anonymity. The just-enough thoughtfulness to not take credit, but still make life easier.
But if it is him, why wouldn’t he say anything?
I don’t want to jump to conclusions. I’ve made that mistake before—trusting too fast, assuming too much. But something in my gut says this has his quiet fingerprints all over it.
And if I’m right… I don’t know how to feel.
Grateful? Yes. Touched? Definitely.
But also—conflicted. I don’t want him taking on more than I allow. Finances are a huge deal, and in a relationship that is fairly new like ours, we really have to be careful not to cross lines.
I’m restless throughout the day, especially since I don’t see Cal at all. Ana did say he had gotten back from his walk and hung around a little while for Kettle Hour. I was pretty busy with my mom making sure Aunt Edie was comfortable.
Now, it’s ten p.m. and time for me to go to bed. But instead of me taking the path to my room, I veer down the hallway and stop in front of Cal’s. I hesitate only for a second before I lift my hand and knock.
His door opens almost instantly. He’s barefoot, hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and there’s that easy smile—the one that makes my breath catch.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hi.”
“I just got back. Went to check on Aunt Edie. She’s… vibrant, as always. Told me I ask too many questions for someone who didn’t go to med school. I’m just glad she’s okay.”
I laugh softly. “Sounds like her.”
He tilts his head. “You okay?”
I nod. “Yeah. I just… wanted to say thank you. For everything. For being there. For helping. I don’t know how I would’ve managed without you.”
“It’s my pleasure.”
A beat passes. Then another.
“Can I come in?” I ask.
He doesn’t hesitate this time. He just steps aside and gestures me in. “Always.”
As soon as I’m inside, I turn to face him, folding my arms across my chest. “Was it you?” I ask.
His brow furrows. “What?”
“The delivery. The linens, the kitchen supplies, the whole mystery care package.”
“No.” He turns away.
“Cal? Please.”
He hesitates—just a flicker—but I see it. That moment of quiet calculation. Then he looks away, sighs, and runs a hand through his hair.
“Okay,” he says. “Yeah. It was me.”
My chest tightens. “Cal, I don’t—this is—why?”
“Margot…” He hesitates, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not a big deal, okay? I wasn’t trying to make a statement or… buy your gratitude or whatever. I just saw how stretched you were and thought—it’s nothing, Margot. Just a gesture. Not a rescue mission.”
I study him. His expression is earnest, open. And part of me wants to melt into that kindness. But another part—the part that’s been holding everything together with duct tape and pure willpower—starts to fray.
“You can’t just fix things with money,” I say, quieter now.
He flinches slightly, not offended—more like I’ve grazed something vulnerable.
“I wasn’t trying to fix anything,” he says. “I just wanted to make your day easier. That’s it.”
I swallow, trying to make sense of the swirl in my chest. “I get that. And I appreciate it, I do. But I need honesty, Cal. More than I need help.”
Silence stretches between us, thick and buzzing.
His jaw tightens. He nods once, slowly. I feel terrible that we’re having this conversation.
I should say thank you and move on, but for some reason, I can’t.
I’m aware that there’s a lot he’s yet to tell me, and I’m going out on a limb to trust this relationship and put myself out there.
I need honesty, or else this isn’t going to work.
“I don’t want to keep you up.” I manage a smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Margot, I?—”
“Goodnight, Cal.”