26. Cal
CAL
A n hour after Margot leaves, I’m still wide awake. Sleep won’t come—too much on my mind, too many words I can’t unsay. I pace my room for a while, then give up entirely and head downstairs.
The inn is quiet, blanketed in the kind of stillness you only get in small towns after midnight. I’m almost to the front room when a faint clink draws me toward the kitchen.
When I push the door open, I nearly jump.
“Aunt Edie?”
She freezes mid-pour, caught like a teenager sneaking out. A teabag dangles from her spoon. “Shhh,” she says, one finger pressed dramatically to her lips. “Don’t tell anyone. I’m not supposed to be up.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “You’re definitely not supposed to be up.”
“And yet…” She waves a hand over the kettle like a magician. “Here I am.”
“You want me to carry you back to bed or call Margot to do it?” I tease, crossing my arms.
She narrows her eyes. “Blackmail? You’re threatening a frail old woman?”
“You are neither frail nor old,” I say, walking in. “But yes. I am absolutely threatening you. I’m two seconds away from screaming.”
She smirks and reaches into the cabinet. “Then I guess I’ll have to bribe you.”
She pulls out a second mug.
“I’m listening.”
“Chamomile. No caffeine. No sugar. It’s rare. You’ll never find this on modern shelves.”
I grin. “Deal.”
We sit in silence for a moment, the two of us nursing our mugs like some unspoken ritual. The kettle hisses quietly behind us. The clock ticks loud on the wall.
“You scared her,” I say after a beat. “Margot.”
She nods slowly. “I scared myself, too.”
I glance at her, studying her face. There’s still color in her cheeks, a stubborn light in her eyes, but I don’t miss the fatigue.
“You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m not dead,” she says, dry as ever. “So yes. I’m okay.”
I chuckle, then turn serious. “I just don’t want her to go through that again. Any of it. You mean too much to her.”
Edie watches me for a long second. “And what about you?”
“What about me?”
“Does she mean too much to you?”
That lands harder than it should. I look away.
She hums, like she knows exactly what I’m not saying. Then sips her tea.
“This place has seen everything,” she says quietly. “Floods, recessions, heartbreak, joy. I’ve watched it bend and break and come back stronger every time.”
I nod, listening.
“But people?” Her voice softens. “People break when they carry too much alone.”
That lands. Right in the gut. I glance at her again, but she’s already looking at her mug, swirling the last inch of tea like it holds the answers.
“She’s been carrying a lot,” I say.
“Yes,” Aunt Edie murmurs. “Since she was a girl.”
I swallow. “I don’t want to add to it.”
“Then don’t.” She looks at me fully now. “Stay. Show up. Let her lean. That girl’s been the glue holding this whole place together, even when it nearly broke her. She deserves people who stay.”
My chest tightens. “I’m trying.”
“Good.” She pushes her mug aside. “Because she’s worth it.”
We don’t say much after that. Eventually, I help her up and walk her back to her room, both of us pretending we’re not sneaking.
“Thank you for the items you got,” she says kindly.
“How do you know?—?”
“Come on. I wasn’t born yesterday.” She refuses to say anything after.
When I finally return to my room, I lie down quietly, but sleep doesn’t come.
I stare up at the ceiling. At the shadows on the walls. At the faint cracks in the plaster above the window.
Margot is more than worth it. She’s more worthy of this life than me. I’ve known that from the beginning. But what I’ve never been sure of is whether I belong in it.
In this town. This family. In the kind of love that asks for everything. I replay Edie’s voice in my head: People break when they carry too much alone.
They see it. Even when I try to hide it, they see it.
This wall I keep up. The hesitation. The fear.
The truth is I’ve spent most of my adult life building an empire and here I am—at the edge of something more real, something permanent—and I’ve been too scared to leap.
But Margot leapt. Every day. With her hands full and her heart open. She’s made room for me in this life without asking for anything in return.
And suddenly I realize—I want to stay. Not in passing. Not as a visitor. I want the early mornings and the family dinners. I want the hard conversations and the long nights. I want to explore things with her and see how real this can get.
I don’t know if I deserve her, but I’m going to try.
It’s barely six when I knock on her door.
I’m not even sure she’ll answer, but I know I have to try. I owe her that. Honesty. No more surprises. No more wondering.
The door opens with a creak, and Margot appears, hair tousled, sleep still clinging to her eyes.
“Cal?” she frowns. “What are you doing here?”
“Honesty,” I say, standing my ground. “From now on. No more surprises like that.”
She stares at me for a beat, then—without a word—steps aside and lets me in.
The room smells like lavender and fresh sheets. Morning light filters in through the window, soft and golden. She folds her arms across her chest as I turn to face her.
“Are you ready to tell me everything?” she asks.
My stomach tightens. I know what she means. She’s not just asking about yesterday. She’s asking about me—the parts I’ve kept tucked away. The parts I still haven’t named out loud.
“What do you want to know?” I ask, even though I already do.
She raises an eyebrow. “Why do you look like you’re on death row?”
I exhale a shaky laugh.
She softens, just a little. “Cal… what do I need to know? I don’t like secrets. You already know that.”
“I know.” I take a step closer, then another. I reach for her hands, and this time, she doesn’t pull away. “I’m not lying to you, Margot. Everything I’ve said about myself is true.”
“So you’re a tech businessman.”
“Yes. I came here from L.A. I used to run a company, but I left because I was overwhelmed and needed peace. That’s all.”
Her gaze is sharp, searching. “You’re leaving some things out.”
I shake my head. “Not on purpose. There’s just… a lot I haven’t said yet.”
She nods, almost to herself. “There’s a lot we still have to know about each other.”
“That’s why I extended my stay,” I say. “We have time.”
A long pause stretches between us.
Margot sighs, dragging a hand down her face. “Fine. I’m still mad at you, though.”
I grin. “That means you still care.”
She rolls her eyes. “Unfortunately.”
“Margot,” I say softly.
She lifts her gaze to mine, and for a second, we just breathe. Something shifts in the space between us—something tender and electric.
I lean in slowly, giving her room to pull away.
She doesn’t.
Her eyes flutter shut just as mine do, and then we kiss—soft, unhurried, the kind that sinks into your bones. Her lips are warm, familiar now, and when she leans into me, I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.
It’s our second kiss.
And somehow, it feels even more intimate than the first.
Like we’re both choosing it.
When we finally part, her forehead rests lightly against mine, but only for a moment. Then she steps back, the spell broken just enough to remind us where we are.
She nudges me gently toward the door. “Now go. I have a long day.”
I grin, still tasting her on my lips, still feeling the warmth of her breath against my skin.
“Yes, ma’am,” I say, backing out of the room with my hands raised in surrender.
She rolls her eyes, but I catch the small smile tugging at her mouth before she closes the door.
And I leave, smiling too.
As I step out of Margot’s room, the door clicking shut behind me, I nearly walk straight into Thea.
We both freeze.
She blinks up at me, wide-eyed, hair a little tousled like she just woke up. I feel like a kid caught sneaking out.
“Hi, Thea,” I say, voice a little too bright, too casual.
She squints. “Hi. Thanks again for the printer.”
I scratch the back of my neck. “No biggie.”
There’s an awkward beat.
She nods toward the door behind me. “Is Margot in?”
“Yeah. She’s—yeah, she’s in.”
I’m already halfway turned to escape when she speaks again.
“Your last name’s Reid, right?”
I stop, glance back at her. “Yeah. Cal Reid.”
She nods slowly. “Okay.”
Then she gives a small wave. Not suspicious. Not trusting either. Just… processing.
I wave back and walk off, heart pounding a little harder than I’d like.
I don’t like this. I don’t like it at all.