27. Margot
MARGOT
I ’m halfway through replying to an email about a honeymoon suite later that morning when my phone rings. It’s Mia.
I pick up immediately. “Hey, you.”
She skips the pleasantries. “Okay, tell me everything. How was the party? And more importantly, how’s Mr. Cal Reid?”
I laugh. A lot has happened since the call, and I’ve been taking her advice, which has been working great. Slow and steady. I know there are still a lot of things Cal has to tell me, but I’ll give him some time. He already promised he’ll share more; all I have to do is wait.
“The party went well.” My lips stretch in a smile. “I took your advice and I’m giving him time to open up to me.”
“But…”
I laugh. “He said he likes me.”
Mia squeals on the other end. “Shut. Up. He said he likes you? Like actually said it?”
I laugh, cheeks heating even though no one can see me. “Yes. He said he wants to explore a relationship, and that’s why he’s extending his stay.”
“Oh my gosh, Margot. This is major. Like a Hallmark-movie-level major.”
“I know.” I lean back in my chair, smiling into the phone.
Mia sobers a little. “Okay but… are you still worried? About who he really is?”
I pause. “A little. But I’m giving him time. I do feel like he’s opening up more and more. He told me what he does, where he’s from… and honestly, he knows as much about me as I know about him.”
“So you’re choosing to trust him?”
“I’m choosing to see where this goes,” I say softly. “We’ll figure out the rest together.”
Mia lets out a dreamy sigh. “I hope this works out. I hope he’s your person. I’m rooting for your happy ending so hard right now.”
I smile again. “Me too.”
We talk for a few minutes more—mostly Mia swooning and gasping and telling me that if Cal messes this up, she’s flying down to Everfield herself—and then we hang up with promises to talk again soon.
I set my phone down and get back to work, burying myself in emails, booking confirmations, and a call with the linen service about our next delivery window.
The hours blur. Guests come and go. Delia pops in to drop off fresh flowers for the rooms. Maya sends me a digital list of supplies we’re running low on.
Through it all, Cal lingers at the edge of my thoughts like a song stuck on loop. By late afternoon, I’m tempted—so tempted—to go find him. Just to talk. To check in. To see that half-crooked smile again.
But I’m at work, and work means focus. Professionalism. Distance. He’s still a guest at the inn, no matter how personal things feel now.
So I stay in the office, even as my fingers pause on the keyboard and my mind drifts, wondering where he is. Ana pops her head into the office just as I’m about to start on a new guest welcome packet.
“Hey, Margot—do you know where the table fans are? One of the guests in Room 3 asked for one.”
I blink. “Oh, yeah. They’re in the basement. Or… they should be.” I wince.
Ana raises a brow. “The basement?”
“Yes.” I groan a little as I stand. “I’ve been meaning to reorganize it for weeks. Months, really. But I keep putting it off.”
She smiles sympathetically. “You want me to help?”
“No, no—it’s fine.” I wave her off. “I’ll go dig around. Maybe it’ll finally force me to sort through the mess.”
She nods and ducks out.
With a sigh, I head down the back staircase, flipping on the light that leads to the basement.
The air gets cooler as I descend, and I brace myself for the chaos that awaits below.
I already know what I’m walking into—half-open boxes, old decor from holiday seasons past, and random things we’ve shoved down here to deal with later.
Later has arrived.
I spend the afternoon knee-deep in dust and forgotten boxes, sleeves rolled up, hair pulled back, legs aching from crouching and lifting.
It’s mundane, sure—sorting through old extension cords, faded brochures, broken picture frames—but it’s also strangely grounding.
There’s something comforting about bringing order to this tucked-away corner of the inn.
Like I’m taking care of more than just a building.
Like I’m tending to the bones of something that’s always held us together.
Just as I’m about to call it quits, I tug at a stack of musty linens, and something thuds to the floor behind them. A thick, cloth-bound album. I brush the dust off the cover and open it carefully.
Inside: black-and-white photographs of the Key he simply kisses my forehead and turns our attention back to the album. Hope blossoms in my chest, warm and sweet. A part of me feels ready to take that leap, and the longer this moment lingers, the stronger it gets. It’ll be worth it. I know it.