CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“Don’t,” I said finally, my voice quiet but sharp enough to make him furrow his brows. “Don’t pretend you don’t know.”
“I don’t. That’s the problem.”
“Teddy—”
He cut me off, “No, really. You’ve been ignoring me since yesterday, and I have no idea what I did. If this is about the kiss—”
My head snapped up. “It’s not about the kiss.”
That was a lie. Or at least a half-truth.
He blinked, clearly thrown off balance. “Then what is it about?”
I crossed my arms, the movement slow, deliberate, defensive. “It’s about you. About this—” I gestured between us, then to his camera slung across his chest. “And about the fact that you’re back here under false pretenses.”
“False preten—what?”
I almost admired his ability to look genuinely baffled. “Don’t pretend you’re surprised. I know why you’re really here, Teddy.”
“Enlighten me.”
A faint thread of amusement surfaced in his voice—a smirk threatening the corner of his mouth—and it made my blood boil.
“I know the truth about Travel and Taste,” I said. “About the exposé. The one on small towns and image management. The ‘Heart of America’ thing?”
His face went still. The amusement vanished.
“Oh,” he said softly.
“Oh,” I repeated, bitterness curdling in my throat. “That’s all you have to say?”
“Margot, it’s not what you think.”
“Really? Because it sounds exactly like what I think. You came back here, stirred everything up again, and for what? A story about how sad and simple we all are?”
He rubbed a hand over his jaw, exhaling. “You really think I’d do that to you?”
“I think you’ve made a career out of turning your life into content. Why wouldn’t you do the same to us?”
“That’s not fair,” he said quietly.
“Neither is you stepping on Bluebell Cove to get to your next adventure,” I hissed.
“I didn’t pitch it!” Teddy’s voice rose, not loud but enough to draw the attention of a passing waiter.
He lowered it again. “I didn’t pitch it, Margot.
I got assigned. My editor saw my photos of the Summer’s End Festival from 2018 and thought it’d be a good fit.
I didn’t even know until I got here that they planned to spin it that way. ”
“Spin it what way?”
He hesitated, guilt shadowing his eyes. “The whole ‘resilient Americana’ angle. The quaint tourist town that’s fighting to stay relevant. I guess they wanted someone who could… get in behind-the-scenes.”
My throat tightened. “So you’re saying it was just a coincidence that I happened to live in the town your magazine’s about to dissect?”
It wasn’t fair. I knew that. He never claimed that he came back for me, just that he stumbled across an old flame that still happened to have a spark. But he fact remained: he was on a mission to destroy the town I loved.
The town that, despite all its flaws, was a part of me.
“Margot.” His voice softened. “You think I’d come back here if it wasn’t—”
“Miss Wade!”
I flinched as the wedding coordinator appeared at my elbow—sleek ponytail, clipboard, the faintest whiff of disapproval. She assessed us both through a steely, narrowed gaze, like we were nothing more than misplaced centerpieces.
“There you are. They’re calling the bridal party for the head table.”
“Right.” I stepped back, grateful for the interruption. “I’m coming.”
“Of course you are,” she said crisply, already pivoting toward the far side of the terrace.
When I looked back, Teddy watched me with an expression that twisted my insides—frustration, affection, and something dangerously close to regret.
The reception was halfway to full swing by the time I found my seat. Candlelight flickered against champagne flutes, the bay below glittering with slivers of moonlight until it disappeared in a black horizon. Everything smelled faintly of roses and mingled clouds of cologne and perfume.
The string quartet transitioned to a jazz trio, and Jesse’s parents sat at the end of the second table, flanked by the kind of people who thought summer was a verb.
Serena glowed—a soft gold version of herself in lace and pearls. Beside her, Jesse was the billboard for easy charm, laughing just a bit too loud, his hand always finding her shoulder or the back of her chair.
I tried not to notice Teddy, hovering near the edge of the terrace with his camera, catching candid shots of the picture-perfect smiles and tight-lipped conversations. Every time the flash went off, my pulse jumped.
“Margot!” Serena’s voice cut through my thoughts. “I believe I forgot to tell you how beautiful you look.”
She meant it, too—she always did. Serena had this effortless way of making everyone around her feel like the main character, even when she was the bride-to-be. It was also her way of resetting the stage after an argument, pretending harmony could be restored with a compliment and a smile.
“Thank you,” I said, forcing a smile of my own. “You look—”
“Like I’m in desperate need of a proper meal?” she finished with a grin.
“Exactly that.”
We both laughed, and for a moment, the tension in my chest began to loosen.
Then Jesse leaned in, his tone saccharine. “You’re the hometown writer, right? Serena’s told me all about your book. What was it called again?”
Perhaps he was only acting like we hadn’t met twice already. Or, maybe, he was so far gone that he barely had any grasp on reality anymore. Judging by his drooping eyelids and unfocused stare, I would’ve put my money on the latter.
“The Bluebell Kind,” I replied.
“Right.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Charming title. A memoir, isn’t it?”
“More of a reflection.”
“Hmm.” He sipped his whiskey, then tilted his head. “That’s fascinating. I’ve always admired people who make a living airing their personal laundry in print. Takes guts.”
Serena’s eyes flicked between us, a silent plea.
“It’s not really about me,” I said lightly, fighting to keep my inside thoughts from spilling outside for the second time that evening. “It’s about community. The kind of thing that’s hard to find in a big city.”
“Ah,” Jesse drawled. The derisive smirk on his mouth told me everything he didn’t say.
I clenched my hands under the table.
Across the terrace, the flash went off again. I didn’t have to look to know Teddy’s lens was angled in our direction.
The rest of the meal passed in a blur of polite laughter and golden flutes of sparkling wine, no doubt with a heftier price tag than my entire closet.
Serena lovingly waxed on about the time they met and their first date.
Jesse interrupted to correct minute details.
His parents nodded along in practiced unison.
I picked at my filet mignon, laughing in the right places, my mind a whirl of camera shutters and simmering retorts.
Finally, the clink of a knife against glass silenced both tables. Jesse rose, one hand on Serena’s shoulder, the other holding his glass aloft.
“If I could have everyone’s attention,” he began, his voice carrying with that practiced blend of charm and authority. “I just want to take a moment to thank you all for being here—and to thank this incredible woman for saying yes to a lifetime of my nonsense.”
Polite laughter rippled through the crowd. Serena ducked her head, blushing.
“And,” Jesse continued, “to thank our families. Especially my parents, for setting the standard for what love and partnership can look like when it’s built on shared ambition and values.”
His mother dabbed at her eyes. His father raised a glass.
“And to Serena’s beautiful friends,” Jesse added, turning toward me with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Serena tells me you two are more like family to her—though I suppose not everyone feels the need to stick around.”
A hush fell over the terrace. I felt Georgie’s hand brush my knee under the table—warning or commiseration, I couldn’t be too sure.
“Well, that’s the thing about family.” I smiled tightly. “No matter where you are, you can always come back.” My eyes caught Serena’s across the table, and she pressed a hand to her heart, mouthing, “Thank you.”
He chuckled, oblivious to the exchange. “Of course. Though, between you and me and everyone here, I’d kill for the kind of storybook charm you all grew up with. I mean, the beach, the holiday fairs… It’s practically too perfect. One might say, even hard to believe.”
He lifted his glass toward the terrace edge—and toward Teddy, who dropped his camera as a deep scowl colored his features.
“To authenticity and nostalgia,” he said.
That’s when it hit me, with the weight of a piano dropped on my head: Jesse knew. He knew about the exposé. And maybe, he was even the puppet master.
The wine soured in my throat.
Polite, scattered applause ensued. The jazz trio struck up a cheerful waltz to mask the tension, but it clung to me like static. I felt the heat of a hundred curious faces glued to mine, though each time I scanned the terrace, no one looked my way.
I excused myself under the guise of finding the restroom, brushing past Georgie’s reach as I slipped through the terrace and into the restaurant. The waitstaff murmured as I frantically maneuvered the cocktail tables, pulse hammering as I ran up the steps and out the front door.
Since Oyster & Oak was closed for the private event, the valet booth was blessedly vacant and the night air beneath the porte-cochère seemed as if I’d entered a parallel universe. It filled my lungs, cold and fresh, somehow fuller than the terrace merely a handful of yards away.
I braced my palms against the column, forcing slow, even breaths.
To authenticity and nostalgia.
The words drilled into my skull with stunning accuracy.
Jesse had meant to humiliate me—maybe not outright, but enough to sting.
I couldn’t figure out why, but he appeared to resent me and Georgie and the town that helped raise Serena.
And Teddy— he just stood there, camera positioned right on me, documenting the moment like he was cataloging the precise second the fatal blow was dealt.
Footsteps sounded behind me.
“I figured you’d escape out here,” Teddy murmured quietly.
I didn’t turn. “Leave me alone.”
“Margot.” His voice was slow and measured. “I don’t know what he was talking about.”
“Really? Do you know anything about your own job?” I snapped.
He sighed. “That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it?” I spun around, heat rising in my chest. “Because from where I was sitting, it looked like the two of you coordinated the entire thing.”
He glanced at the camera hanging from his shoulder. “You really think I’d do that?”
“I think you don’t know how to stop turning things into another twist in the road. I think it excites you. And I think you’re too scared to ever think about what’s next.”
He winced. “You don’t know that.”
“No, maybe I just don’t know you after all.”
He took a few tentative steps closer. “I told you earlier, I didn’t pitch the story. I just took the assignment.”
“That’s not better,” I replied miserably.
“I didn’t know what it was going to be about!
” His voice cracked slightly as he dragged both hands through his once-neat hair.
“They told me it was a human interest series—small towns, community rebuilding, all that. I didn’t know they were going to twist it into some trashy hit piece about ‘the lost heart of America.’”
I folded my arms. “You’re really expecting me to believe that?”
“Yes.”
Something about the way he said it—no pleading, no defensiveness, just a set jaw and quiet determination—made my heart flutter.
I stared at him for a long moment, the waves slapping rhythmically against the craggy shore.
“This hurts, Teddy,” I said finally. The words brought unwelcome tears to my eyes. “You came back here, restarted everything I left behind, made me think you—”
He grabbed my hand and didn’t let go. “I did.”
I shook my head, too far gone to see reason. “No. Even if you didn’t know about the story, the fact remains. You didn’t come back for me.”
That decades-old mantra—the one I’d slowly forgotten and shoved into a corner of my mind—unfurled again, weaving through every thought and wedging itself somewhere between hope and logic. After all this time, it came back with a vengeance, echoing truer than it ever had: risk brings heartbreak.
“That’s not true,” Teddy replied, but it was too late.
“It is,” I whispered, my voice cracking over the next words: “You didn’t come back for me.”
The sound of smashing glass split the air, followed by a rising commotion from inside the restaurant. Shouts. The unmistakable buzzing energy of panic.
Teddy jerked upright as I wrenched my hand away. “What was that?”
Before I could answer, the restaurant doors flew open and a wave of heat and smoke burst out. Someone shouted, “Fire!”
Chaos erupted—waiters spilling into the courtyard, guests herded toward the porte-cochère and out onto the sidewalk as alarms blared. Flames flickered through the glass, orange light strobing against the sea-specked windows.
“Must’ve been the candles," Teddy was saying, but I was already walking away.
Surreptitiously wiping the trails on my cheeks, I found a head of copper curls in the crowd, attempting a smile as I grabbed her elbow. Georgie whirled around, chest heaving and eyes wide, as if she was three seconds from filing a missing persons report.
“You’re alive!” she cheered, momentarily throwing her arms around me.
I sniffed and hid it with a cough. “It’s not like the restaurant was hit by a missile—or was it?”
“Very funny. One of Jesse’s groomsmen tripped and knocked an entire row of candles over.” Georgie held me by my shoulders, tilting her head as she searched my face. “What’s wrong?”
I seriously needed to invest in some poker classes.
“I’ll tell you later,” I begrudgingly replied and linked my arm through hers. “What do you say we steal the keys from the valet stand and head home?”
She nodded eagerly.
I only needed to get through two more days.
Two more days, and I could cash in my one-way ticket to New York.