CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The morning after the wedding brought a fresh headache.
I hadn’t overindulged in champagne, but the massive doses of caffeine were now catching up to me.
Fog rolled in from the deep ocean, low and heavy, swallowing the horizon.
Below my window, I could hear the hum of volunteers already stringing the last of the paper lanterns across Main Street.
I watched a cluster of them walk down the alley and turn the corner, arms braced on the sill, trying to decide if I still lived here.
From somewhere across the street came the faint, buzzing chaos of Fallfest—hammering, laughter, a band from the high school already warming up. The Cove never seemed to rest.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand. Seventeen unread messages. I silenced it without checking.
Outside, a gull screamed. Inside, my reflection blinked back at me on my screen—pale, wrinkled pajama shirt, hair in the same low bun from Serena’s wedding.
I’d fallen asleep without washing the liner from my eyelids.
My mascara left twin bruises beneath my eyes, further highlighting the dark circles exposed by the faded concealer.
I pressed a hand to my chest. The ache was softer now, but it hadn’t gone.
After a shower and a fresh set of clothing—the last left unpacked—I felt vaguely like a new woman.
Downstairs, Captain’s Table was a blur of apple cider and clinking utensils and conversation. My mother moved behind the counter, pen marks littering her hands, red-faced as she poured what appeared to be the thousandth coffee of the morning. Her hair was half up, half everywhere.
“Mornin’, sleeping beauty,” she greeted without looking up. “You missed breakfast rush. We ran out of apple cider pancakes, but we’ve still got regular. Hungry?”
I slid onto a stool. “Starving.”
She grinned faintly, then glanced over. Her expression softened. “Rough night?”
I didn’t answer right away. The roar of noise around me pressed into my skull and made it hard to focus. I rubbed my temples and gratefully accepted a glass of ice water from her.
“She looked happy,” I said finally. “Serena.”
“The kind of happy that breaks your heart a little?”
“Yeah.”
She ripped a piece of paper from her pad and hung it in the kitchen window. “You did what you could, darlin’. People choose what they think will hurt least. Sometimes, it’s the wrong thing.”
“I can’t say if she chose wrong,” I murmured. “Just… not what I would’ve.”
We stood there for a while, my mother reaching forward to pat my hand. She looked better today. It could’ve just been because she was in the place she loved. Or maybe, after all these years, we were finally seeing each other.
The bell above the door rang almost inaudibly above the crush of conversation and tinkling ceramic.
“Hey,” Georgie said in my ear, making me nearly jump out of my seat.
She wore the black Bluebell Cove volunteer shirt we designed especially for Fallfest, barely visible beneath a puffy jacket.
I had no idea how she was so clear-eyed and overflowing with energy.
“Ready for Fallfest?” she added with a clap and a little shimmy.
I groaned. “Can we keep the sudden noises to a minimum?”
Georgie laughed, hopping onto the stool beside me. “I take it you didn’t sleep any better last night,” she quipped.
Truthfully, I slept like the dead. It was something else souring my mood—a certain blond-haired, blue-eyed problem that refused to vacate my thoughts.
“Hey there Georgette,” my mother greeted, pouring a coffee for us both from a fresh pot.
I knocked it back, ignoring the burn and the acrid taste. Hopefully the solution to a caffeine hangover was more caffeine.
When my mother left to take an order, I cleared my throat. “I, uh. Need to tell you something.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“I booked a flight.”
Georgie went to rip open a sugar packet and paused mid-air. “A flight?”
“To New York.”
Georgie blinked at me, then dropped her sugar packet, shooting a tiny spray of white granules across the terrazzo. “So you’re gonna ghost your own life again, huh?” Her tone was light and teasing, but I heard the edge.
I’d been dreading this conversation since I made the purchase.
“I’m not ghosting,” I said quietly. “I’m talking to you about it this time around, aren’t I?” I hesitated. “Serena’s married, you’re happy and successful, and I even think my mom’s doing better. It’s time for me to finally start dusting my future off.”
Georgie wiped her palms on her jeans, drawing a long breath before she pulled me into a hug.
“You don’t have to justify leaving—I… I get it now,” she murmured against my shoulder. “But, Margot, you can’t keep running every time something hurts. It’s like Serena said: real life is in the chaos.”
“I know,” I lied, patting her arm.
Georgie sniffed and pulled away, blinking rapidly. “Promise me you’ll come back for Christmas,” she said.
“I promise.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“This time I mean it,” I added with a small laugh.
We sat there for a few minutes, nursing our terrible coffee in silence, simmering in the heartache. I knew it wouldn’t be easy. Deep down, I wanted to drive to the airport without bothering with a conversation—it felt cleaner. She didn’t deserve that, though. None of them did.
After tearing into the pancakes my mother slid in front of me, I asked, “Have you… seen Teddy this morning?”
She waved a hand. “He’s running around taking photos.”
“Taking photos?” I frowned. “He told me that he quit the Travel and Taste assignment.”
Georgie hummed, blatantly eyeing my breakfast. “That doesn’t exactly mean he quit being a photographer, Margot,” she muttered.
I sighed, finishing half my stack and pushing the plate to her.
In true Georgie fashion, she licked her lips and drowned the remains in syrup, polishing it off in record time.
I stared at the dregs in my mug with a scowl.
Knowing her, we’d have a full day ahead of us—and if I planned to leave the next day, part of me wanted one last cappuccino from the Morning Bell.
“Wanna get some real coffee?” I muttered from the corner of my mouth.
Outside, the day had sharpened into a clearer picture of the Bluebell Cove people across the country came to visit. The fog burned off, revealing blue sky, puffs of clouds, and the kind of butter-yellow sunlight that only appeared in paintings.
Booths studded Harbor Street in neat rows, an army of shopkeepers and farmers working to set up their displays.
Kids raced between them, sloshing apple cider every which way as they weaved between legs and hurtled toward the beach.
The band warmed up on a platform at the corner of Main Street, the acoustic guitar echoing off the pastel storefronts.
For a moment, I just stood there and watched as the realization settled on my shoulders. This time really was different—because I’d miss every square inch of this town.
“C’mon,” Georgie murmured and nudged me with her hip. “There’s a line out the door. Gotta get our fix and relieve Rhett of duty.”
We filed in at the end of the line, wrapped across the window. “What do you have him doing this time?” I asked.
“He’s setting up the pottery shop booth for me,” she replied with a grin.
I whistled as the line moved forward. “What did I say about hiring help, Miss Wheeler?”
“Hm, I believe the candidate I was considering just announced her move to New York,” she retorted. “Something about becoming a famous author.”
I rolled my eyes. We stood in the cafe threshold, a few yards away from the perfect cappuccino.
“So, who’s going to play me in the movie adaptation?” Georgie asked with a devious twinkle.
“Really?” I gave her a sidelong glance. “Someone’s recovered from the news fairly quickly.”
She pressed her hand to her heart with a dramatic flourish. “Why, thank you, Margot—it’s called growth.”
Another stretch of silence as we finally entered the cafe.
“Are you sure you want to work the pottery booth today?” she asked. “You could take the day off, soak in your last hours of the Cove.”
“I’d rather keep busy,” I muttered. “Less time to think.”
“I don’t believe that’s how thinking works.”
Before I could respond, a flicker of movement caught my eye. Across the street, a familiar figure crouched near the lamppost, camera pressed to his face. Teddy.
He moved with his usual focus, oblivious to the swirl of people around him—sunlight glinting off his camera lens, hair rumpled from the wind. He snapped a photo, checked the display, then lifted the camera again, angling toward the café.
Toward me.
Our eyes met through the parting crowd.
The breath caught in my throat. He hesitated, camera still raised, and then lowered it.
“Uh-oh,” Georgie murmured, following my gaze. “You gonna take a move from my book and duck behind a table, or should we pretend we don’t see him?”
“I’m fine,” I said quickly, even as my pulse betrayed me.
“Sure,” she said brightly, “You look super fine.”
The line shuffled forward. I ordered a latte and a cappuccino, my hands clammy as I fished for my wallet.
We wove through the cafe—standing room only, some tables repositioned to make room for the customers waiting at the bar.
It was louder than I’d ever heard it. Rachel worked behind the espresso machine with unshakeable focus, gaze narrowed on each movement like she was doing open-heart surgery.
It didn’t even look like she’d broken a sweat when she called out our drinks.
“Hey,” I said over the bar. She glanced up for a split second to nod. “I just wanted to say I’m going back to New York tomorrow. Thanks for fueling my caffeine addiction.”
Rachel grinned, shouting out a pumpkin spice latte before pausing to breathe. “You might be the only person in Bluebell Cove who appreciates it.”
“Hold on!” Georgie interjected behind my shoulder. “If you cut me open, I’d bleed Morning Bell coffee.”
Rachel laughed, reaching to start another order. “What you drink is not coffee, Georgie.”