Chapter Five
“Are you going to tell me who that was?”
Margot sat across from me, ankles primly crossed as though she wasn’t sunken into the corner couch.
Shifting in the wingback armchair, I swirled my still-full drink and fixated on the sound of sloshing ice.
I hadn’t wanted to end up here. It felt strange to once again occupy this little slice of the Morning Bell—this time, missing three of the people who made it special.
So much had changed since we last found each other here. She left first—followed quickly by Teddy, then Serena, then Wes. It wasn’t long before I was sitting alone in a corner meant for five, wondering when they had all decided to move on without me.
I cleared my throat. Her curious stare was unrelenting. “His name is Rhett.” My voice sounded strained. “He’s fixing up Marigold’s.”
“Fixing up Marigold’s,” Margot echoed, the corner of her maroon lips tilting up a fraction. She lifted her tiny cup of espresso, finished it off, and placed it on the coffee table between us. “He’s cute, you know. Rhett.”
“He lives on the other side of the country,” I quipped immediately.
Taking a long drink of my latte, I tried to focus on the condensation against my palm and not the warmth spreading across my face. Of course, he was objectively attractive. Anyone could see that.
Margot tilted her head with an amused smile. “You don’t usually shut down like that unless you care. Remember when you swore you hated Wes’s tutor? What was his name—Danny? You swore he was pretentious. Then I caught you doodling ‘Mrs. Danny Something’ on your notebook in French class.”
Heat rose to my ears. “That was different. I was sixteen.”
“And how are you different now?” she asked slyly.
I pressed my lips together, unwilling to take the bait.
“And to be clear, I don’t like him,” I continued, “He’s only here to sell his uncle’s business—he’s just going to… leave.” The word sounded strangled.
“Yeah, life exists outside of Bluebell Cove,” Margot returned flatly.
Our eyes met. I struggled to keep the frown I felt from appearing on my face.
Maybe someone smarter could have seen the signs. Each of them were brilliant in their own right—Margot the leader, Wes the daredevil, Serena the visionary, and Teddy the beating heart. I was always dragging behind. A little too needy, a little too stubborn, and loyal to a fault.
I loved Bluebell Cove. I just wished that the people I loved did too.
“What brings you home?” I said instead, eager for a subject change.
Margot’s mouth opened and closed. She crossed her legs and sank into the couch, studying her cuticles with great interest. “My mom’s been on me about visiting her for so long.
You know Ruth. I figured I might as well come before all the holiday madness begins.
” With a flick of her hand, she whipped her ponytail over her shoulder and glanced up again.
I knew she was lying. Of all her impressive talents, Margot consistently failed at bluffing. But I knew that—even if I pointed it out—she probably wouldn’t admit anything. Ever since we were eighteen, the concept of her own feelings might as well have been a ghost story to tell around the campfire.
So, I smiled and took another sip of my drink. “How long are you in town?”
“Well, I might as well stay for the big end-of-summer party.” Margot drummed a set of perfect nails on her knee. Her mouth lifted into a demure grin. “Besides, I heard someone I know is in charge of the whole thing this year.”
Exhaling, I relaxed into the chair, the frost between us steadily melting. I decided then that she didn’t have to be honest about why she was back in Bluebell Cove. It felt even more like home with her here. I’d relish the tiny dose of it while I could.
“Maybe I can recruit your help,” I replied, “I have a stack of napkins that feels more like a collection of ransom notes than anything else.”
Margot lifted a dark eyebrow. “I don’t know what that means, but I’m avoiding my mom until she realizes she forgot to pick me up. Your place?” She stood without waiting for a response, plucking her impossibly tiny purse from the couch and clacking toward the door.
I barely glanced at my phone as I tapped out a message to Rhett, letting him know I was closing early. He had his own spare key anyway—and honestly, I had no desire to see him. Whether it was guilt over snapping at him or frustration with his robotic outlook on life, I couldn’t say.
Either way, a little distance couldn’t hurt. We’d be seeing plenty of each other soon enough.
By the time we arrived at my side of Maple Street, Margot had finished one of her many stories about being the youngest acquisition editor at her publishing house.
It sounded like everything she wanted it to be—fast-paced, unrelenting, and exactly what she was built to do.
But when she talked about New York, its grey winters and the non-stop crush of crowds, a far-off look shined in her eyes that piqued my curiosity.
I had to keep reminding myself that pushing for more would be a bad idea. I’d simply take what I was given.
“Wow,” she murmured when we stopped outside the house. “It’s…” Her lips pursed as her gaze drifted from the sparse roses to the drooping window boxes. “Exactly how I remembered it.”
Opening the gate with my hip, I motioned her inside. “Don’t lie,” I joked, but it came out harsher than intended.
She didn’t seem to notice as she eyed the pile of newspapers on the porch. The stairs creaked as I hurried up and unlocked the door.
“I did everything that she said. The flowers just… don’t like me,” I mumbled, shouldering it open.
Margot was already inside when I remembered the giant ball of fur that was more wrecking ball than dog.
Door shut, I grimaced and sent her a quick apology as Easton barreled through the house and tossed his slobber-soaked ball at Margot’s leg.
It landed with a splat, sticking for a second before rolling to the floor in a trail of slime.
I groaned. “Hopefully that wasn’t expensive.”
She stared down at his panting face, frozen, and for a moment I feared that we might have broken her. Then, she laughed. Throaty at first—as if it had been a while—she grew breathless as she bent over and took Easton’s face in her hands.
“Is this the same puppy you got as a graduation present?”
I watched her, dumbfounded, as she kicked off her heels and plunked onto the floor of my foyer. Easton practically flopped over into her lap.
“Er… yes. Easton,” I replied, an unavoidable smile lifting my lips as his tongue dangled out the side of his mouth.
Margot scratched behind his ears with surprising tenderness. “I can’t believe he’s so big. He was a menace even at twelve pounds.”
“He’s mellowed out,” I fibbed.
Easton promptly rolled onto his back, smacking the floor in between her knees with a heavy thud. Margot laughed again, louder this time, and shook her head.
“You always pick the misfits.”
Something about the way she said it made my chest ache. I busied myself kicking off my own shoes, muttering, “Says the girl who took the tiniest clown fish at the county fair home.”
“Mr. Darcy lived for six years,” she countered proudly.
Her gaze wandered as Easton settled down.
She stood and drifted toward the living room, pausing at the photographs tacked to the wall.
One was crooked—a sun-faded snapshot of us five squeezed onto the Morning Bell couch, arms linked, mugs raised.
Wes’s hair was still in springy coils like he used to keep it, dark spirals catching the camera flash, Serena looked as sophisticated as ever, and Teddy’s smile could have powered the whole town.
Margot’s hand hovered over the photo, not quite touching. “You kept this up,” she said softly.
“Why wouldn’t I?” My voice cracked more than I wanted it to.
Margot didn’t answer, instead studying the image like it was the first time she’d ever seen it. Then she turned away briskly, heading into the kitchen without another pause.
“You’ve barely changed anything,” she observed, opening a cupboard. “Same mugs. Same lace curtains. Same smell. You really never get sick of this place?”
“I don’t know how I could get sick of home,” I said.
She harumphed, noncommittal, and pulled down two mismatched mugs. “Tea?”
“Sure…” I replied quietly and leaned against the doorway, watching her fuss over my kettle and waiting for the moment she realized it’s long been broken.
For a split second, the years between us felt like they’d dissolved, leaving only the familiar cadence of Margot in my kitchen, making herself at home.
But it was all a mirage. There were far too many things left unsaid and too many gaps from years apart that could never be filled.
As much as I wanted to latch onto this familiar feeling, I couldn’t kid myself. She was only going to leave again.
They all did.
Easton whined, nudging my knee with his nose. I scratched his head absently, gaze drifting back to the photo. My heart ached with both loss and something fragile—something new that I didn’t have words for yet.
Margot handed me a mug of what looked like room-temperature water. “You’ve got that faraway look,” she noted lightly.
I shook my head and forced a laugh. “Just thinking about the festival. And the napkins.”
She sat at the kitchen table, took a sip, and nearly spat it out. “Oh, that’s terrible.” Margot scowled and peered into the mug like it had offended her. “It’s cold. And… dusty?”
“I’m not much for tea.” I shrugged and placed my mug down, venturing to the fridge.
“That was my grandmother’s thing. Actually, I don’t know how old those tea bags are—you probably shouldn’t drink any more of that.
” I shut the fridge with a wince—the shelves were mostly empty anyway—and swiped both mugs from the table.
Margot’s chair squeaked and wobbled underneath her as she shifted. “Oh. I’m… sorry. I could have sworn…”
“It’s fine,” I cut in as I threw out the tea bags and washed our mugs.
It’s not like I expected her to remember everything. She probably had countless friends in New York with their own idiosyncrasies—seven years was a long time to keep track of her childhood best friend’s drink preferences.
Wordlessly, I filled a small pot of water and placed it on the stovetop. When I turned, Margot was watching me, her lips having stretched into a thin line.
She blinked and sat up straight. “So, where are these infamous napkins?”
I immediately bounded into the foyer and snatched the crumpled pile from the table. After the mess of the previous night, and my looming shadow at work that morning, they hadn’t even moved.
“Here.” Smacking them down on the table, I took a seat across from her and perched my chin in my palm.
“Well, this is interesting.” Margot chewed on the inside of her mouth and slowly began to organize them. “You didn’t want to use… paper? Or your phone?”
I groaned and massaged my temples. “I forgot to bring a notepad. And I remember things better if I write with my hands.” She spread her palms across the spread of napkins in an attempt to iron them. “I really don’t know why they appointed me. You would be better at this,” I added with a sigh.
“Well, I don’t live here,” Margot mumbled. As if realizing what she said, she pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head. “That’s not what I meant, of course. I’m sorry—I don’t know where my head is.”
But I was already out of my chair and pretending to check on the pot that was nowhere near boiling.
Hot tears pricked at the edges of my eyes as a humiliated flush colored my cheeks.
It wasn’t the first time Margot’s candor hit me like a freight train.
I couldn’t believe that, after all these years, she could still cut me right to the core.
I cleared my throat and blindly reached in a cabinet beside the stove. “Hot chocolate still okay?” I murmured, my hands already ripping the packets open.
“Yeah,” Margot replied quietly. After a swath of silence, she added, “This is going to be the best festival yet, Georgie.”
I sniffed and whirled around with a feigned smile. “You’re right. It will be.”
No matter what.