Chapter Twenty-Four
“You want to do what?” Rachel said, hands faltering for a moment as she poured the pitcher of milk into my latte.
I stretched my arms across the bar in a “gimme” motion.
Blinking, mouth parted, she slid the unlidded cup toward me. “I’m sorry, I just…” She slumped against the counter, oblivious to Cameron’s pleas from the register.
“I think he has a question,” I mumbled, taking a loud sip and pointing toward the frantic looking curly-headed boy.
“Sorry, Cam,” Rachel murmured and wiped her hands on the rag hanging from her apron as she walked away.
The line stretched to the door—a rare sight for the Morning Bell this time of year, but Cameron’s unraveling had a way of slowing everything down. I slowly nursed my iced white chocolate mocha as Rachel pumped out a queue of drinks on the espresso machine.
“Everything okay?” I said with an amused smile after she called the final order.
“Yeah,” she replied, waiting for Cameron to disappear into the back before adding, “He’d do a lot better at the register if he wasn’t such a little eavesdropper.”
A loud laugh burst from my mouth. “Guess you can blame that on him being the youngest?”
“No. I can blame it on him being in love with you.” Rachel sipped the espresso she’d made for herself and leaned her hip against the counter. “Now—start over. I need to hear this with caffeine ears.”
“I’m closing Marigold’s Flower Shop.”
Repeating the words sent a terrified, giddy shudder down my spine.
Elbows on the counter, she narrowed her eyes at me. “Okay, I think I’ve got it now. Sorry—when you said it last time, I thought I might’ve been dreaming.”
“Oh, shut up,” I quipped, but I couldn’t keep the cheek-splitting smile off my face.
“Look at you! What are you going to do now? Travel the world?”
I bit my lip. “No. I’m going to re-open it as… Georgie’s Pottery Shop.”
Rachel let out a sound somewhere between a squeal and a gasp, which earned her a suspicious glance from the man at the far corner table, typing furiously on his laptop. She clapped both hands together and leaned across the counter as if I’d just told her I was getting married.
“Stop. Are you serious?”
“As a heart attack.”
“Georgie, oh my gosh.” Rachel practically launched herself over the counter to hug me, then thought better of it and settled for shaking my shoulders.
“Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for this?
You! Doing pottery! In an actual store people can walk into and, like, buy stuff instead of you pretending it’s just a side hobby? ”
Heat rose in my cheeks. “I wasn’t pretending. I just never thought… I don’t know.”
She gave me a curious look over the rim of her mug. “What changed your mind?”
I fiddled with my cup, tracing the rim with one finger. “I found a letter from my grandmother. She basically said that I… didn’t have to carry on what she started. That I could do my own thing. And it’s terrifying.”
“Of course it is.” She grinned and leaned in close, lowering her voice. “That’s how you know it’s going to be amazing.”
From the back, Cameron reappeared balancing a stack of clean mugs, and his wide gaze darted between us before landing on me. “What’s terrifying?”
“None of your business,” Rachel quipped lightly.
He frowned. “Everything around here is my business. I work here.”
“Are you sure about that?” She raised an eyebrow at him over her shoulder.
“Yeah, I’m sure,” Cameron insisted, then glanced at me as he stacked the mugs on top of the espresso machine. “Hey, Georgie,” he added, a deep blush spreading across his cheeks.
“Hey, Cam,” I said, fighting a smile.
He propped an arm against the counter and flipped a dark coil from his eyes. “So, what are you talking about?”
Rachel groaned and buried her face in her hands. “See what I deal with? Next, he’s going to ask if you need a business partner.”
“Do you?” he cut in, features brightening.
“Goodbye, Cameron,” Rachel sang sweetly, spinning him back toward the kitchen.
I covered my laugh with a poor attempt at a cough, shaking my head. “So… I guess I can see what you were saying.”
“Thank you,” she said. “That boy has accidentally written your name on at least two customers’ cups.”
I choked on my mocha. “Please tell me you’re lying.”
Rachel just smiled. “So. What’s the next step?”
The question hit me like a sewing needle to an overfilled balloon. I hadn’t gotten that far. “Um… redecorating? I mean, it’ll take some work. Repainting, some new displays. The shelves are there now, and I’ll have to figure out where to put the wheel. And—”
“Don’t you dare start spiraling,” Rachel warned, pointing her mug at me. “This is happening. You said it out loud. That makes it real.”
I groaned into my cup, but she’d been right. Saying the words Georgie’s Pottery Shop made something in me click into place. It wasn’t just a dream anymore. It was a plan. I couldn’t back out now, even if I wanted to.
“Well, on the bright side, you won’t need to drive me to the studio anymore,” I said, finishing the remains of my white mocha.
“Hey! I enjoyed those late night hangouts.” Rachel set her mug back to its saucer with a ceramic clink. “Even if it meant only getting a few hours of sleep before opening.”
My face heated. “You’re too good to me.”
“You’d do the same for me,” she said with a shrug.
The bell rang as the door swung open. A wide smile stretched across my mouth as Margot strutted inside, purse balanced on her arm while she slipped her sunglasses to the top of her head.
“I was hoping I’d find you here,” she murmured, setting her things on the bar. “You will never believe what’s happening with the gala.”
“Margot,” Rachel interrupted, “Georgie has some news.”
Two sets of eyes blinked back at me.
“I’m closing down the flower shop,” I said, sucking in a breath. “And opening Georgie’s Pottery Shop.”
“You’re kidding,” Margot replied. She perched on the stool beside me and dropped her chin in her hand. “So, what made you realize I was right?” Her mouth twitched, fighting a smile.
I rolled my eyes and laughed.
“Okay, but seriously. Who talked some sense into you?” She glanced from me to Rachel, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Was it Rhett?”
“Oh my—”
Rachel threw her head back with a laugh. “You’re getting a free drink for that, Margot.”
“You’re both ridiculous,” I mumbled from behind my fingers. “And no, it was actually my grandmother herself.”
Margot threw her hands up in mock-defeat. “If only I had known that it would take a message from beyond the grave.”
Rachel snorted quietly and moved to the espresso machine. Watching the ice in my cup clink as I twirled it, I couldn’t stop the goofy smile.
Until I remembered what Margot had said when she came in.
“Wait, what about the gala?”
Margot hissed under her breath. “Maybe now’s not the right time.”
I turned to face her in my stool, stomach twisting as I did. “I already know about the Steele Group. Is that what it was?”
“Um… sort of.” She paused to thank Rachel as she slid her cortado across the bar. “Turns out Claire has a lot of contacts. And, well, now she’s publicized that the Governor will be in attendance.” Margot grimaced into her cup.
“The Governor,” I echoed, throat tight. “So that means… Margot, has anyone else dropped out?”
“Thankfully, no. All the cowards already jumped ship.” She tossed a pointed glare over her shoulder at Dot, who I hadn’t even realized was sitting at a table behind us.
Clearly snooping, Dot huffed and turned in her chair, whipping open a newspaper.
“It’s fine,” I replied, although much softer than before. “I just have to… somehow make sure the town-thrown festival in the gymnasium is better than the black tie gala at a country club that the Governor is now attending.” My words wobbled at the end.
“And don’t forget to breathe,” Rachel chimed in.
“Right, yes.” I knocked back an ice cube to chew on. “Breathing is good too.”
She shook her head and walked away, mumbling, “I’m making you another coffee. Decaf this time.”
“Hey.” Margot snapped two perfectly manicured fingers in front of my face. “Remember that rousing speech you gave the other day? Yeah. A bit too mushy-gushy for me to repeat, but I’m gonna need you to say it to yourself. Every day. Got it?”
I exhaled, the breath shaky. Maybe it would’ve been easier if I’d written it all down.
But I remembered the feeling—standing on the counter, Marigold’s bursting with people from every corner of Bluebell Cove.
Nothing, not a glittering gala or a woman determined to prove herself, could ever replace that.
“I think I get what you mean,” I said.
When the door’s bell rang again, I was happily sipping on my second white mocha of the day. Unfortunately devoid of caffeine, but Rachel was insistent that I’d already had my fill, and she was now “cutting me off”. Whatever that meant.
“Wicked witch of the west at three o’clock,” Margot muttered into her cup.
I nearly spat out my drink. “What?” I hissed, ducking my head behind hers so I could get a look at the register.
Claire.
She stood at the counter, a veritable tower dressed in an impeccably tailored pair of blue trousers and matching blazer, and gesticulated animatedly to Cameron.
Her hair fell around her shoulders in silken waves, the leather purse swinging on her arm no doubt carrying a heftier price tag than my house.
“Is there only the one exit?” Margot muttered flatly, draping one leg over the other.
“Yes,” Rachel replied with a curious glance at Claire. “She doesn’t look mean.”
Margot pursed her lips. “I’m not scared of mean.”
I groaned quietly as Claire handed Cameron what looked to be a twenty dollar bill and practically floated over toward us. “Girls!” she purred, sparkling eyes drifting between each of us. “It’s so good to see you again. I just love this cozy shop, don’t you?”
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I jumped in before Margot could open her mouth. “It’s my favorite place to be in the mornings,” I replied with a small smile.
“How are the festival preparations coming, Georgie?” She smoothed the ends of her hair between her fingers, even though it already looked like water. “I confess I find myself without much to do until the gala. I was actually just on my way to see if Rhett was available to entertain me.”
A sour taste washed over my tongue.
“The Summer’s End Festival is coming along nicely,” I replied, determined to ignore the rest of her comments. “I’m confident it will be just what Bluebell Cove needs.” The grin on my lips felt more like a thinly veiled smirk.
Margot, who had her back to Claire, raised her eyebrows at me and sipped her cortado.
“Claire?” Cameron chimed in at the perfect time. “Two vanilla lattes for you,” he added, sliding them across the bar.
“Thank you, Cameron,” she responded demurely, plucking the drinks from him before turning back to us. “I’m off to bribe Rhett with some coffee. Have a great day, ladies!”
All four of us watched her waft back out the Morning Bell and sashay across the street like it was New York Fashion Week.
The flush on my face deepened further as she opened the door to Marigold’s and disappeared.
I hated this burning sensation in my stomach—the way I couldn’t stop picturing her and Rhett together, and the sickening feeling that they looked perfect.
“I think you’ve been replaced,” Rachel whispered, nodding to Cameron, who stood, frozen, gaping after Claire with wide, glassy eyes.
But Cameron wasn’t who I was worried about.
Margot whispered slowly and shook her head. “She’s a piece of work.”
“She was just being nice,” I replied, even though I didn’t believe it.
“That’s the worst kind. When people are nice with their face but cruel with their words.” She clucked her tongue and sighed. “I’d prefer someone be openly rude to me.”
“Well, we’re not all Margot,” Rachel said, walking away to flick Cameron on the back of the head.
“Think she got Rhett a coffee just to mess with you?” Margot muttered.
I shrugged, but it felt unnatural and stiff. “Rhett only drinks black coffee.”
Margot smirked.