7. Margot #2
The kettle whistles gently. I pour the hot water over the blend—citrus, lavender, a hint of something floral and earthy—and let it steep. The scent drifts through the air, calming and familiar. I grab two mismatched mugs from the rack, hand him one, and sit across from him.
We don’t talk for a moment.
We just sip.
“So,” he says eventually, swirling his cup, “you’ve built something really special here.”
I lower my cup, eyeing him. “I didn’t build it. Aunt Edie did.”
“You’re the one running it now.”
I don’t respond. Compliments are hard to swallow, especially when I feel like I’m just trying to keep the ship from sinking most days.
He doesn’t press. Just takes another sip.
“What did you do before the inn?” he asks.
I hesitate. “PR. For a distillery in Bardstown.”
“That sounds… intense.”
“You have no idea.”
We go quiet again, but it’s different now—easier, like we’re slowly unfolding in the warmth of tea and midnight.
“Bardstown…Where is that, exactly?”
I blink, surprised by the question, but then realize not everyone is familiar with small towns. He looks and acts like a city boy, no matter how hard he’s trying to blend in. “Kentucky.”
He nods like that confirms something for him, but doesn’t offer more. I wait a beat, then sip from my mug again. Still warm. Still fragrant.
I’m dying to ask him something—anything. I’ve already searched “Cal Reid” and found nothing. No background, no job info, no hometown, nothing. Just three short words and a blank profile. It’s maddening.
But I don’t ask. I bite my curiosity back and smile into my cup instead.
He stands, empty cup in hand, and takes a step toward the sink.
“I’ve got it,” I say, reaching for the mug before he can make it past the counter.
But he shifts away, gripping the handle tightly. “I’ll rinse my own cup, thank you, Miss Hartwell.”
Miss Hartwell.
The way he says it—formal, teasing, serious all at once—makes something flutter under my ribs.
He rinses the mug, dries it, then places it carefully on the rack and turns back to me.
“Thank you for the tea.”
“You’re welcome.”
His gaze lingers on mine for half a second too long.
Then he nods. “Goodnight, Margot.”
“Goodnight.”
He walks out of the kitchen, leaving me staring after him in a heavy state of confusion. He’s barely gone when I hear the familiar creak of the back hallway floorboard. I freeze.
Aunt Edie walks in like she hasn’t just scared the life out of me.
I instinctively slide my cup behind a huge box of sugar and try to angle my body between her and it like I’m not doing something mildly criminal.
“Aunt Edie,” I say slowly, suspiciously, “what are you doing?”
She raises an eyebrow, head tilted like she’s already caught me.
I’m trying to be softer with her today. After yesterday’s little explosion and my long apology this morning, we agreed we were fine. Still, it’s hard not to fuss when I see her up this late. She should be resting, not wandering the inn like a midnight inspector.
She inhales dramatically. “I can smell it. You brewed my favorite tea.”
I roll my eyes, unamused. “Aunt Edie, you don’t even drink the tea. You hoard it. It lives in your drawer like treasure, and you drink coffee like the rest of us mortals.”
She ignores me and walks over to the drawer anyway, peeking in like I may have stolen an entire sachet collection. “Just because I don’t drink it doesn’t mean I don’t notice when it’s been disturbed.”
“I didn’t disturb anything,” I say, lifting my chin with innocent pride. “I just borrowed a little.”
“A little?”
“For a cup,” I say.
She narrows her eyes. “You mean two.”
I suck in a breath. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, come on.” She waves a hand toward the hallway. “I just saw Cal heading upstairs, and he smelled like my tea.”
I cough. “He was here for only about five seconds.”
“The time it takes to boil the water, steep the bag, pour the tea, and drink it while it cools is over ten minutes.” She raises an eyebrow like she’s been doing the math since she walked in.
I roll my eyes and throw the dish towel on the counter. “Go to bed, Aunt Edie.”
She smirks. “Don’t worry, darling. I’ll sleep just fine… unlike someone else tonight.”
I narrow my eyes in warning. “Aunt Edie… no!”
She shrugs. “I didn’t even say anything,” she says with a chuckle.
Then she sighs like she’s replaying a distant memory and smiles dreamily. “He is so handsome, isn’t he?”
I cross my arms. “I don’t know.”
She snorts. “Lying doesn’t look good on you, Margot. You’re very straightforward. It’s one of your better qualities.”
“Aunt Edie.”
She ignores me. “He reminds me of someone,” she adds, her smile going soft—nostalgic, even.
“Who?”
She just shrugs, turns on her heel, and walks out like she didn’t just drop a strange bomb. I’m still frowning after her retreating back when the phone on the reception desk rings. I cross the hall, pick it up, and press it to my ear.
“This is Glen from Room 10,” a man’s voice says, a little frazzled. “My heater just stopped working, and I really need to take a shower.”
I close my eyes, inhale deeply, and reach for the repair log.
So much for a quiet night.