15. Margot
MARGOT
I t’s been over an hour since Cal left with Glen, and I’ve been holed up in the office doing a whole lot of nothing.
Mostly just texting Juniper—who’s pretending to study—and Mia, who’s begging for pictures of Everfield in the fall.
I send her one of the inn’s front porch with the pumpkins lined up and a little too much pride in my chest.
Eventually, I stretch, roll my neck, and push back from the desk. I need movement. Air. Something.
As I wander down the hall, I hear laughter drifting from the kitchen—light, easy, familiar. I follow the sound and peek in to find Mom and Aunt Edie at the table, sipping tea and snacking on a plate of sliced pears and apples.
“Is there any tea left for me?” I ask, stepping into the room.
Mom grins and waves me in. “Sit down. I’ll get you a cup.”
I drop into the chair beside Aunt Edie and sigh as Mom sets the tea in front of me. I cradle it between my palms, inhale the soft minty steam, and sip. Warmth spreads down my throat and settles in my chest.
We talk about nothing for a while—Hazel’s latest mural in town, Thea’s sudden interest in smart thermostats, and how Mom can’t seem to stop overcooking the new pumpkin scones.
But my mind keeps drifting back to yesterday’s donation. I haven’t touched it. Haven’t even told anyone. It sits in the company account like a secret blessing, and something about it makes me nervous to speak it aloud—like if I name it, it’ll vanish.
Then Aunt Edie leans forward and asks casually, “So… what do you really think about Cal?”
I pause, my cup halfway to my lips.
There it is. The question I’ve been dodging for weeks.
Usually, I’d brush it off with a laugh or a quip. But this time, I don’t. I set the cup down slowly and think—really think.
Something about the way he brushed me off yesterday doesn’t sit right with me. I’ve been trying not to overthink it, but there were shadows in his eyes—as if he was hiding something.
I know he has a right to keep his personal life private, but he’s been all over mine—my family, my kitchen, my business. But he wants to keep his a secret. My stomach churns.
“Margot?” Mom gently prods.
“I think he’s a great guy,” I answer honestly, sipping my tea again, but this time I don’t taste it.
“But?” Aunt Edie’s brows quirk.
“Sometimes,” I say finally, “it feels like I know him. Like he’s familiar. Easy. Like we’ve done this before. But then other times, it’s like he’s a complete stranger. Quiet. Guarded. Like I’m only seeing the surface and there’s a whole part of him I’m not being allowed into.”
They both go quiet.
And I don’t mean to say more, but the words keep coming. I don’t want them to have an unfair impression of him.
“But even with that… he’s a really great guy. Super helpful, too.”
Mom and Aunt Edie exchange one of their telepathic glances that makes me feel both loved and ganged up on. I realize they’re about to diagnose me with something sappy and romantic, so I quickly change the topic to something far more interesting.
“I have something else to tell you,” I say dramatically.
Aunt Edie perks up. “Do I need another cup of tea for this?”
“It’s not bad,” I say, smiling now. “Actually, it’s kind of… unbelievable.”
They both lean in instinctively.
“Yesterday,” I begin, “I checked the inn’s email. There was a credit alert.”
Mom blinks. “From a guest?”
“No. That’s the thing. It was anonymous. I tried to trace the little info on the account and it led to a dead end. A large donation. With a note that said, ‘Anonymous contribution to the beautiful job you’re doing with the inn. The Key & Kettle is lucky to have you.’”
Their jaws drop at the same time.
“You’re kidding,” Aunt Edie breathes.
“Nope.” I shake my head, the excitement bubbling up now that I’ve said it out loud. “It’s real. I double-checked everything. It’s sitting in our account as we speak.”
“How much?” Mom whispers.
When I tell them, they both gasp and then squeal. This is the happiest I’ve seen them in a while. Yup. Cal forgotten. For now.
Mom clasps her hands together, practically vibrating. “Oh, Margot. That’s incredible!”
“But who would send such a large amount of money?” Aunt Edie asks. “Is someone that wealthy in Everfield?”
“Who cares!” Mom laughs, reaching for a slice of pear. “This is a miracle. I’ve only ever heard about Christmas miracles. We may have just invented fall miracles.”
I laugh too, but part of me is still stunned. It’s been sitting on my chest like a secret, and now that it’s out, it’s starting to feel real.
We spread out napkins and begin scribbling notes—budget ideas, priority lists, actual excitement. It’s ridiculous how fast we slip into planning mode, but it’s what we do best. Make do. Make plans. Make it work.
Jo taps her pen against the rim of her teacup. “I’m just so thankful we can sort Edie’s hospital bills. That alone is enough to make me cry.”
“I’ll be fine, you know,” Aunt Edie mutters, though she looks suspiciously misty-eyed.
“We know,” I say gently. “But it’s still been a lot.”
“And there’s still enough left over,” Mom adds.
We all laugh. It feels good. Like air after too long underwater.
I sit back, holding my cup between my palms. For the first time in months, the weight on my shoulders feels… lighter.
Maybe miracles do happen. Even in the middle of fall.
We all freeze at the sudden bang of the front door, followed by the unmistakable squeal of a child. A second later, a blur of sandy hair and sticky fingers barrels into the kitchen, giggling like he’s just pulled off a heist.
“Niall,” I say, half-laughing, half-groaning. “What are you doing here?”
Clara appears in the doorway right behind him, her eyes rimmed with exhaustion and her hair doing its best impression of a tumbleweed. “He refused to go with the others to his father, so I’m stuck babysitting.” She narrows her eyes at her son. “Niall! Drop that! Now!”
He’s climbing the stool, reaching for Aunt Edie’s tea tin with the confidence of a child who’s done this before. I swoop in and redirect him toward a safer thrill—an empty fruit bowl.
“Clara, you can’t babysit your own kids,” Mom says through a laugh. “They’re your kids.”
Clara groans and flops dramatically onto the stool by the door. “Jo, please just let me have that. Please.”
Aunt Edie chuckles into her cup, and Niall starts banging the fruit bowl like it’s a drum set.
I take that as my cue to escape. “Okay, chaos crew,” I announce, pushing back my chair. “It’s almost time for Kettle Hour. I need to make sure everything’s in place.”
Kettle Hour passes in a blur—laughter, stories, warm scones, the usual magic. But no Cal.
I’d seen him earlier, just before it started, slipping into the inn and heading straight upstairs. Not a glance in my direction. Not that I was looking. Much.
By eight, the place is quiet. Guests have trickled off to their rooms, the fireplace crackles low, and the scent of cinnamon still hangs in the air. I’m behind the reception desk, flipping through the daily reports, when the landline rings.
I answer with my usual calm voice. “Good evening. This is Margot from the Key & Kettle Inn. How may I help you today?”
“Margot. It’s Glen.”
I straighten, feeling very guilty. I really should have called, but I got carried away with everything happening and forgot. “Glen? How are you?”
“I’m still at the hospital. They say I’ll be discharged in the morning,” he says.
“I just wanted to say Cal was a huge help today. Really went above and beyond. He stayed and kept me company for a while. I had to convince him to leave so he could rest at the inn. Please tell him thank you for me, will you?”
I freeze, my fingers tightening around the receiver.
He did it again.
Stepped in. Took over what I should’ve done. Carried the burden like it was his to carry. And he didn’t even tell me anything about it.
“Of course,” I say softly. “You just focus on resting. We’ll see you tomorrow.”
“All right. Goodnight, Margot.”
“Goodnight.”
I hang up, staring at the phone for a long moment.
Cal didn’t have to do all that. He didn’t have to drive Glen, stay at the hospital, or probably sit through hours of antiseptic and fluorescent lights. But he did.
I’ve been avoiding him all day, nursing my pride and… whatever else this knot in my chest is. But now? Now I just feel small. And grateful. And unsure how to say thank you without sounding like I’m apologizing for pushing him away in the first place.
I sigh and tap my fingers against the edge of the desk, the silence of the inn pressing in around me like a soft blanket I can’t quite get comfortable in.
Then I hear it—footsteps on the stairway.
I look up, and there he is. Cal. Like the universe decided to hand him to me, gift-wrapped in casual sweatpants and a black T-shirt. He smiles when our eyes meet. “I thought I might find you here.”
I blink. “You came down looking for me?”
He nods, his steps slow, easy. “I’ve been trying to talk to you all day.”
He stops at the desk, close enough that I can smell his cologne and the faint trace of whatever soap he uses that smells like pine.
I stare at him for a moment, words sitting heavy on my tongue. Then I step out from behind the desk. “Okay,” I say quietly. “Let’s go into the kitchen.”
He nods once. No hesitation. And follows me.
Cal takes a seat at the table without hesitation. I walk to the counter and glance over my shoulder.
“Tea?”
His face lights up like I’ve just offered him gold. “Absolutely.”
I smile despite myself, turning on the kettle and pulling the tea tin from the drawer. We fall into silence, but it’s not awkward. It’s that kind of quiet that feels like a shared breath. Like we’re both just… here.
When the kettle whistles, I pour the hot water over the tea bags, the steam curling toward my face. I place the two cups on the table and finally sit across from him.
We sip for a few moments, letting the warmth work its way into our bones.