22. Cal
CAL
I wake up smiling.
For a moment, I don’t know why. The sheets are tangled at my feet, the morning light is soft, and there’s a calm stillness in the room I haven’t felt in a long time.
Then I remember.
Margot.
In my dream, she was laughing. Not the small, polite smile she gives when she’s being gracious, but a full, open laugh—the kind that tugs at the corners of her mouth until her eyes crinkle and her nose scrunches just a little.
We were outside, maybe near the fire pit, maybe on the porch.
Her hand was in mine. We were just talking.
And somehow, everything felt easy. Natural. Right.
I close my eyes again, trying to hold onto the feeling a little longer.
I don’t dream like that often. Not since the burnout, the pressure, the constant noise. But last night? Last night quieted something in me.
Her voice. Her eyes. The way she let herself soften, even if just for a moment.
And the way I didn’t want to leave.
I sit up slowly, dragging a hand through my hair. My chest is full—hope, nerves, whatever this new thing is. All I know is, I meant every word I said last night. I want to stay. Not just at the inn. Not just for the town. I want to stay for her.
It scares the heck out of me.
But it also feels like the first thing that’s made sense in a very long time.
I should tell her.
I know that. It sits in my chest like a weight I keep shifting around, trying to ignore, but never quite setting down.
I should’ve told her last night—when we were standing so close I could see the flecks in her eyes, when she kissed me and didn’t pull away.
When she looked at me like I was just… Cal.
Not Calvin Hale.
Not the man behind a tech empire with a board of directors and a Forbes feature and a few too many NDAs.
Just me.
And I loved it. I loved that she doesn’t know the dollar signs. That she isn’t impressed by my last name. That she thinks I’m a regular guy who came here for quiet and peace and maybe some purpose.
Which… I kind of am.
But the rest of it? The full truth? It’s still hanging back like a shadow behind me.
And I know—sooner or later—it’s going to come out.
Maybe Thea will figure it out. Maybe someone will post something online, and it’ll get back to her.
Or maybe I’ll get a call I can’t ignore, and the whole illusion will fall apart.
Still, I can’t bring myself to tell her now.
Not when she smiles at me like that. Not when her shoulders ease around me. Not when I’ve finally found someone who likes me for who I actually am—and not the version everyone tries to use.
So I won’t tell her.
Not yet. Maybe in a week. But not now.
Instead, I get out of bed, get dressed, and carry the secret with me like I always do. Just for a little longer.
I head downstairs, already smelling coffee and something sweet—maybe cinnamon rolls or Edie’s apple Danish. As soon as I step off the last stair, Waffles charges at me like a four-legged rocket.
“Whoa—hey, buddy.”
He leaps up, tail wagging like it’s got a motor of its own, and I crouch to ruffle his belly. He licks my face in wild, messy gratitude.
“Waffles, stop bothering Mr. Reid, please,” Ana calls from somewhere in front of me.
I glance up, still laughing, and see her walking out from the kitchen, a dish towel tossed over her shoulder like always. She’s got that look—half amused, half suspicious, all sharp.
I follow her to the reception desk.
“I was just about to say,” she begins, narrowing her eyes, “I expected to see you coming down with your luggage.”
I grin. “Actually, I’m here to extend my stay.”
Her eyebrows lift. “Really?”
“Three more weeks.”
Ana gasps, loud and dramatic. “So you’re officially one of us now. Everfield’s got you.”
I chuckle. “I guess it does.”
Ana hums like she’s won a bet and starts tapping on the keyboard. “Same room?”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” I say, pulling out my phone and tapping to pay.
Transaction approved.
She hands me the printed receipt with a teasing smile. “Well, Mr. Reid, welcome to your extended stay at the Key & Kettle Inn.”
I pocket the receipt and give Waffles another pat. “Happy to be here.” I turn to Ana again. “Is Margot around?”
Ana snorts softly, her fingers still flying across the keyboard. “Still asleep.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Really?”
“It’s a rare miracle,” she says with a smile. “She never sleeps in. She’s usually up before everyone, chasing solutions before sunrise. So no one’s waking her today. Not even if the inn catches fire.”
I grin, heart tugging a little at the thought of Margot—still curled up in bed, undisturbed, safe. “She deserves it.”
Ana gives me a look. “She does.”
I thank her and head for the front door. The air outside is cool and a little damp, the kind of morning that makes you want to breathe deeper. I tuck my hands into my jacket pockets, ready for my usual walk down the orchard path.
I’m barely off the porch when my phone buzzes in my pocket. It’s Marley. I’ve been expecting her call.
“Hello.”
“Mr. Reid,” she says. “Are you still on track to fly back to L.A. today?”
I pause at the edge of the steps and watch a squirrel dart across the gravel. “No,” I say simply. “I’m not coming back. I need more time.”
A heavy silence stretches over the call.
I spot Sam across the trail, his familiar steady gait and tool belt slung low on his hip, and my mood instantly lifts. “Marley, I will call you later.”
I end the call, slip my phone into my back pocket, and start walking toward him.
Sam spots me from a distance and lifts a hand in greeting. He stops walking and waits, like he expected me to come along eventually. I pick up my pace and fall into step beside him.
“Morning,” I say.
He nods. “Morning, Cal.”
His gaze roams with my face. “You look… rested.”
I laugh. “Do I?”
He gives me a knowing look. “Rested. Happy. I like this look on you.”
I try not to smile, but I fail. Margot’s face flashes in my mind—her laugh, her lips, the way she looked at me last night.
“Maybe because I’ve decided to stay a few more weeks.”
Sam smiles. “I knew it! So where are you headed?”
“Just out for a walk. Clearing my head.”
He nods. “I ran into town to fix something for a local. Heading home now to grab breakfast before I come back to the inn. Need to deal with that busted hose in the garden.”
He pauses, then jerks his head toward the orchard path. “Come eat. Jo made cornbread.”
I start to shake my head. “I need to talk to Margot first?—”
He cuts me off with a scoff. “This has nothing to do with Margot. I’m offering you breakfast as a friend, not trying to matchmake you with my daughter.”
I raise a hand in surrender, grinning. “All right, all right. I won’t say no to cornbread.”
We head down the path toward the orchard house, and the moment Sam pushes open the door, the smell of something warm and buttery hits me. Jo is at the stove, pulling a skillet off the burner, and when she sees me, her whole face lights up.
“Well, look who’s here!” she says, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “Cal, you’re just in time. Sit, sit. I made cornbread and sausage gravy.”
“Good morning, Jo,” I say, grinning as I take a seat at the table. “You’re going to spoil me.”
“That’s the point,” she says with a wink. “Sam never brings his friends around, so I have to make sure the ones who do come never want to leave.”
My smile widens when Jo refers to me as Sam’s friend, but for a second, it falls as I wonder if I’m not pushing our friendship by being interested in his daughter. Should I talk to Sam about it? Or should I pursue this thing with Margot first and see where it leads?
We dig into breakfast, and it’s perfect—crispy-edged cornbread, warm and soft inside, with gravy that tastes like home. Jo keeps the conversation lively, telling stories about the orchard, while Sam throws in dry one-liners that make her swat his arm.
I find myself laughing, actually laughing, not the polite kind I usually give at boardroom jokes. I like it here. Maybe too much.
By the time we’re done, the sun is higher, and Sam glances at the clock. “We better head back so I can fix that hose before Margot notices.”
Jo waves us off with a smile and another piece of cornbread wrapped in a napkin for me.
We walk back toward the inn, the gravel crunching underfoot, sun already beating down like it’s got something to prove.
Sam’s talking about the garden hose he wants to fix—it’s been leaking near the hydrangeas and “creating a swamp” under the mulch.
“I told Edie I’d deal with it yesterday,” he mutters, adjusting the cornbread napkin Jo gave him so it doesn’t fall out of his pocket. “She threatened to stage a drought protest if I didn’t.”
I laugh. “Well, I can’t wait to see that. Aunt Edie chaining herself to the hose with a homemade sign.”
He snorts. “Don’t tempt her.”
When we reach the garden, the humidity hits full force. It’s beautiful back here—rows of blooming lavender, thick green vines twisting around white trellises—but the air is heavy, the kind that clings to your skin.
Sam stops, looks at me with narrowed eyes. “You should go inside. It’s too hot for standing around.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m not made of glass.”
“I’m serious,” he says. “I always forget you’re a guest. No need to sweat it out with me.”
“Helping you is practically a hobby now,” I tell him, walking over to where the hose is coiled like a lazy snake near the fence. “Besides, I’m not really a guest anymore, remember? I’m among Everfield now.”
Sam huffs a little and grins. “Well, leave me out of this when Margot comes out here.”
“I’ll handle it.”
He narrows his eyes at me for a few seconds before bursting into laughter and handing me a wrench.
Minutes later, we’re shoulder to shoulder in the garden, kneeling by the tangled hose like two mechanics on a pit crew.
Sam hands me the pliers while he wrestles with the nozzle connection, and for a second, all I hear is the buzz of bees in the lavender and the faint creak of a wind chime hanging from the trellis.
“I actually love working with you,” Sam says, breaking the silence. “It’s so easy.”
I glance over and laugh. “Really?”
Of course, I know he loves working with me, but a part of me wants to hear him talk about it.
He chuckles, wiping sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. “I like to think a man my age has learned a thing or two about life. But one thing you’ve taught me—never judge a book by the cover.”
I pause, still fiddling with the hose connector. “How so?”
He looks at me. “Well, looking at you, no one would think you love fixing things under the sun or working with your hands. You’ve got that city-boy look.”
I grin. “To be honest, I am a city boy. I live in L.A. I’ve lived there for almost a decade. But I told you I used to do stuff like this with my dad when I was younger…”
“Yeah, you did. You mentioned it on the first day we met on the outside porch,” he says with a grin.
“Yeah. We’d fix leaky taps, put up shelves, spend whole Saturdays just making things work again.”
I sit back and exhale slowly. “Then college happened. Work. Life. It all got too fast. But when I lost my parents… I don’t know. I found myself reaching for all the old things. DIYs, manuals, repairs. Like if I could fix something broken, I could keep some part of him alive.”
Sam is quiet for a beat. Then we both laugh when I add, “That said, I still call in the professionals sometimes. Some jobs are beyond me.”
“But…” I trail off, shaking my head and looking around at the garden. “I love doing this.”
Sam reaches over and places a hand on my arm. It’s steady, grounding.
“I’m sure your dad is proud of you, Cal,” he says. His voice is low but certain. “I’m not your dad, but I’m really proud of you.”
My throat tightens. I blink a few times, quick and sharp, and pretend to wipe sweat from my eyes.
“Thanks, Sam.”
I’m still blinking too fast, trying to get a grip before Sam notices, when I hear voices—soft laughter, footsteps on gravel.
The Honeysetts appear around the corner of the house, hand in hand, cheeks pink from the sun or maybe from decades of being in love. They pause when they spot us in the garden.
“Well, well,” Mrs. Honeysett says warmly, “you two look like you’ve been at it since sunrise.”
Sam straightens and dusts his hands on his jeans. “Almost. Just trying to get this old hose to behave.”
“You’re both sweating up a storm,” she says, eyes kind. “I’ll have Ana bring you something cold.”
“No, we’re fine,” Sam assures her. “We’re almost done here.”
Mr. Honeysett chuckles and squints at me. “At this point, I’m not sure Cal is still a guest like the rest of us. He’s practically Hartwell family now.” He throws me a wink.
I laugh, scratching the back of my neck. “Guess I’ve been hanging around a lot.”
Sam doesn’t say anything, but I feel his quiet agreement beside me.
The Honeysetts smile and continue down the path, still holding hands, still laughing about something only the two of them understand.
I watch them go, something warm settling in my chest.
Something that feels suspiciously like longing.
Or maybe hope that one day, I can have a love like that.
“You know, Margot has never had a boyfriend.”
I turn my head, surprised. Sam’s looking at me, squinting a little against the sun, but his expression is unreadable. I wonder why he’s bringing this up—but it doesn’t matter. I’m already interested. I inch a little closer, wiping my hands on my jeans.
“You mean never?”
“Never,” he says, straightening up. “At least not here in Everfield.”
I frown. “Why’s that?”
Sam shrugs, picks up the old hose coupling again. “I think men are scared of her.”
Scared? That word sits strangely in my chest. Margot—fierce, brilliant, capable—but not someone to be feared. Admired, yes. Maybe even worshipped a little.
I shake my head, voice quiet but certain. “Not me.”
Sam doesn’t say anything right away. But when I glance over, he’s smiling to himself. Just a little.
And I think he knows exactly what I mean.