CHAPTER EIGHT
The field was nearly empty by the time he found me—bleachers half-lit, sky a dull indigo bruised with the odd cloud. A pungent wet-grass-and-popcorn smell wafted through the air.
“You’re still here?” Teddy called, dropping his duffel with a thud. His damp hair curled at the edges of his forehead. “Didn’t think sports journalism was this glamorous.”
I held up my notebook. “Someone has to make sure Coach Harper’s post-game pep talk gets immortalized.”
“Truly heroic work,” he said, flopping down beside me. His shoulder brushed mine, and even through my jacket, it was enough to make me lose my train of thought.
He leaned back, watching the scoreboard flicker off. “You’re gonna write about bigger things one day, though. Real stories.”
I smiled, teasing. “Oh, yeah? And what about you?”
“Me?” He shrugged. “Someone’s gotta give you something to write about.”
I didn’t know why that made my stomach twist. “So you’ll go, and I’ll stay?”
He grinned sideways at me, full of the ease and charm that made me feel like I was facing the sun. “No. The artist and her muse always have to stick together.”
He meant it as a joke—but I held onto it anyway; that soft, half-serious promise that made the future feel like an epic love song.
“See you at Wes’s house?” Teddy said, nudging me.
“Yeah.”
When he stood to go, I watched him walk off the bleachers, cleats ringing against each steel step. He didn’t turn around, but I didn’t need him to.
In my head, I’d already written the ending. I just didn’t know yet that he wouldn’t be in it.
???
PRESENT DAY
The next day, I found myself elbows-deep in a crate of pumpkins.
“Remind me again why we’re doing this?” I grunted, a thick droplet of sweat trailing down my cheek as I hauled another giant gourd into the bed of Rhett’s truck.
Georgie wiped her forehead with the back of her sweater’s sleeve. “Because I’m not going to be caught out again. We need backups for everything.”
“Even pumpkins?”
She looked at me as if I’d mortally wounded her. “It’s the Fallfest, Margot. People are expecting to be drenched in autumn by the time they leave.”
“That sounds painful,” I quipped.
Georgie rolled her eyes and made no response, sneakers crunching in the layer of hay spread across the pumpkin patch as she left for another load. I lifted myself onto the truck bed, feet dangling as I braced my shoulder against the cool metal.
Only thirty minutes from Main Street, Cedar Ridge Acres was one of the few remaining ancestral farms that boasted open acreage and a treeline littered with amber-and-ochre hues.
Flanked by Janice and Frank’s flower farm, and Rhett’s land that hadn’t been used for crops in decades, nothing rivaled it—not even in downtown Port Camden.
Complete with a corn maze, a hayride, a petting zoo, and a field of picture-perfect gourds, the opening was a stroke of genius.
They were also more than willing to give Georgie a half-price deal on extra decorations for the Fallfest now that the season drew to a close.
Georgie hauled a massive, green-and-orange pumpkin onto the truck bed, the suspension squeaking and bobbing under the weight. “So,” she started, pulling herself up beside me. “Ready to talk about your dad?”
I thumbed the hem of my sweater and stared up at the leaves shifting afternoon light overhead. “There’s not much to say. You saw him.”
“Have you talked to your mom yet?” She arched a brow, pulling her knees to her chest.
“I managed to avoid her—or maybe she’s avoiding me.” I shrugged. “Who knows.”
Georgie drummed her fingertips against the metal. Rust-hued smudges streaked across her palms and up her wrist, no doubt from churning out another army of pumpkin mugs. Sooner or later, she’d need to hire an actual employee—instead of solely relying on free boyfriend labor.
“It might be worth it to sit down with him, don’t you think?” When I was silent, she continued, “I just mean, if my grandmother was still alive—”
“That’s not really the same, though, is it?” I cut her off and pushed myself to the ground. Something hot pricked at my eyes and I furiously rubbed them as my feet twisted in the hay. “Marigold didn’t want to leave, she actually loved you.”
When I turned back to her, Georgie’s lips were flattened into a thin line.
“You’re not the only one with a parent who left, Margot,” she whispered.
For a split second, I was sure a celebrity in a glittering gown would appear and hand me an award for “The World’s Worst Friend.”
My stomach churned, and I smacked my forehead with a groan. “You’re right—I’m sorry.”
Georgie played with the threads of her ripped jeans, something far off and unfamiliar clouding her features. “It’s okay, I forget here and there too.”
A gaggle of children ran past us, boots crunching as the air filled with breathless giggles.
Then they were gone, and we watched heads of curls and ribbons and baseball hats bob toward the corn maze like a brood of ducklings.
My chest tightened, and I leaned against the truck, crossing my arms to keep from fidgeting further with my sweater.
“I’m scared,” Georgie said, so quietly I thought I might’ve misheard her. “That we’ll lose the magic, you know? We fought so hard for the Summer’s End Festival, and now it’s getting so big, what if these kids never get to experience what we did?”
I squinted at her over my shoulder. “Wasn’t it you who gave that impassioned speech about Bluebell Cove being about the people?”
She waved her hand and rolled her eyes in response, but made no attempt to hide the smile on her face. By the time we’d finished loading the rest of the pumpkins, the sunlight had shifted to a deep amber, and I could’ve sworn the temperature dropped several degrees.
I hopped in the driver’s seat—Georgie still hadn’t learned how to drive, and frankly, I’d be a little terrified if she did. The engine roared to life, and I checked the ocean of pumpkins in the rearview mirror before pulling away from the farm.
Georgie gasped, and I nearly slammed on the brakes.
“You can’t do that when I’m driving, Georgie,” I bit out, eyes trained on the winding dirt road.
“Sorry,” she replied with a sheepish grin. “It’s just… never mind.”
I tossed her a glare at the bottom of the hill. “I need an explanation after nearly driving us off a cliff.”
Georgie glanced from me, to her phone, then back to me. Hesitantly, she extended the screen and grimaced.
A photo. Andrew Wade, sleeves rolled to his elbows, a familiar little girl perched on his shoulders. Local Family Sponsors Fallfest Hot Air Balloon.
My stomach lurched. I sucked in a sharp breath, my jaw tensed as the light turned green and I turned left onto the interstate.
“I didn’t even know we had a hot air balloon,” I replied, focused on keeping my voice even.
Georgie’s gaze bored holes into my profile. “Remember that preliminary fundraiser? It was one of the items on our wish list.”
My knuckles turned white around the leather steering wheel. A staticky Nat King Cole song drifted from Rhett’s old radio, the warm notes hardly calming my nerves.
“That’s… good,” I finally managed.
“As long as you’re okay with it.”
I sighed. For all I cared, Andrew Wade and his replacement daughter could disappear. Or better yet, I’d wake up tomorrow and find that everything—from Teddy’s arrival to my father’s reemergence—was just a nightmare, all thanks to my cruelly overactive imagination.
It wasn’t Christmas, though, and Santa Claus didn’t exist.
“You wanted the Fallfest to be bigger, right?” I replied, words hollow to my ears. “Well, now it’s definitely going to be the best yet.”
Georgie’s smile shone so bright I could’ve sworn I lost my peripheral vision for a whole minute.
When we puttered back into the heart of Bluebell Cove, I pulled into a spot on Main Street so we could begin decorating each stoop. The second the outside air wafted in, I drew an exaggerated breath and tossed Georgie a look.
“I’m getting a coffee. Do you want one?”
She laughed and began gathering her hair onto the top of her head. “Absolutely not. It’s practically night time.”
“Oh, I forgot,” I muttered, swinging my legs onto the pavement. “Rhett’s convinced you to have a regular sleep schedule—how boring.”
Georgie rolled her eyes and slipped from her seat, slamming the door shut and arching an eyebrow at me over the truck’s bed.
“You’re not going to skulk away and vanish, right?
I seem to remember you saying something about being my assistant since you—what was it?
” She tapped her chin in mock-thought. “Oh yes, ‘Have nothing better to do.’”
I shrugged my coat on and replied, “I’ll be right back, boss. You won’t even notice I’m gone.”
Whatever she said next, I didn’t hear, because I was already halfway across Main Street, the scent of freshly brewed coffee dragging me forward like hypnosis. I was so distracted by my mouth watering that I didn’t notice a certain blond man I was intent on avoiding.
“Margot,” Teddy breathed, his smile drooping a fraction as the door’s bell announced my entrance.
Heart in my stomach, I sent him a curt nod. “Are you in line?”
He rubbed the back of his neck and took a step away. “Just waiting for my drink. Do you think we could talk?”
“We’re talking right now,” I quipped.
“Please. You know what I mean.”
Cameron appeared at the register, amber eyes darting curiously between us. He was Wes’s younger brother, but seemed more like Wes himself at that age: lanky, terrible with girls, and a head full of bouncing coils.
“The usual, Cam,” I murmured. My hands shot to my purse that most definitely still sat in Rhett’s truck. “You haven’t happened to get touch-to-pay in the last twenty-four hours, have you?”
He grimaced like he’d just insulted my firstborn child. “Sorry, Margot.”
Teddy wordlessly extended his card to me, a tiny grin on his lips as if he was a knight-in-faded-denim. When I reached for it, he snatched it back and waved a finger at me. “This comes with stipulations,” he said.
How much did I really need a coffee, anyway?
When the bell above the door chimed, Andrew Wade stepped through, proving that I actually, really, really needed a caffeine boost. I whipped back around and ducked in front of the person behind me in line.
My heart slammed against the base of my throat, and I gripped the edge of the counter. Teddy’s face had lost all its color.
Knees steadily turning to gelatin, my mind raced through all the possible exit routes. Most involved some level of parkour or destruction of property.
“C’mon,” Teddy murmured, voice muffled by the buzzing in my ears. When I didn’t move, he grabbed my elbow and pulled me into him, pushing me further into the cafe by my shoulders as he shielded me in his chest.
Distantly, I leaned into his warmth for a split-second and cherished the smell of honey and sea spray that felt more like home than home itself. Then it was gone, leaving a chill in its absence as he deposited me into the furthest barstool and proceeded to block me with his body.
“Someone might want to sit there,” I whispered stupidly, partially in a daze from his smell and the far-off sound of my father’s voice sinking its fangs into my brain.
In response, he perched on the edge of the seat, one hand on the back of my chair.
I couldn’t control the flush as his blue eyes searched my face.
I had been doing so well until my father made another surprise appearance, and it all came tumbling down.
Now, caught off guard, I felt just as I always did when Teddy Bowman studied me like I was his favorite subject.
“Did you know?”
The question rattled around for a few moments before becoming clear. “Saw him yesterday,” I said.
He frowned. “You could’ve told me.”
Something sour flooded my stomach. Teddy looked at me with that grossly sympathetic crinkle around his eyes, the kind I’d become accustomed to ignoring for my entire first year of high school.
“That wasn’t exactly the first thing on my mind,” I hissed.
“Right.” He dragged a hand through his hair and swallowed. “I guess it makes sense now, y’know? I only wish you’d told me so I—”
“Wait—” I held up a hand and leaned away from him. “What makes sense?”
Teddy’s gaze widened. “You know—yesterday, and—”
The sound of my stool scraping against the floor cut him off.
“Wow,” I said, laughing humorlessly. “So that’s it, then? You think I’m spiraling because Andrew came home?”
His brow furrowed. “Margot, that’s not—”
“Save it,” I snapped, and my voice came out too loud for the tiny café. Heads turned. My throat burned. “You don’t get to psychoanalyze me, Teddy. Not when you’re the one who walked away.”
His expression flickered, like he couldn’t decide whether to be angry or confused or sorry. Probably all three.
“That’s not fair,” he said quietly.
“Neither was seven years ago.”
I stepped around him before he could say anything else. My pulse thudded in my ears as I pushed through the door and out into the crisp air. The world outside was caramel light and lazy flurries of leaves, everything safe and calm—but all I could think about was how easily history repeated itself.
Across the street, my father walked toward the beach with his daughter on his shoulders, her laughter spilling through the square. They sipped their drinks identically, and my chest squeezed with a thousand shards of broken glass.
I straightened my shoulders. Nothing could be done; they were all here now, invading my exploded life just when I was gathering the pieces.
Crumbling wasn’t an option. I wouldn’t give them that power again.