Chapter Three
The meeting went about how I expected.
Having forgotten my purse, I was left to scrawl everyone’s questions and feedback on a handful of napkins. I lost track of the amount of times I said, “I’ll get back to you on that”. By the end, a bead of sweat steadily trickled my back, and I was sure my cheeks had invented a new shade of red.
The people of Bluebell Cove were kind and patient. That didn’t include the new guy.
He sat in the booth with Janice and Frank, boring molten holes into my profile as he watched me slowly unravel.
I should be used to it; my entire life, I’ve been a tiny bit late and a lot disorganized. My friends coined the nickname “hurricane of chaos” when I broke my foot walking on flat ground and managed to take Serena’s art project down with me. No, none of this was out of the norm.
But something about Rhett Briggs made me infinitely more embarrassed to exist.
I was busy gathering my spread of napkins when a voice called out to me.
Captain’s had gradually emptied after the meeting.
Most of them with businesses that opened early and families they were eager to see, perhaps I lingered too long after the processional of questions ended.
So, I had nowhere to hide when Janice waved me over, still neatly tucked beneath Frank’s arm.
Normally, I’d be thrilled.
If not for the guy still occupying the other side of the booth.
“Hey,” I said as I walked up, a stack of napkins exploding from my back pocket. “Did I do okay?”
My fingers danced on the edge of their table as I tried not to look in his direction. One quick conversation and I’d be home free. Janice and Frank deserved that much—even if I was fighting hard to hide the jumble of nerves churning in my stomach.
“I think you did great, sweetie. Don’t you think, Frank?” Janice nudged him with her elbow.
He looked up from his slice of pie, offered me a mustache-lifting grin, and resumed.
She rolled her eyes playfully and motioned to the seat in front of her. The one beside Rhett. The silent, judgy guy whose critical gaze had a tendency to make me feel like pudding. Melted pudding. If that was a thing. My fingers paused.
“Come, sit,” Janice added.
For a split second, my mind ran through a sequence of excuses that I could use to get out of this situation.
I could fake a medical event, but Janice would take me to the hospital and harangue the doctors until they came up with a diagnosis.
And if I pretended to be sick, she’d insist that I stay at the farm for the next week and cook three meals a day while I stayed in their guest bedroom. There was no way out of this.
I plastered my best imitation of a smile on my face and slid into the booth, gaze trained forward. “Frank told me that you’ve been feeling better?”
Janice propped her elbows on the table and waved an arthritic hand at me. “Oh, that doesn’t matter. I wanted to make sure that you and Rhett are properly acquainted.”
My throat tightened. “We met earlier.”
“You two will be working closely together.” She grabbed my hand and reached for Rhett’s. I watched from the corner of my eye as he met her halfway across the table and squeezed. The image was so jarring that I struggled not to linger on it.
“I mean, not that close…” I laughed weakly. “He should have all the information he needs now to make the booths.”
“Nonsense!” Janice replied enthusiastically, releasing our hands with a signature flourish. “As the former head of community events, I suppose it’s my job to tell you that you’ve won the Small Business Grant.”
I blanched. “The… Small Business Grant?”
My mind instantly began to spiral.
“Yes,” she replied matter-of-factly.
“I’m sorry, Janice. I don’t think I applied for that.”
In fact, I didn’t even know those existed. How come I didn’t know those existed? Free money was the biggest thing missing from my life.
She beamed at me. “That’s because Frank and I applied for you.”
My skin grew cold as all three of them stared, blinking, waiting for some sort of response or sign of life.
All I could think about was that ever since my grandmother passed, Janice took it upon herself to step in.
But that was four years ago. I should’ve had it together by now.
I should have no longer needed to be looked after.
For a while, I was positive that I finally proved to her that I could survive without help. I was wrong.
Then I felt it: the grip of shame twisted around my gut, reaching from deep in my chest. I didn’t go to college, I didn’t leave town, I didn’t do anything. And I couldn’t even keep my grandmother’s memory alive on my own.
I wanted to fix it all and save Marigold’s. Maybe something would be left for me when the dust settled.
“Thank you,” I managed to say after it had already become clear that I’d gone catatonic.
There was a beat of silence before Janice continued, “And we thought you should hire Rhett for the repairs.”
My jaw hinged open and my eyes flew wide. “He’s too busy with the festival,” I sputtered, too distracted by the conflagration of emotions to avoid appearing ridiculous.
“He can handle it,” Rhett cut in, watching my profile.
“There’s no one else worth their salt in town,” Janice added with a concerning sparkle in her eyes. “He needs this contract. And you need repairs.” She settled back beneath Frank’s arm, absentmindedly wiping a bit of pie filling that had gotten stuck to his mustache.
“Don’t worry, you’re getting the friends and family discount,” Rhett muttered, relaxing into the corner of the booth and laying his arm across the back of the banquette.
“I don’t need a discount.” My face flooded with color again as I hissed at him. Once more coming apart at the seams, I turned in my seat and struggled to gather a smile. “That is to say… Thank you. When would you like to begin?”
I strained to keep each word as neutral as possible. Janice, Frank, and least of all Rhett didn’t need to know about the raging wildfire they unleashed in my mind.
“Tomorrow morning,” he replied. Dark eyes studied me closely, the corner of his lips lifting a fraction.
Later, when I burst out the door and onto Main Street, I wasted no time in ripping my hat off and fanning myself with it.
The entire walk home, I grappled with the guilt that had a home in my chest for years.
We were once able to live side-by-side, like some sort of symbiotic relationship where I could live as normal while the parasite lay dormant.
Now it seemed determined to color and consume my every thought.
My grandmother trusted me with Marigold’s. She believed in me. And I was running it into the ground.
Sleep that night was fitful.
???
The next morning, I devoured whatever was left of the pastries from the cafe and dressed as early as I could. I wasn’t going to be late on top of everything else.
The week had been warmer, and my hair decided to behave, so I just threw on my favorite t-shirt with my jeans. Easton enjoyed a quick walk—I made a mental note that he would get an extra long one later—and I even told Juniper three houses down that I didn’t have time to talk.
So, Janice cornered me. I had to accept the help, whether I liked it or not.
But that didn’t mean I couldn’t make the best of it.
No matter what, Marigold’s would be successful.
The Summer’s End Festival would be the best one yet.
And Margot was going to see how great everything could have been if she hadn’t broken her promise seven years ago.
By the time I was strolling down Main Street, I felt like a new woman.
I stared up at the trees towering over each shop and stretched my arms wide to feel the balmy sea breeze against my skin. This would be my turning point. Finally, it was all going to come together—
“Ouch!” I grunted. Had I seriously run into a wall again?
“Good morning, Miss Wheeler,” Rhett returned, unmoved after I barreled into his back like the car in a crash test.
Definitely not a wall.
My cheeks flamed for what felt like the seventieth time in twenty-four hours. Of course my straightlaced, stony-faced handyman had to witness my inherent chaos firsthand. “Please just call me Georgie,” I replied and tucked my hair behind both ears.
He was early.
Earlier than what I thought was early. Which was, admittedly, being on time.
Edging around him toward the door of Marigold’s, he was silent as I shoved the key in the lock and wiggled it. I sighed. It wasn’t budging. Shouldering the wood frame, I crammed the key in again and jostled the handle.
Rhett cleared his throat. “If I may.” He extended his palm, features completely unreadable.
I swallowed my frustration, offered him a sunny smile, and handed him the key while I stepped aside.
Propping my hands on my hips, I watched with disguised annoyance as he gingerly slid the key in and turned the lock.
The door opened with a wail. But it opened.
I quickly picked up my scowl before he could see.
He held it ajar for me, stooping for his tool bag before following me inside. No further words passed between us as I readied the shop.
Rhett hardly made a sound—aside from the floorboards that shifted beneath each heavy footstep—as he moved from one faulty or crumbling area of the shop to the next.
I watered the ferns by the windowsill and the hanging Monstera.
He prodded the mysterious water stained patch of drywall on my ceiling with the end of his measuring tape.
I propped the door open. He peered up at the awning and took several pictures of the bent arm.
I was sitting behind the counter, face in my hands, having watched him for what felt like hours. Two things were percolating in my mind: I wasn’t too sure how much of Marigold’s would be left standing after he ceased with his poking, and this wouldn’t be survivable without coffee.
“I’m going to grab some coffee from the Morning Bell,” I announced, slinging my tote bag over my shoulder. Rhett didn’t move from his crouched spot in the corner as he jabbed the floor with the end of his stylus. “Do you… want anything?” I added.
He looked up then, the first vestiges of interest shining in his eyes. “Black coffee. Please.”
My nose wrinkled. Rhett’s eyebrows drew together.
“What?”
“Nothing,” I mumbled, caught off-guard by his sudden articulation. “It’s just, uh… interesting.” I narrowly avoided saying “disgusting”.
Rhett shrugged and returned to his work.
I hustled out the door, a growing smile on my face as I marched across the road. That cup of sweet, icy goodness was arguably the best part of my day. I always thought Rachel was the weirdo for drinking coffee devoid of any sugar. It turned out, she wasn’t the only weirdo I knew.
A few people were already scattered across the shop when the bell announced my entrance.
“For a moment there, I thought you weren’t coming in,” Rachel mused, pushing off the counter beside the espresso machine. “I was about to check outside and see if the sky was falling.”
Sighing, I plopped my bag onto the counter and retrieved my wallet. “Funny. I didn’t sleep at all last night. And I have a… guest over at the shop.”
She leaned forward and dropped her voice conspiratorially. “Do tell.”
“It’s a long story—but… he’s fixing up Marigold’s.” I slipped my credit card out and waved it. “This should work, by the way.”
Rachel frowned at it.
“I… please?” Glancing around the shop, I whispered, “I can’t deal with any more sympathy right now.”
Rachel drew a long breath and reluctantly took it from me. We had an unspoken understanding. She was an open ear that didn’t guilt me when I refused help, and I never brought up the fact that her best friend, Ben, was hopelessly in love with her. I tried once. It didn’t go so well.
“Your usual?”
“And a black coffee.” The words made me grimace.
Rachel laughed as she rang me up and returned the card. “Your handyman has taste.”
“He’s not mine,” I muttered under my breath.
I left the Morning Bell clutching two cups of coffee, the familiar smell of chocolatey goodness rising like a prayer. Rhett’s black coffee smelled bitter. It suited him, probably. Staring at Marigold’s across the street, I let out a long breath and took a much-needed drink from my latte.
The repairs, the festival, Margot’s return: I wasn’t sure anymore which scared me most.
But I did know one thing. I desperately needed to stop falling apart in front of Rhett Briggs.