“It’s fine,” I cut in as I threw out the tea bags and washed our mugs.
It’s not like I expected her to remember everything. She probably had countless friends in New York with their own idiosyncrasies—seven years was a long time to keep track of her childhood best friend’s drink preferences.
Wordlessly, I filled a small pot of water and placed it on the stovetop. When I turned, Margot was watching me, her lips having stretched into a thin line.
She blinked and sat up straight. “So, where are these infamous napkins?”
I immediately bounded into the foyer and snatched the crumpled pile from the table. After the mess of the previous night, and my looming shadow at work that morning, they hadn’t even moved.
“Here.” Smacking them down on the table, I took a seat across from her and perched my chin in my palm.
“Well, this is interesting.” Margot chewed on the inside of her mouth and slowly began to organize them. “You didn’t want to use… paper? Or your phone?”
I groaned and massaged my temples. “I forgot to bring a notepad. And I remember things better if I write with my hands.” She spread her palms across the spread of napkins in an attempt to iron them. “I really don’t know why they appointed me. You would be better at this,” I added with a sigh.
“Well, I don’t live here,” Margot mumbled. As if realizing what she said, she pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head. “That’s not what I meant, of course. I’m sorry—I don’t know where my head is.”
But I was already out of my chair and pretending to check on the pot that was nowhere near boiling. Hot tears pricked at the edges of my eyes as a humiliated flush colored my cheeks. It wasn’t the first time Margot’s candor hit me like a freight train. I couldn’t believe that, after all these years, she could still cut me right to the core.
I cleared my throat and blindly reached in a cabinet beside the stove. “Hot chocolate still okay?” I murmured, my hands already ripping the packets open.
“Yeah,” Margot replied quietly. After a swath of silence, she added, “This is going to be the best festival yet, Georgie.”
I sniffed and whirled around with a feigned smile. “You’re right. It will be.”
No matter what.
Chapter Six
Ihad expected Rhett to be upset when I returned to Marigold’s. I hadn’t expected to find him with his head in the ceiling.
“Uh… hi.”
He jumped in response, his back knocking into the wall as the stool he balanced on wobbled. In my mind, I lurched forward and successfully steadied it. In reality, I stumbled over something heavy and careened straight toward Rhett’s legs.
Bouncing off him, an embarrassing shriek left my lips as I flailed for a grip on the windowsill but found only air. My bottom met hardwood with a thud, and I watched in latent horror as the stool immediately tipped to the floor. In the blink of an eye, his body followed gravity, dropping down on top of me.
I squeaked as the full force of his weight nearly squished me. Rhett groaned and propped himself up, something flashing in his eyes as they narrowed on my face.
“I tripped!” I explained, face reddening. My head lolled to the side, and I pointed to the culprit. “Who leaves hammers just… just laying around?!”
When I turned back, his annoyed sigh fanned across my face. “Who trips over ahammer? Did you just learn to walk yesterday?”
Me. The answer wasme.
Momentarily dumbstruck, I placed both my hands on Rhett’s chest and pushed. Slowly, as if blatantly unaffected by my attempt, he rose to his knees and leaned back onto his haunches. The corner of his lips lifted a fraction as he extended a gloved hand. I took it with a huff and let him pull me to a seated position on the floor.
After another beat of silence, Rhett spoke. “You’re not hurt, are you? Because if I have to haul you to the ER, I’m billing you for my time.” He pulled his work gloves off finger by finger before placing them on top of his tool bag.
“Nothing but a bruised ego.” I smoothed my hair with my palms and rolled my eyes when he wasn’t looking. “I’m sorry, I—I’m a bit clumsy.”
The unexpected laugh that fell from his lips made my cheeks flush with somethingotherthan embarrassment. Frustration, maybe. That was it.
“More like a wrecking ball,” Rhett replied with a surprising amount of warmth. His eyes that had seemed impossibly dark shone golden brown in the afternoon light. The fall knocked a black lock from his otherwise neat hair, making the shadow of a smile on his lips appear almost roguish.
If he weren’t so insufferably emotionless.
“You ran into me this morning, too,” he explained, brows having drawn together.
