What did he want to talk about? Was something wrong with Marigold’s? Had he decided to head back home early now that the festival was a disaster? Or maybe it was about his particularly silky-haired girlfriend.
Stomach souring, I shoved the phone deep in my pocket and spun away from the water.
We hadn’t made it far down Main Street before Ruth materialized on the sidewalk and dragged us into Captain’s for dinner. She had insisted, waving away my protests with her wooden spoon, “You can’t live on muffins and caffeine forever. Sit. Eat. End of story.”
So I sat, tucked into a well-hidden booth with Easton curled on my feet. The diner thrummed with the usual evening energy: older residents swapping stories over a burger and fries, teenagers jostling for milkshakes, and Ruth hollering a new order into the kitchen every handful of minutes.
And then the bell jingled.
Rhett stepped in, looking largely unaffected by the sea of eyes now trained on him. And he wasn’t alone.
Claire followed, her heels clicking against the tile like they were snapping for the room’s attention. She stood taller than she had the night before, maybe because of the way she carried herself—chin high, shoulders back, utterly unshaken byanything in her path. Not a hair out of place, she cast a polished smile around the diner. Everything about her was perfect.
The whispers rippled through the restaurant instantly. Heads swiveled. Utensils fell. The jaws of every teenage boy in the room collectively dropped.
“Evening,” she greeted brightly, scanning the room with the air of a pageant queen.
Rhett spotted me in the far corner. Our eyes caught, and for a heartbeat, something flickered there. Guilt? Regret? Or maybe I was just projecting, because Claire looped her arm through his with the ease of someone who knew she belonged beside him.
Then they turned—straight for me.
If there hadn’t been a sixty-pound furball on my feet, I would have bolted and never looked back.
Chapter Fifteen
“Georgie, isn’t it?” Claire’s voice was warm, the tone lilting and sweet like honey. It caught me completely off guard. “I’ve heard so much about you,” she added with a blinding smile.
“Oh?” I croaked, gripping my water glass and wishing I could pour it over my head. My cheeks couldn’t possibly be a normal color.
She slid gracefully into the booth across from me before I could invite her, Rhett trailing behind and sitting stiffly at her side. The table creaked and shifted beneath the weight of the extended pause, but if she noticed the tension, she didn’t show it.
Claire folded her hands atop the Formica, nails filed to a point and painted with an elegant French tip. “Yes. Janice spoke very highly of you. Said you’re the heart of this festival.”
Heat crawled up my neck.Of courseit was Janice. Who else would be talking about me? Not Rhett.
“That’s… nice of her,” I mumbled and cast a frantic glance to my feet.
Easton, my ever-present guard dog, was sound asleep. Of all the times for him to exhibit his ability to nap through anything,he chose now? Desperate for an interruption, I wiggled my toes and tried to nudge him awake. No such luck.
Rhett cleared his throat. “We didn’t mean to—uh—interrupt your dinner.”
“I know,” I lied. My plate of half-eaten fries begged to differ.
Ruth appeared out of nowhere, wielding her notepad and pen at the ready. “Well, don’t y’all just look cozy?” she crooned with a wink. “Special tonight’s clam chowder. Claire, you’ll love it. Rhett, you want the usual?” There was no pause for an answer before she began scribbling.
“Yes, ma’am,” Rhett muttered.
Claire smiled politely. “The chowder sounds perfect, thank you.”
And just like that, Ruth bustled off, leaving me trapped in conversational quicksand.
“So,” Claire began, propping her chin on her hand. “Tell me everything. How long have you lived here?”
“Uh. All my life.” I absentmindedly gathered the condensation on my glass with my thumb. “Born and raised.”
“How wonderful. I’ve always admired people who can stay rooted. I suppose I was too restless for that. My work keeps me bouncing from city to city—Boston last year, Paris before that…” She waved a dismissive hand, as though her international travel was a tedious subject. “But there’s something charming about a hometown girl, don’t you think, Rhett?”
Rhett opened his mouth, closed it, then settled for a noncommittal grunt.
