Margot turned to me, a fresh sharpness in her voice as she said, “You’re right, Georgie. I don’t. Your grandmother loved you—and you know what that means? She wouldn’t want you to die on the vine because of some misguided loyalty.” I blinked at her,stupefied, as she gathered a breath and continued, “I just can’t believe you’d cheapen your grandmother’s legacy to four walls and a few buckets of flowers.”
I sputtered under the impact of her verbal gut-punch, mentally grasping for a rebuttal but coming up empty. Margot watched me as I gasped and flicked away a few stray tears, the honesty to her words both devastating and liberating.
Barely above a whisper, she added, “Your grandmother was there for me when my own mother wasn’t. I don’t need Marigold’s Flower Shop to remember Marigold.”
Beneath it all, buried behind some layers I hadn’t unwrapped, something dislodged. I wasn’t surewhatjust yet, but I could feel the release down to my bone marrow.
We sat there for what felt like hours, watching the waves roll in with a crash and recede with rhythmic urgency. Margot didn’t move to comfort me—she never needed to. Her presence alone was solid, holding my feet to the ground when I’d otherwise be in danger of pushing myself out to sea.
It occurred to me that, after seven years of polite superficiality, we finally had arealconversation.
She stood suddenly and crossed her arms. “Listen. Claire might be polished, but you know this place inside and out. It was people like your grandmother who kept this town feeling like Bluebell Cove—and now that’s you.”
A reluctant smile tugged at my lips. “You’re right.”
“Exactly. It’s your job to keep reminding Bluebell Cove who it is.” Margot poked my shoulder. “You have what no one else does, okay? So start acting like it.”
“Thanks,” I said softly.
“Don’t thank me yet. You’ve still got to surviveher.”
Chapter Sixteen
Before I could answer, the diner door creaked open in the distance. Rhett stepped into the glow of the lamppost, scanning until his gaze landed on me. His shoulders dropped a fraction with an exhale, like I was a relief to see.
But that was only in my mind.
“Would you look at that,” Margot muttered. “I’ll give you two some privacy before I finally make up my mind to throw him into the ocean.” She crouched, patted Easton’s head and brushed past Rhett as he approached.
My heart was in my throat again. Why’d she have to leave?
He stopped a few feet away. Hands jammed into his pant pockets, the breeze ruffled his hair. “You okay?”
I barked out a dry laugh. “What do you think?”
He winced. “Fair.”
For a beat, neither of us spoke. The muffled roar of waves in the distance kept me from fixating on my hammering pulse.
Rhett shifted his weight. “Claire didn’t mean to upset you.”
“I’m not upset by Claire. I barely even know Claire,” I returned. “In fact, I barely even know you,” The bitterness in my voice was as plain as the freckles on my face.
“That’s not true.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I snapped. “What matters is this town and everyone in it. The people who count on our festivals. Onme.” My voice cracked. “But not anymore.” I pressed my lips together before I could humiliate myself further.
Rhett dragged a hand through his hair. “They’re still counting on you, Georgie. You can’t control the weather.” He moved to sit by me, but I stood abruptly, Easton jumping awake at the motion. “Claire’s just… she’s just hereto—”
“To what? Because I heard she’s yourfiancée,” I interrupted, the indignation I’d been hiding driving me forward. “Do you do this a lot when you travel? Hang around townie girls and then disappear when you’re done?”
The accusation tumbled out like a slap and floated between us. My night of honesty with Margot had shifted something within me. A good chance remained that I’d been imagining it all, and was about to receive the most humiliating set-down of my life. But now that it was out, I needed to hear it. I needed him to reject me. To tell me that whatever I felt was only one-sided, and he was intent on living happily ever after with Claire.
That would make his return to California a lot less painful.
Rhett began slowly, as if he was responding to my allegation step by step: “Claire and I dated a few years ago, until I decided we were better off as friends. So that’s all we are now.” He stepped closer, voice lowering. “Georgie, I don’t want you thinking that anything else is going on. Because Icarewhat you think.”
My breath caught. He stared down at me with an intensity I’d never seen before, dark eyes begging me to put it together. I waited for him to actually say it—to verbalize what he was feeling; to tell me I wasn’t assuming all of it on my own.
