I groaned quietly as Claire handed Cameron what looked to be a twenty dollar bill and practically floated over toward us. “Girls!” she purred, sparkling eyes drifting between each of us. “It’s so good to see you again. I just love this cozy shop, don’t you?”
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I jumped in before Margot could open her mouth. “It’s my favorite place to be in the mornings,” I replied with a small smile.
“How are the festival preparations coming, Georgie?” She smoothed the ends of her hair between her fingers, even though it already looked like water. “I confess I find myself without much to do until the gala. I was actually just on my way to see if Rhett was available to entertain me.”
A sour taste washed over my tongue.
“The Summer’s End Festival is coming along nicely,” I replied, determined to ignore the rest of her comments. “I’m confident it will be just what Bluebell Cove needs.” The grin on my lips felt more like a thinly veiled smirk.
Margot, who had her back to Claire, raised her eyebrows at me and sipped her cortado.
“Claire?” Cameron chimed in at the perfect time. “Two vanilla lattes for you,” he added, sliding them across the bar.
“Thank you, Cameron,” she responded demurely, plucking the drinks from him before turning back to us. “I’m off to bribe Rhett with some coffee. Have a great day, ladies!”
All four of us watched her waft back out the Morning Bell and sashay across the street like it was New York Fashion Week. The flush on my face deepened further as she opened the door to Marigold’s and disappeared. I hated this burning sensation in my stomach—the way I couldn’t stop picturing her and Rhett together, and the sickening feeling that they looked perfect.
“I think you’ve been replaced,” Rachel whispered, nodding to Cameron, who stood, frozen, gaping after Claire with wide, glassy eyes.
But Cameron wasn’t who I was worried about.
Margot whispered slowly and shook her head. “She’s a piece of work.”
“She was just being nice,” I replied, even though I didn’t believe it.
“That’s the worst kind. When people are nice with their face but cruel with their words.” She clucked her tongue and sighed. “I’d prefer someone be openly rude to me.”
“Well, we’re not all Margot,” Rachel said, walking away to flick Cameron on the back of the head.
“Think she got Rhett a coffee just to mess with you?” Margot muttered.
I shrugged, but it felt unnatural and stiff. “Rhett only drinks black coffee.”
Margot smirked.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Margot and I devoted most of the afternoon to festival decorations. We already had plenty tucked away from previous years, but with it being held in the gymnasium, I was determined to add a little extra zhuzh.
Normally, we’d be stringing lights along Main Street by now, creating that glowing tunnel that led straight to Seaglass Beach. The high school gym, though, was a far cry from the cobblestone sidewalks and ocean views we were used to.
We drove out to a fabric store on the edge of town and dug through the clearance bins for nearly an hour. After that came a few extra stops—some thrift shops, an antique mall a couple towns over—just in case we stumbled across something thatfeltlike Bluebell Cove. Somewhere between a cracked teacup and a stack of postcards, I found it. I didn’t say anything to Margot, just slipped it carefully into my basket and paid without another word.
In the end, we found bolts of fabric in white and seaside pastels to drape along the walls like faux curtains. The budgetstretched just far enough thanks to a few vendors who’d backed out, and Margot graciously—and stubbornly—covered the rest.
“I’ll get the credit card points,” she had mumbled matter-of-factly, trying to appear nonchalant.
But Margot was seeming less and less apathetic toward Bluebell Cove the more she carted me around in her mother’s car and volunteered hours of time for the festival. No matter how much she said that she just wanted to avoid Ruth, I could tell something else was simmering beneath the surface.
I refused to push. She would have to tell me when she was ready.
When we grabbed lunch at Captain’s, I half-expected Claire and Rhett to be cuddled up in a booth. Instead, it was buzzing a little more than usual, a cluster of unfamiliar faces crowding a couple tables.
“Think they’re here for the festival?” I had muttered to Margot at the bar. “Or the gala?”
She openly peered at them. “The festival. Definitely the festival.”
By mid-afternoon, I finally made it home. All day, I avoided Marigold’s like the plague, tucking my chin or studying my cuticles if we walked past. I didn’t know how long they’d been in there, and I wasn’t masochistic enough to spend time wondering. Just picturing them in my shop made my chest ache.
