She hummed thoughtfully and continued drumming her nails against the tile counter.
“No burning things down,” I half-joked.
“Arson’s not really mystyle,” Margot retorted.
As Rachel greeted a guest coming in with a gust of cold air, Margot’s phone buzzed again. I watched from behind the rim of my latte cup as she eyed it for a second, reached for it, then seemed to think better and simply turned it off. My pulse quickened again as I drained my coffee and placed it in its saucer with a quiet ceramic tinkle.
Ihadto ask her. I couldn’t keep going along with her ruse, pretending as if I didn’t know something was wrong. The Margot I knew—the one that had spent four years avoiding her mother at all costs—wouldn’t come live at home for a couple weeks for the town festival that recurred annually. If we were going to act like best friends again, I needed to know what was happening in her life.
It wasn’t fair that she only knew what happened in mine.
“Why are you here, Margot?” I blurted out once my mind was made up.
She looked at me as if I’d spontaneously grown a second head. “You know why I’m here.”
“No.” Squeezing my eyes shut for a moment, I drew my shoulders back and twisted toward her. “I know what youtoldme. But I’m not stupid. Why come home now? What makes this festival more special than all the others you’ve missed?” Even though I felt stronger, my voice wavered at the end and threatened to crack.
Margot set her jaw and traced her nail around a tile. “Don’t take it out on me just because you decided to fall for a guy that’s leaving.”
There it was. The classic Margot Wade defense that cut like an obsidian blade.
I stuttered as if she’d punched me in the gut, involuntary tears pricking at my eyes. “That wasn’t nice,” I managed, but it came out hoarse.
“Well, it’s not nice to pry,” she snapped in a frigid whisper.
Hiding was my instinct. To weather the storm beneath a smile and pretend like her words hadn’t beaten me to a pulp. If I couldn’t stand up to Margot, though, how was I going to stand up to anyone else?
Surreptitiously wiping my eyes, I peered down my nose at her. “We’re supposed to befriends, Margot.”
Her lips parted, but she said nothing.
“And I didn’t appreciate the way you talked to me,” I continued, “Especially not when I’m just worried about you.”
That seemed to snap her out of her stupor. “You’re notreallyworried, Georgie. You’re nosy. You always have been.”
Her heels clicked against the floor as she dropped down and strode outside. Whatever I felt before was gone. Replaced by a sourness that I’d buried for weeks—that hot indignation I’d felt when she sauntered back into my life without so much as a conversation about the missing gap of time. My mouth twisted into a scowl as I flew from my seat and followed her out the door.
“Hey!” I shouted at her back, curls whipping in the wind behind me.
“Leave me alone, Georgie!” she barked over her shoulder.
Margot tried to walk faster, but those infernal heels kept her at a hobbling pace on the cobblestone. I caught up to her in no time, angry tears already gathered at the corners of my eyes.
“You can’t just walk away,” I said to her profile, “Not this time. You’re back in Bluebell Cove. Act like it.”
She stalked past the door to Captain’s, features pinching together. “Oh please, what does that evenmean?”
“It means you can’t just pretend to be my friend and then fly back to New York whenever it suits you!”
We crossed toward Harbor Street, sand and a darkening horizon in sight. She wouldn’t even look at me, stare trained on something inscrutable in the distance. I wanted to scream.
“Either youaremy friend, or youaren’t, Margot,” I added.
“Fine! Then I’m not!” she finally yelled back, nearly stumbling as she tried to traverse the thick sand in her heels. Letting out a shriek of frustration, she ripped her shoes off and threw them as far as they’d go. “So leave me alone!” she finished, stalking toward the ocean.
“What are you going to do?Swimto New York?”
I reluctantly followed her, some part of me still struggling with a pesky amount of concern.
