“C’mon, Margot,” I commanded over my shoulder, grabbing the cardigan by the door.
She scowled at me. “What now?”
“We’ve got one hour until the festival. And it’s got some new guests on the way.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
The air buzzed—word of the gala’s cancellation travelled down Main Street in minutes. People moved with new ease, looser somehow, like a cord had been cut. Mr. Henderson strung the last lights at the end of the street, and I could see puffs of smoke from the food trucks as they began to prepare.
Even the cobblestones seemed to hum, the shopfronts and booths alive with their own pulse.
A cluster of familiar faces waited at the curb, none of them looking thrilled. Joe, arms crossed, lips pressed in a thin line. Dot with her sunhat drooping so low it looked like it was scowling for her. Florence held her crossed arms tight to her chest, her chin tucked down like she might fold into herself if no one said anything. Behind them, a couple others—Mrs. Grady from the music store, and even Hank from the corner pet shop.
I didn’t need to think. I crossed the street and planted myself in front of them, hands on my hips.
“You’re coming with me.”
Joe blinked. “Where?”
“Here. The festival.” I motioned to the carnival games going up at the end of Harbor Street, to the filled-to-the-brim booths lining the road beside us. “This whole thing is for Bluebell Cove, and you’re part of that. The gala is cancelled—so what? You still have a place here.”
Dot scoffed, peering down her nose at me. “We don’t have booths, Georgie. I’m not about to squat on a curb and peddle blankets like some… flea market.”
“Not booths,” I replied, a burst of excitement flipping my stomach. “Stores.”
Florence’s head jerked up. “Stores?”
“Yes. Your stores. People are going to be here all night, and half of them will wander around looking for someplace quieter or someplace warmer.”
Joe frowned. “How will they know we’re open?”
That’s when I spotted Kenzie and Wyatt across the street, sprawled out on a folding table with a set of paints and poster boards meant for the balloon darts stall. A wide smile spread across my face. “Kenzie! Wyatt!”
They jogged across, paint already smeared on Wyatt’s cheek and some splattered on Kenzie’s hands.
“Any chance you two are available to help out?” I asked.
Wyatt grinned. “Always.”
“Okay.” I clapped my hands together. “We need signs to let everyone know their shops are open for business. Use arrows, make it colorful. Tape them up on lampposts or their windows, string them on rope, whatever you can think of.”
Kenzie’s eyes lit up. “Anythingwe can think of?”
“Yes.” I laughed, hesitating for a moment to wonder if I should be worried. “Within reason. Make it impossible for people not to find them,” I added.
Dot sniffed, unimpressed. “Hand-painted posters?”
Turning to her, I raised a single eyebrow the way Margot did so often. “You’re welcome to enjoy the festival with the rest of the visitors, Dot.”
She shrugged, muttering something about readying the Button Jar before storming back down Main Street. Florence, looking as if she might cry, clutched her purse and whispered, “Thank you, Georgie,” before rushing to follow Dot.
I received a handshake from Hank and a watery hug from Mrs. Grady. Joe watched me, chin in his hands as I directed Wyatt and Kenzie some more and wheeled back to him.
“What?” I said, tucking a curl behind my ear and checking to see if the dress was alright.
Joe shook his head and unbuttoned the jacket to his tux. “You’re extraordinary, Miss Wheeler. Look at who you’ve become.” Taking his glasses off, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his eyes. “Marigold would be proud,” he finished, reaching for my hand and squeezing it.
I had a feeling that the smile on my face would be hard to wipe off for a while.
