Georgie rolled her eyes and made no response, sneakers crunching in the layer of hay spread across the pumpkin patch as she left for another load. I lifted myself onto the truck bed, feet dangling as I braced my shoulder against the cool metal.
Only thirty minutes from Main Street, Cedar Ridge Acres was one of the few remaining ancestral farms that boasted open acreage and a treeline littered with amber-and-ochre hues. Flanked by Janice and Frank’s flower farm, and Rhett’s land that hadn’t been used for crops in decades, nothing rivaled it—not even in downtown Port Camden. Complete with a corn maze, a hayride, a petting zoo, and a field of picture-perfect gourds, the opening was a stroke of genius.
They were also more than willing to give Georgie a half-price deal on extra decorations for the Fallfest now that the season drew to a close.
Georgie hauled a massive, green-and-orange pumpkin onto the truck bed, the suspension squeaking and bobbing under the weight. “So,” she started, pulling herself up beside me. “Ready to talk about your dad?”
I thumbed the hem of my sweater and stared up at the leaves shifting afternoon light overhead. “There’s not much to say. You saw him.”
“Have you talked to your mom yet?” She arched a brow, pulling her knees to her chest.
“I managed to avoid her—or maybe she’s avoiding me.” I shrugged. “Who knows.”
Georgie drummed her fingertips against the metal. Rust-hued smudges streaked across her palms and up her wrist, no doubt from churning out another army of pumpkin mugs. Sooner or later, she’d need to hire anactualemployee—instead of solely relying on free boyfriend labor.
“It might be worth it to sit down with him, don’t you think?” When I was silent, she continued, “I just mean, if my grandmother was still alive—”
“That’s not really the same, though, is it?” I cut her off and pushed myself to the ground. Something hot pricked at my eyes and I furiously rubbed them as my feet twisted in the hay. “Marigold didn’twantto leave, she actually loved you.”
When I turned back to her, Georgie’s lips were flattened into a thin line.
“You’re not the only one with a parent who left, Margot,” she whispered.
For a split second, I was sure a celebrity in a glittering gown would appear and hand me an award for “The World’s Worst Friend.”
My stomach churned, and I smacked my forehead with a groan. “You’re right—I’m sorry.”
Georgie played with the threads of her ripped jeans, something far off and unfamiliar clouding her features. “It’s okay, I forget here and there too.”
A gaggle of children ran past us, boots crunching as the air filled with breathless giggles. Then they were gone, and we watched heads of curls and ribbons and baseball hats bob toward the corn maze like a brood of ducklings. My chest tightened, and I leaned against the truck, crossing my arms to keep from fidgeting further with my sweater.
“I’m scared,” Georgie said, so quietly I thought I might’ve misheard her. “That we’ll lose the magic, you know? We fought so hard for the Summer’s End Festival, and now it’s getting so big, what if these kids never get to experience what we did?”
I squinted at her over my shoulder. “Wasn’t ityouwho gave that impassioned speech about Bluebell Cove being about the people?”
She waved her hand and rolled her eyes in response, but made no attempt to hide the smile on her face. By the time we’d finished loading the rest of the pumpkins, the sunlight had shifted to a deep amber, and I could’ve sworn the temperature dropped several degrees.
I hopped in the driver’s seat—Georgiestillhadn’t learned how to drive, and frankly, I’d be a little terrified if she did. The engine roared to life, and I checked the ocean of pumpkins in the rearview mirror before pulling away from the farm.
Georgie gasped, and I nearly slammed on the brakes.
“You can’t do that when I’mdriving, Georgie,” I bit out, eyes trained on the winding dirt road.
“Sorry,” she replied with a sheepish grin. “It’s just… never mind.”
I tossed her a glare at the bottom of the hill. “I need an explanation after nearly driving us off a cliff.”
Georgie glanced from me, to her phone, then back to me. Hesitantly, she extended the screen and grimaced.
A photo. Andrew Wade, sleeves rolled to his elbows, a familiar little girl perched on his shoulders.Local Family Sponsors Fallfest Hot Air Balloon.
My stomach lurched. I sucked in a sharp breath, my jaw tensed as the light turned green and I turned left onto the interstate.
“I didn’t even know we had a hot air balloon,” I replied, focused on keeping my voice even.
Georgie’s gaze bored holes into my profile. “Remember that preliminary fundraiser? It was one of the items on our wish list.”
My knuckles turned white around the leather steering wheel. A staticky Nat King Cole song drifted from Rhett’s old radio, the warm notes hardly calming my nerves.
