“Margot,” he said.
I froze.
He hesitated, pulling a hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean to make things weird.”
“Good, because you didn’t.”
The lie threatened to rip my chest open. Teddy teetered back on his heels, glancing up at the darkening sky as if fighting with his next words.
“I did,” he said softly. “Back then—with us.”
My pulse stuttered. “Teddy, it was a long time ago,” I lied again, because to me, it still felt like yesterday. The memories had been playing in my mind on repeat since he flew back into my life, all sunshine and warm smiles and smelling more like home than anything else did.
“Doesn’t mean I didn’t screw it up.”
I exhaled slowly, knees weak. “You didn’t, we were kids. We didn’t know any better.”
It was the weakest thing I could’ve said. Back then, and whenever I closed my eyes, the truth was undeniable. I had been sure—with my whole heart, and every ounce of my soul—that Teddy and I wereforever.
But dusting it under the rug and downplaying the pain was the best I could do.
He turned to look at me then, eyes shadowed and searching. “You sure?”
I forced a smile. “Positive.”
Teddy nodded, though he didn’t look convinced.
“See you tomorrow?” he asked finally.
“Yeah,” I said. “Tomorrow.”
I pushed through the door to Captain’s before he could say anything else, the autumn air rushing in behind me.
When I reached the door to the stairs, I glanced back through the windows. He lingered just outside. For a split second, I harbored a stupid, insane, naive hope that he’d rush inside and declare his undying love for me. Then, he disappeared around the corner.
I leaned against the railing inside the stairwell, heart still racing, and thought of the way he’d looked at me—like maybe, for a second, he’d been wondering the same thing I did.
What if we hadn’t let it fall apart?
CHAPTER TWELVE
By the time I made it to the Morning Bell cafe the next morning, the air smelled like cinnamon, brine, and catastrophe.
Halfway through my first coffee, headed to Georgie’s Pottery Shop, I noticed the small crowd bustling down Harbor Street. Normally, that kind of commotion in Bluebell Cove was somewhat expected for this time of year, but seeing a group headed for the town square a week before Fallfest was out of the ordinary.
Curious—and maybe slightly nosy—I followed. The second we passed Main Street, though, my lips fell into a scowl.
A massive, maroon-rainbow-stripedhot air balloonslowly inflated in the middle of town square, dwarfing the gazebo like a cheery, helium-filled Godzilla. Its tether ropes snapped in the wind, the burner hissed, and the whole thing made me want to reach for a pair of sunglasses.
I didn’t even need to see the banner to know whose name was on it.
“Bluebell Cove Fallfest,” it read in bold, orange letters. “Sponsored by Andrew Wade.”
Groaning, I pinched the bridge of my nose, earning myself a mildly disgusted stare from one of the onlookers. I glared back until they looked away.
Someone behind me clapped as the balloon lifted off the grass a few feet, and the pilot gave a thumbs-up. Kids squealed, and a couple of retirees lingered off to the side taking photos with their outrageously large phones. I just stood there, coffee nearly forgotten, wondering how many broken-off heels it would take to rip a hole in it.
Mrs. Henderson, the Cove Market’s owner, said beside me, “Isn’t that something? I wasn’t too sure about your father showing his face again, not after how he treated you and Ruth.” She sighed in a manner that could only be described as wistful. “But this warms even my heart.”
