Georgie sipped her latte, gaze dancing between us.
“So you’re… working for Bluebell Cove?” I asked.
“You’re looking at the newDigital Communications Director.”
An unwelcome smile cracked on my mouth. “And who are you directing?”
“Just me for now,” he said, “Unless you’re looking for work outside of novel writing.”
As if in slow motion, I saw Georgie’s lips part and the wheels begin to turn, and my brain skyrocketed into overdrive. I cleared my throat and nudged her.
“We should get to your booth, right? I’m sure Rhett has something better to do,” I muttered.
She made an odd squeaking noise in response, squinting between us before nodding mechanically and making a beeline to Harbor Street. Teddy caught me by the wrist when I tried to follow.
I slipped my hand away, stomach flip-flopping traitorously at the warmth of his grip. “Did you need something else?” I asked.
“Margot, I—” Teddy hesitated, stepping forward and lowering his voice. “I really need to talk to you—there’s so muchI didn’t get to say. I know it’s not a good time, but maybe I could see you tomorrow?”
Whatever flashed in his eyes nearly killed me. For a half-second, I almost said yes and meant it.
I couldn’t do it again. I barely survived that day on Bluebell Point seven years ago, heart in my hands, willing to throw caution to the wind for the boy I’d spent ten years loving. The lesson I learned was invaluable: if I colored within the lines and refused to step too far from the plan, I never had to be hurt like that again.
I’d never be Georgie or Teddy, drifting from place to place and somehow always managing to land exactly where I wanted. I didn’t function that way.
Sowhatif he suddenly decided that Bluebell Cove was home for him? It was no guarantee of where he’d land next week or next month or next year. I couldn’t risk living outside the bounds.Hewas a risk.
Even though it crushed me, I gave him a soft smile and replied, “Sure, Teddy.”
When I turned away to catch up with Georgie, my ribs felt like they’d been cracked open and I had to gasp for breath. He’d come looking for me tomorrow. And I’d already be halfway to New York.
I narrowly gathered my senses by the time I reached Georgie’s booth. The festival was beginning to thrum to life, cinnamon sugar and hay and brine wafting through the air, the band on the corner playing a particularly on-the-nose rendition of “Harvest Moon.” I emptied my cappuccino and tossed it in a trash can, barely keeping myself from storming over and smashing his guitar onto the stage.
Rhett had Georgie’s display mostly set—tiers of pastel mugs, small planters shaped like pumpkins, a crooked chalkboard sign that readWheeler Pottery: Handmade with Heart.
“Looks amazing,” I said, genuinely impressed despite the hollow feeling in my chest.
I distracted myself studying the tips of my boots when Georgie began to stand — and knocked her head straight into the shelf of mugs. She hissed and wobbled, nearly falling over if it weren’t for Rhett’s practiced hands shooting out to steady her. The shelf had no such luck. Upon impact, the display shuddered, the mugs rattling and swaying, until one finally rolled toward the edge.
“Shoot!” Georgie shouted, lunging to catch it and only succeeding in elbowing the corner of the tent.
The three of us watched with varying degrees of surprise as the mug hit the pavement and shattered in a spray of shards and clay dust.
I bent a second later, moving robotically to begin scooping pieces into my palms. “Georgie, please don’t move,” I said, “It’s everywhere, you could get it in the soles of your shoes.”
She blinked at me and slowly lowered to a squat. “Margot, it’s not the end of the world.”
“They’re sharp,” I muttered, eyes burning. “I need to clean this up before—”
“Before what?” Georgie interrupted.
She reached for me and unfurled my fingers around the pieces of ceramic. I paused, watching in latent horror while my hands shook and tiny dots of crimson bloomed where the pieces had jabbed my palm.
“I’m just—” I stopped mid-sentence. My heart hammered far too fast for something so trivial. “I’m just helping.”
Georgie helped me up and had me drop the shards, blood and all, onto her otherwise pristine gingham tablecloth. She pressed a paper towel into my palm and quietly said, “Yeah, but I can withstand a little mess, Margot. That’s what life’s about, isn’t it?”
“I know,” I said automatically, though the lie pressed heavy around my shoulders.
