What if I didn’twantthe mess? And what if I was missing something in all the chaos and heartbreak and uneven pieces I didn’t want to look at?
All I could hear was the hum of the crowd, the clinking of wind chimes from the next booth over, and the muffled twang of another Neil Young song. I stepped back and forced a breath. Georgie and Rhett laughed together and worked in tandem to clean up the shambles I somehow made worse. When it was done, it didn’t look as if nothing had ever happened. Specks of dark red marked a few white squares on the tablecloth, a thin layer of dust remained like a chalk outline on the asphalt, and she had to add a mismatching mug to the shelf.
None of it was perfect—and yet, in a way, it was.
The frigid wind tossed a lock of hair across my face, and for a moment, I didn’t bother with tucking it back behind my ear.
My phone buzzed. In a daze, I checked it.
Andrew Wade:Camille and I will be at Fallfest later. Can we see you?
I stared at the screen, thumb hovering over the keyboard.
Part of me wanted to bury my phone in the sand, or maybe my head. The other part—smaller, but growing infectiously warm—wanted to see what it felt like to stop being so careful all the time. I replied,I’ll be on Harbor Street.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
By late morning, Fallfest was in full swing. Georgie closed her booth and disappeared into the baking tent beside the hot air balloon to judge the pie competition, leaving me to wander. I drifted past the cider stand, the antique stall, the booths of high school kids selling hand-painted pumpkins. Everywhere I turned, someone waved or smiled or asked how Serena’s wedding went. I smiled back until my cheeks ached.
A gust of wind shifted the tree branches, scattering orange leaves across the cobblestones. I tilted my face toward the sky and exhaled.
The truth was, I loved this place. Always had. For all its gossip and smallness, it was home. It had shaped every piece of me I’d spent years trying to edit out. When I thought about it, the flaws weren’t reallyflawsat all—they were integral, functioning parts of the intangible magic that couldn’t be replicated if anyone tried.
What other beautiful things had I missed in pursuit of the orderly?
I passed the photo booth near the end of Harbor Street and froze. Teddy’s logo was still printed on the side:Bowman Photography. Weddings. Events. Memories.Leave it to him to somehow procure a professional-grade photo booth in the span of a couple days.
A pang hit me square in the chest. It really did look like he was putting down roots here.
I stepped closer, fingers brushing the edge of the velvet booth curtain, and found a single photo strip tacked beneath the plastic cover. Four squares—Teddy and Ivy both mid-laugh, his arm around her shoulders, blue eyes sparkling in vibrant color.
Perhaps she never became his ex-girlfriend.
I shook my head with a small sigh. Teddy wouldn’t do that—and it didn’t matter, either. In a little over twenty-four hours, I’d be in New York. I didn’t have any sort of claim over him, and I never really did.
I tore my gaze away, forcing my feet to move.
The green of town square was crowded with onlookers admiring the garish hot-air balloon and a line of people trying to squeeze in for the pie competition. Kids squealed every time the flame roared. Applause and the sound of Georgie’s voice on a speaker boomed from inside the tent. I smiled despite the jumble of feelings I still had yet to untangle.
I stopped on the sidewalk by the beach, just watching. I didn’t realize someone had joined me until a small voice said, “It’s louder than I expected.”
I turned. Camille stood there, clutching a caramel apple, curls pulled back with a pumpkin clip.
“Hey,” I said, eyes darting through our surroundings for our father.
Had he seriously left his five-year-old alone in a new town to find me? I heard his laugh, booming and rehearsed, drifting across the road. He stood beside the hot air balloon with his armdraped across the basket, head tilted in conspiratorially as he whispered to a woman I’d never seen before.
Then I was six again, sick to my stomach and wandering through Fallfest searching for my father. I couldn’t remember where I found him. Only that he wasn’t where he was supposed to be.
“Hi,” Camille said, shaking me from my memories.Literally. She tugged at the bottom of my shirt, leaving a sticky residue on the hem in the pattern of her fingers. “Dad said to find you,” she said matter-of-factly, as if us being sisters was the most natural thing in the world.
I peered at the newfound stain on my shirt, thepièce de résistance to the ring of coffee soaked into the black fabric. It occurred to me—perhaps too late—that I had no idea how to interact with a child. I didn’t have siblings, and I never really felt like a kid even when I was one.
Only, Ididhave a sibling now. Something strange and warm bloomed at the thought.
“Are you okay?” she asked, eyebrows furrowed. “Can you talk?”
I laughed and squatted until we were eye-level. “I don’t believe we’ve properly met. I’m Margot.”
