2013
The screen door squeaked like it was determined to announce my departure.
“Shhh,” Teddy whispered, already halfway down the back steps with a flashlight swinging from his hand. His grin looked wicked in the glow, as if sneaking me out at midnight was the best idea he’d ever had.
“You’re going to get us grounded,” I hissed, tiptoeing after him.
“Worth it.” He kicked off his sneakers the second his feet hit the cool, packed sand of Seaglass Beach. “Come on, slowpoke. The stars won’t wait.”
I wanted to argue, but the ocean stretched out ahead of us, dark and endless, and I forgot how to be annoyed. We plopped down on an old blanket he’d dragged from his mom’s closet, the sea air tangling my hair into a thousand knots.
It didn’t matter. Nothing seemed to matter when I was with him.
“See that one?” He pointed at the brightest star just above the horizon. “That’s where I’m going. Greece, Italy, maybe even Australia. I’m going to see all of it.”
“That’s a star, Teddy.”
He shot me a lopsided smile over his shoulder. “Then I’ll go to space.”
I hugged my knees to my chest, heart thumping in the strange, wonderful way it always did when Teddy said things like that. “Fine. You go. I’ll stay here and write about it so us normal people can live vicariously through you.”
Teddy rolled onto his side, propped up on one elbow. “Then we’ll make the perfect team.”
“Promise you’ll always come back?” I asked softly.
Teddy reached over and hooked his pinky around mine. “Promise. You can’t get rid of me that easy, Margot Wade.”
The ocean roared, the stars twinkled overhead, and for several years, I believed him.
???
PRESENT DAY
Iwrapped my coat tighter and continued hustling down Main Street. The brown paper bag in my hands swayed and crumpled beside me, and I hugged it to my chest in hopes it would conserve the warmth.
Although it was well into nightfall, the sidewalk still bustled with tourists clutching their hot chocolates or ciders and milling in and out of shops. During the off-season, the businesses shut their doors early to save money. Now that it was October, many of the windows glowed and poured amber light onto the leaf-coated street, beckoning onlookers with the promise of central heating and one-of-a-kind souvenirs.
In my seven years away, I’d forgotten about Bluebell Cove’s certain kind of magic. I could see it in the faces of visitors, new and seasonal, young and old, as their eyes sparkled with something indescribable. That feeling—the esoteric, warming feeling that seeped into our pores—was like a radiant cord that tied strangers, friends, and family together in an intangible bond that could only be described asmagic.
The heel of my boots thunked against the cobblestone as the soles crunched through leaves and I maneuvered onto Maple Street.
I was on a mission, and nothing could stop me.
Not the terraced, Victorian homes with bay windows that gleamed orange, or the creative autumn decorations that poured out across each porch like something out of a novel. Although they were no Bluebell Lane, with their manicured gardens and professionally-decorated-stoops, Maple Street had the inexplicable charm that was exclusive to the Cove.
That was why, even on an insignificant Wednesday evening, people still milled up and down the sidewalks and marveled at the giant white oaks and pastel-hued homes.
I pushed open the picket fence and barreled up the path. Although I’d been determined to surprise her, a round of excited barks emanating from inside gave me away.
The door cracked as my feet landed on the porch.
Georgie raised an eyebrow. Her black lab, Easton, whined from behind her knees. I presented the brown paper bag like the humble offering it was.
She sniffed. “What’s that?”
“Dinner. And a chocolate shake to-go.”
Her eyes lit up, and she promptly directed me inside.
