Page 159 of Neap & Spring

It should devastate me. The name. The restaurant. Everything I built. It should matter more than anything.

But the truth is, I really don’t care anymore.

I don’t care about the name. I don’t care about the investors. I don’t care about any of it if she’s not here.

Burn it all down for all I care right now.

But I can’t tell her that because she wants space from me.

I haven’t responded to her message. I’ve typed out responses, but I can’t find the right words. I can’t figure out how to say I don’t care about the restaurant. I only care about you without sounding like I’m putting pressure on her when she explicitly asked for space.

The phone buzzes again in my hand, but it’s just another weather alert. The third one in the last hour.

SEVERE WEATHER WARNING: Coastal flooding imminent. Winds sustained at 75mph with gusts to 85mph. Seek shelter immediately. Do not travel.

I look out the window again, trying to see the cottage five minutes down the road. But visibility is maybe fifty feet now, everything beyond that is just gray water and wind.

The wind screams. Something metal tears loose from a building down the street with a shriek that cuts through even the roar of the waves, followed by a crash.

There’s a pounding at the front door.

I don’t move at first. Who the hell is even out in this? But the pounding comes again, more urgent this time, and I can hear Margo’s voice shouting my name.

I cross the dining room and unlock the door.

Margo practically falls inside, the wind shoving her forward. Her rain jacket is soaked through, water streaming off her in rivulets. Her hood has blown back, and her gray hair is plastered to her head.

“What are you doing out in this?” I grab her arm to steady her, pulling her farther inside.

“I needed to —” She’s breathing hard, wiping water from her face with shaking hands. “I needed to tell you something, but my power went out, and I couldn’t get through on the phone. I want to tell you in person anyway.”

I pull the door shut behind her, the wind fighting me for it, trying to rip it from my hands. The whole building shudders.

“Margo, you shouldn’t be out in this weather!”

“Sit.” She points at the nearest table with the authority of someone who’s been bossing people around for sixty years and isn’t taking no for an answer. “I have news.”

I don’t want to sit. I want to get in my truck and drive to Vivienne’s cottage right this second. But Margo is already pulling out a chair, shaking water off her jacket, and I know that look. She’s not leaving until she’s said what she came to say.

So, I sit.

She sits across from me, water pooling under her chair, and takes a breath.

“Callum.” She leans forward and grabs my hand across the table forcibly. “Sloane called me yesterday. She said she wanted you to hear this from someone familiar and not from a lawyer.” Margo’s eyes go soft for just a moment. “She asked if I would tell you instead.”

“Tell me what?”

“Okay,” she breathes. “Okay. I’m going to talk fast because this storm is getting worse by the minute and I need to get home before a tree comes down on me on my walk back.” She wipes more water from her face. “You know how John Castellano kind of owned this section of the beach businesses? Like, the actual land under them?”

I nod slowly, my leg bouncing under the table, my eyes flicking to the window where I can see the ocean trying to tear itself apart.

“Well,” Margo continues, pulling her grasp away and clapping her hands together, “Sloane came into the cafe about a month ago. And apparently, in her dad’s will, there was this whole section about taking care of local businesses. He wanted to make sure the town stayed local, you know? Keep it from getting bought out by developers and turned into condos or whatever.”

“Okay …” I draw out, not sure where this is going. My mind is half on her words and half on the cottage and Vivienne and the storm getting worse with every excruciating second that passes.

“Callum.” She snaps, drawing my attention back to her. “John was sitting on some serious wealth. Way, way more than anyone knew. I don’t know all the details. Something about investments, and property, and fishing patents that paid out over decades or something. I don’t know, but the man was rich. And in his will —” She squeezes my hand hard. “He paid off the debts of every business on this stretch of beach.”

The words don’t register at first.