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Oh yeah. If this works out the way I want, I willhappilychange my name and become Mrs. McTavish.
I pass by Libby’s shop, but there’s aCLOSEDsign hanging on the door. Not surprising since she was still at the house when I left, collecting an assortment of powders and freeze-dried vegetables to make a green juice.
However, after grabbing a quick lunch at a crepe place near the square (a crepe place! By thesquare! This town is officially aGilmore GirlsWet Dream), I duck into another shop and am surprised to see Libby, leaning against the counter, talking to the guy at the register.
She straightens up when she sees me, and I give a little wave, unsure of the proper decorum for running into your husband’s bitchy cousin in public.
But Libby gives me a bright smile and totters over in her nude platform heels. “Taking in the sights?” she asks, and I nod, holding up my bags.
“And supporting the local economy. It’s a gorgeous place.”
“Mmm,” she hums. “There was basically nothing here until my great-great-grandfather built it.”
She takes a long slurp of her iced coffee, and I nod even though I know that’s not true. I’ve read up on the history of Tavistock, and there was a little village here before Angus McTavish showed up. It wasn’t much, just a series of ramshackle cabins, but still. There were people who called this place home, and it was a place that mattered to them, that belonged to them.
That would obviously mean fuck all to Libby.
“Honestly, it’s kind of weird when you think about it,” she goes on. “Like, because my great-great-grandfather did something over a hundred years ago, I don’t really have to do anything, you know?”
I look into her eyes, trying to figure out if she’s fucking with me. Is she reallythisout of touch, or is she just being sar—
“Then again, I guess it’s also weird to have a great-great-grandfather who did nothing, so your best bet is marrying some guy who was a charity case to a rich old lady, huh?”
Well, there’s that question answered.
She winks at me, chewing on the end of her straw. “See you back at the house.”
She glides out of the store, and I take a second to pull out my phone, open up Instagram, and unfollow LaLaLibby.
I don’t need that information anymore anyway.
I turn to leave, but before I can a woman approaches, almost nervously. “Hi?” she says as though it’s a question. “Are you… you’re Camden’s wife, aren’t you?”
After Libby’s bitchery, this woman’s kind eyes are a balm, so I’m probably too enthusiastic as I reply, “Yes! Hi!”
She rolls her eyes in exaggerated relief. “Okay, I thoughtthat must be you. I hadn’t seen you before, but you were talking to Libby, and we heard he was back in town, so—”
“Logical assumption.” I nod. “I’m Jules.”
“Beth. Lord, Camden McTavish. I thought he wasnevercoming back.”
I don’t miss the way Cam’s name sounds in her mouth or the way her expression brightens. It doesn’t bug me—look, you don’t marry someone who is cute, tall, and comes from money, and not expect other people to have noticed those same attributes—but it’s also jarring. A reminder that Cam had an entire life here before me, that he’d forged connections I know nothing about. For most people, this wouldn’t be such a revelation, but Cam has always seemed to me like someone who just sprung to life fully formed. I’d liked that about him, honestly. We were both orphans, we both understood what it was like to feel alone in the world. We were the couple with no one but a handful of coworkers at our courthouse wedding. We’d never celebrated a holiday that wasn’t just the two of us.
I guess I’ve gotten used to never having to share him with his past.
“He was always quiet,” she goes on, “but nice. Guys who had way less reason to brag than he did could be arrogant pricks, you know? But Cam was sweet. Maybe it’s because he was adopted into all that money or something, I don’t know.”
“He’s still quiet,” I tell her. “Except when UNC makes it to the Sweet Sixteen. And nice. No exceptions there.”
“Good,” she says, nodding, and then she looks around before leaning in, lowering her voice.
“Between you and me, Camden is the best thing that ever came out of that family. Whole town knows it. I think if you two decided to stay, we might throw a parade.”
I laugh. “Always love a parade.”
“And,” she adds, her voice a whisper now, her dark eyes bright, “if you threw every other member of that family out on their tails? Well, hell, girl, you’d probably get a statue in the town square.”
It feels like fate. Providence. A sign from God.
