“Oh yeah, really experienced. She takes tourists up into the bush for hunting and fishing. She’s got thousands of hours of experience.”
“She?”
Before he could answer, a truck even older and louder than Hugo’s rumbled up, and a woman jumped out with more energy and a bigger smile than Marigold believed was humanly possible this early in the morning. She was tiny—a good six inches shorter than Marigold—with creamy skin covered with a smattering of freckles that matched her reddish, goldish, brownish hair, that perfect, striking color people always spent a fortune trying to replicate to no avail. Not that Marigold could imagine this woman spending hours in the salon every six weeks; she wore baggy jeans stuffed into muddy rubber boots, and a raggedy navy woolen sweater that set off her hair and matched her deep blue eyes. She was stunningly beautiful in the most natural, effortless way Marigold could imagine, like Riley Keough cosplaying as Anne of Green Gables. With a pilot’s license, apparently.
“Hi,” she said, bounding over. “I’m James.”
“James,” Marigold repeated. “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting…”
James’s smiled widened. “Yeah, I get that a lot. James is short for Jamesina. My mom read it in an L. M. Montgomery book when she was a kid, and now I’m stuck with it.
Nailed that one, Marigold thought. “Nice to meet you! Thank you so, so much for doing this. You’re a literal lifesaver. I’m not sure how much Hugo told you about my… situation.”
“He said you’d be right hooped if you didn’t get to Halifax by nine a.m.!”
“Sorry, what?”
“She doesn’t speak Canadian,” Hugh said. “Hoopedis likescrewed.”
“Oh,” Marigold said. “Yeah, I’ll be beyond hooped. I’m really grateful.”
“No worries! I’m happy to help. Can’t have you missing your wedding.” James turned to Hugo. “You coming with? We can spend a few hours in Halifax before we head back. Maybe check out that restaurant we tried to go to last time, the one that ended up being closed for construction?”
“Yeah, I’m coming,” Hugo said. “I want to make sure Marigold makes her commercial flight.”
“I’ll be fine! You definitely don’t need to come.” Marigold had inconvenienced Hugo enough already—she didn’t need to add to the chaos by making him fly five hundred miles round trip to escort her the half mile from the private airport to the commercial one. Especially when he was supposed to leave for his camping trip the next day.
“I’m seeing this mission through,” Hugo said.
“I’m just gonna do my preflight check and then we’ll have you on your way.” James bounced off toward the plane, leaving Marigold and Hugo to wait by the trucks.
“You didn’t mention that James was a woman,” Marigold said in what she hoped was a light, casual manner.
“Does it matter? Women can fly planes, too, you know.”
Marigold ignored the sarcasm. “So you two went to Halifax? Together?”
“Would’ve been weird to travel separately. And expensive.”
“Hugo, come on. Why are you being so cagey?”
“Because you’re not entitled to full details about every aspect of my life. You can’t just show up on my doorstep after four years of radio silence and then demand full briefing on everything you missed.”
Marigold looked away, face flushing with shame. “You’re right. Sorry.”
Hugo let out a long breath. “No, I’m sorry. That came out wrong. James and I dated for a bit a while back. But we’re just friends now.”
“Oh, right. That’s great!” Marigold said, a bit too brightly. “I mean, the fact that you dated. Not that you broke up. She seems really cool. So… you guys took lots of trips together? Like to Halifax? Guess that’s the perk of a girlfriend with a plane.”
“That was for a friend’s wedding. We’d mostly head into the bush, spend the weekend camping and hiking.”
“That sounds fun.” In fact, it sounded like Marigold’s version of hell. Her idea of quality time in the great outdoors was cocktails on a nice patio. Or maybe a hot tub at a luxury spa where you could stare up at the stars for a bit, don a fluffy robe, and then head back to your suite to sleep on eight-hundred-thread-count sheets, as god intended. She’d been such a fool to even entertain the idea of staying here with Hugo—she hadn’t just broken his heart; she was an impediment to the type of life he wanted to lead. He belonged with that milk-fed, nature-loving, plane-flying woman over there. (Or at least someone like her.If Marigold had her druthers, fate would hand Hugo someone equally nice but just a tad less striking.)
James jogged back over, auburn waves bouncing. “All set! You two ready to go?”
“Ready,” Hugo said. “Mare?”
Marigold glanced at the red cliffs that led down to the white-capped waves. She could still smell the faint scent of the fields of wildflowers they’d passed mingling with the scent of the sea. She thought of the comforting rumble of Hugo’s truck, of Humphrey waiting at home by the door, tail thumping in anticipation of her.
