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“It’s not okay. Maybe I messed up. Maybe I can’t do this festival or⁠—”

“We finished all the pastries,” Cole speaks up. Margo’s eyes shoot to him, but he’s looking at the ground. “Or rather, Marcus and Gabe did. Your friends helped. I mostly washed things.”

He glances at his scraped knuckles. “Until I broke the dishwasher.”

Her gaze drops to his hand.

“I ordered a replacement,” he adds quickly. “Apparently, being rich doesn’t qualify me to operate one.”

Her mouth twitches, but then she looks at all three of us. “You finished everything?”

Gabe nods. “Even the little bats. Cole checked every one.”

“They’re supposed to go beside the roses,” Cole mutters. “Not on top.”

Margo presses her lips together. Her eyes shine.

Cole finally looks at her. “You worked too hard for us to let it fall apart.” His throat moves. “I didn’t know what to say to you. I could at least make sure you had something to come back to.”

I look away for a second. Give him that much.

“You didn’t have to⁠—”

“What were we supposed to do?” I can’t help but ask. “You’ve worked so hard, angel.”

Margo swallows visibly, tears standing in her brown eyes.

“It doesn’t matter now. It’s all ruined.”

“It’s not!” She blinks and I lower my voice. “Margo. It’s not. We’re almost at the finish line. You’ve got this.”

“But the whole town thinks I’m a⁠—”

I cut her off. “We don’t care what the town thinks.”

Margo looks at me. Then at Cole. Then at Gabe, as if searching for something.

“We’re not going to demand you choose right now,” Gabe says quietly. “But we want you. We choose you, Margo. All of us.” He glances at me and I nod. He glances at Cole.

Cole doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.

“Cole—” Gabe starts, and then Cole looks up at Margo.

“You left,” he says in a cracked voice.

“I just needed some time,” Margo says, her voice just as broken. “I didn’t leave forever.”

“Felt like it,” he grinds out, looking away. Then he takes a breath and meets her eyes. “But you needed us, and I made it about me. I’m sorry.” His throat works. “Gabe’s right. We choose you.”

“I can’t choose⁠—”

“You don’t have to,” I say. “Not ever. I went cold on you in the truck, and I’m sorry. I thought you were done with us. Everyone’s always done with me. But I’ve waited my whole life to be chosen. I can wait a little more.”

Margo gives me a shaky smile.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I answer gruffly.