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Cole takes a few steps forward. Then a step back. Then a step forward again, his throat working. I don’t miss that his hand shakes when he reaches out to touch her face.

Margo doesn’t pull away.

“It’s your choice,” he says quietly. “We won’t push you.”

He slowly drops his hand and she whines in the back of her throat.

“There’s work to be done,” Gabe says. “All that’s left is setting up the pavilion, and the volunteers should be here soon⁠—”

“I’ll do it,” Margo says after a long moment. She looks at Gabe. “Suzanne hasn’t called to kick me out of the festival?”

Gabe frowns. “No. Quite the opposite. She’s looking into taking action against whoever posted that comment.”

“Fucking Seth,” I grumble.

He’s the only one I know of who saw us together.

“If I find out it’s him,” Gabe warns.

“It doesn’t matter,” Margo says quickly, determination on her face.

“It doesn’t,” I say, stepping closer. But she backs up a step, and this time I stay where I am.

“I have to do this,” she says, as if trying to convince herself. “I have to try and pull this off, and then…”

She trails off.

“After the festival, I’ll make my decision,” she says finally, her voice firm.

Gabe swallows visibly. “Okay.”

Cole doesn’t speak but nods.

“We’ll see you at the festival,” I say quietly. I want to kiss her. Hug her. But instead, I turn around and walk back to my truck.

She asked for room once, and I made her pay for it. Not again.

The festival opens at five. It’s nearly seven now. I can put in a few hours at old man McVey’s and still be back by quarter to five. Keep my mind off things.

Because if I don’t distract myself, I’ll lose my mind.

I don’t wait for the others, just get in my truck and drive away.

The hours go by too quickly.

I spend them cleaning up around the McVey mansion, throwing out the soaked sandbags, mopping up water, fixing the generators.

It takes nearly all day, and I check my phone every five minutes in case Margo has called.

She hasn’t. It’s quarter to five when I arrive back at the vineyard, and the parking lot is nearly full. It’s sunny outside, despite the horrible storms that have plagued Garland Falls the last two weeks.

Margo’s dessert pavilion is front and center, and it looks beautiful. The setting sun fades behind the pines. Volunteers are handing out hot cider, and the line at Margo’s booth snakes past the hay bales.

Paper ghosts turn above the booths, and jack-o’-lanterns glow along the path. The air smells like warm apples and cinnamon.

She pushes a cupcake toward a kid that’s standing nearby, and the kid grins and takes it.

She wears a sweater dress like usual, but it’s covered with an apron that says “Kiss the Baker.”