Page 67

Back off, that voice says again. Let one of them have this. You’ve had your great love. They haven’t.

The thing about that voice, a voice I’ve tried to work through in therapy, is that there’s truth in it.

Cole and Belle had been college sweethearts, but they were toxic. Both of them. It would have never worked out. And Marcus… well, other than a couple women here and there to warm his bed, I don’t think he’s ever had a long-term girlfriend.

She’d keep Cole from being too wild. Pull Marcus out of his shell.

For me? She’d be a second chance.

I don’t know who deserves her most. I don’t know which of us she’ll choose.

If any.

Maybe this is just fun for her. Maybe it’s just physical. She’s young, after all. God knows when I was twenty-one, I thought I had forever all figured out. I’d just married Lois. I didn’t know a damn thing.

As Margo crouches on her haunches to take the last picture, my phone trills in my pocket. I pull it out.

Suzanne.

Of course. There are deliveries to handle in the upcoming days. First the hay for the hay ride, which will keep. In a few days, the apples for apple bobbing. Then of course there’s all the party favors…

I answer the phone, not bothering to leave the room.

“Hi, Suzanne.”

“Yes, Mr. Rivera, I wanted to ask if you’re available to meet Seth for the hay delivery today.”

“Please call me Gabe, Suzanne. And yes, I’m available. When will he be getting here?”

“Any moment, I’m afraid,” she says sheepishly. “I usually have things so together, but these floods…”

I smile as Margo perches on the empty box the cupcake liners came in, focused on her phone, probably posting on Sugar & Coal’s website and social media.

“It’s alright. We’re all a bit frazzled by the storms.”

“Thank you for being so understanding, Mr… Gabe.”

“You’re welcome, Suzanne. Have a good evening.”

I hang up and straighten my shoulders.

“I have to meet Seth.”

Seth often does deliveries to the vineyard. Usually fruit and yeast and the like. He’s around Margo’s age with an easy grin and a shock of blond hair.

Cole’s eyeing the pastries like they’re whispering to him.

“Please tell me we can taste test them,” he pleads.

Margo nods. “Sure, whatever we have left, I’ll donate.”

“To the group home,” Marcus comments.

Margo smiles at him, and they share a moment between them that makes my stomach hurt.

“I’ll have some when I’m back,” I mutter.

“Need help unloading?” Marcus asks.