I was still trying to convince her that baked goods didn't equal building permits when the sound of a car engine rumbled outside. Tires crunched on the snow. Jane looked up from the sink. “Are we expecting anyone?”
Before I could answer, the front door swung open and a gust of cold air swept in along with a voice that practically sparkled. “Darlings! Surprise!”
Lydia.
Of course.
She breezed in wearing designer sunglasses, a faux-fur coat, and boots with heels sharp enough to aerate the lawn. Herperfume arrived a full three seconds before she did. Behind her trailed an oversized suitcase and a sense of self-importance.
Mom squealed. “Lydia! My baby!”
“Mom, you saw me last month,” Lydia said, hugging her awkwardly. “I needed a break from the city. Things have been so stressful since... you know.”
We all knew. The boyfriend breakup. The influencer drama. The hashtags.
Lydia turned in a slow circle, taking in the kitchen. “It’s so rustic. Like a Hallmark movie. This will be perfect for my next brand campaign.”
Kitty perked up. “You are going to post about the inn?”
“Of course. Hashtag #SnowDropStaycation. I will make us go viral,” Lydia confidently said, already taking selfies.
Jane whispered, “Please not literally.”
Within minutes, Lydia had commandeered the best lighting and started filming a video tour, narrating each room with unearned confidence.
“This was built in the late nineteenth century. You can still smell the history,” she told her phone.
“That’s paint fumes,” I muttered.
The next few hours blurred together in a frenzy of repair and damage control. Dad reattached outlet covers. Jane oversaw the kitchen repairs. Mom polished the chandeliers and cleaned the windows. Kitty and Meri got their hands dirty, ripping up the shag carpet while I put the needed safety rail on the steps to the basement.
Lydia alternated between filming and offering opinions about color palettes no one had asked for.
Dex appeared in the hallway midafternoon, sleeves rolled up, expression calm. He and Braxton had been pulling panelling from other walls and demoing drop ceilings to findmore beautiful walls and moldings that had been covered up years ago. “You look like someone on the brink of combustion.”
“I’m fine,” I said, probably too quickly as I pulled apart the packaging to install some handicap rails in our bathrooms to make them more accessible forguests.
“You haven’t taken a break all day,” Dex observed.
I shrugged.“Details.”
He studied me for a moment. “You’re going to need professional help if you plan to pass that inspection tomorrow.”
“I am well aware.”
“I can make some calls. An electrician, a plumber, maybe a painter,” he offered
“No,” I said immediately. “I have it under control.”
“Do you? Because I think the electrician is a must at the very least for the laundry room,” Dex pointed out.
The way he said it in that quiet, steady, infuriatingly reasonable tone made my pulse spike. “I don’t need rescuing, Dex.”
“I wasn't offering to rescue you. I was offering efficiency.”
“Same thing.”
A long pause stretched between us. Finally, he nodded once. “Then I will let you handle it.”
