“It is a nice place,” I softly admitted.
Not ready to talk, I tamped down my feelings and threw myself into the work at hand.
Later that afternoon, Carly asked me to meet her again in the lounge. The fire burned steadily, throwing light against the glass.
“I hope you are not overthinking this. It’s a good project, a good alliance,” she said lightly.
I smiled faintly but I really didn’t feel any joy. “It is a good one. However, I still need to verify if it’s something we want to take on.”
“The economy is fickle. There is safety in taking on a large project which is financed by the Hale group,” Carly pointed out as she sat beside me.
“You believe safety and happiness are the same thing?” I questioned.
“They can be. Happiness built on security lasts longer than happiness built on impulse,” Carly decided. She gave me an inviting smile, leaning slightly towards me.
“Maybe. Or maybe impulse is what makes it real,” I mused, turning slightly away from her to reach out for a cup of coffee in an attempt to put some distance between us.
She tilted her head. “You sound like Braxton. Or worse, like one of those Bennet women he talks about with such fondness.”
The name hit me like a hand on the chest. I kept my thoughts to myself but Carly must have read disapproval on my face because she moved closer, her hand on my arm as her expensive perfume engulfed me. “You don’t belong in chaos, Dex. You belong in a structured environment, with me. We could build something that would last forever both professionally and personally. We would be an amazing power couple. Everyone would envy us.”
A few months ago I probably would have seen the logic of her words. Now, all I could think of was Lucy standing in a half-sanded room, telling me that perfection didn't matter as muchas warmth. Carly’s world gleamed while Lucy’s glowed. One reflected light while the other created it.
Suddenly Carly was far too close for comfort. I excused myself, claiming exhaustion.
Carly’s expression flickered just long enough for me to see irritation before she smoothed it away. “Of course. We can talk tomorrow. We have so much to discuss.”
Back in my room, I loosened my collar, flopped down on the sofa and stared at the blank ceiling. The hum of the heating system was the only sound and it was barely there, the quietest money could buy. I opened my laptop, meaning to review her contract, but the numbers blurred on the screen. I closed it and sat back. The image of the SnowDrop Inn filled my mind. The way the light touched the wood, the faint sound of laughter drifting from the kitchen, and Lucy’s voice teasing me about dust on my shoes.
I realized, with quiet certainty, that I had spent years building beautiful things for other people while my own life stayed hollow. Lucy filled spaces. Carly perfected them. I finally understood the difference.
I thought about calling Lucy, just to hear her voice, to ask if the wainscoting had turned out as planned. But what would I say? That I missed the noise? That the silence here was suddenly suffocating?
Suddenly restless, I got up to stand by the window and watched the snow fall, soft and unhurried. The lights of the slope flickered below, perfectly aligned rows tracing the mountain’s edge. I wondered what my sister Georgie would say if she saw me here. Probably that I looked like a man who had misplaced his melody. She was right too often for my comfort.
I suddenly missed her. I missed Lucy more.
I didn’t know what to do about any of it. I only knew that comfort without connection felt like nothing at all. Maybe chaos was the point. Maybe that was where the living happened.
Chapter Fifteen: The Unmaking of Perfect
Lucy.
The sun was going behind the clouds when Dex returned. Inside, the air smelled like cinnamon and lemon polish, and the house buzzed with noise. Guests were due to arrive before noon, and Mom had us moving in perfect chaos. Meri checked rooms, Lydia had Kitty rearranged garlands for her latest video, and Jane baked something that filled the inn with sugar and nostalgia. I think it was an apple crisp from the delicious smell. I was folding napkins at the counter when the front door opened.
Mom’s voice lifted immediately. “Dex! You’re back!”
I turned just in time to see him standing in the foyer, coat still dusted with snow, eyes scanning the room. He looked more tired than he had two days ago, like he hadn't slept well. His hair was slightly mussed, his posture too rigid, and there was something in his face I didn’t recognize. It was impatience, maybe, or discomfort. Whatever it was, it was directed squarely at me.
Mom greeted him with her usual warmth, fussing over his coat and offering tea before he could respond. He nodded politely, saying little. When his eyes found mine, I managed a short nod before turning back to the napkins. He lingered a moment, as if he wanted to speak, but the door opened again and the morning’s first guests stepped inside, shaking snow from their boots.
Everything dissolved into movement. Mom went into hospitality mode, Jane carried a tray of cookies for the guests, and I shifted to the front desk to handle check-ins. Dex waited by the window, his coat still in his hands, watching me with the kind of intensity that made my pulse skip. Each time I glanced up, he was still there. I told myself I didn’t care. I told myself it meant nothing.
The couple checking in wanted a full tour so I guided them through the dining room, describing the recent restoration efforts. They seemed fully invested in what we were doing and described how they had seen Lydia’s videos online. I reflected that despite all her chaos, Lydia had helped the inn’s bookings. We had at least five calls just this morning, asking about availability, some guests even demanding to stay in unfinished rooms.
It was a bit odd but I wasn’t about to turn down bookings when we needed the cashflow. However, I still was not going to let them help with any renovations.
When I returned to the foyer, Dex was still there, now standing near the staircase, out of the way. The guests thanked me and disappeared up to their room. I turned toward the kitchen, but his voice stopped me.
