Becky looks at me like she expected shouting. Or at least a few creative curse words.
“Is everyone freaking out?” I ask.
“Guests are…mixed,” she says carefully. “Some think it’s magical. Some are upset. A few are already at the desk asking about refunds and ‘guaranteed checkout times.’” The way she air-quotes it tells me this conversation did not go well for her. “Also, Tara Greene is up and filming in the lobby.”
Of course she is.
The knot that’s lived under my breastbone for the past forty-eight hours should tighten. The one that says:They saw you at your worst. They saw you go head to head with your father and spliced it for clout. They turned you into a drunk frat kid who returned home to turn the legacy into dollars and when that didn’t work out, you swindled it out of your three best friends by attaching them to the sinking ship.
It doesn’t.
Instead, I think about Sierra in the darkroom, pressed tight against me. The way she looked at that photograph of me—like I was something worth saving.
She told me she was choosing us.
I’m holding her to that.
“Okay,” I say. “We’re moving any outdoor programming indoors. Fireside chat becomes great room storytelling. S’mores get moved to the big hearth. We’ll run cocoa and mulled cider all day. Talk to kitchen—no one’s leaving, so we’re feeding everyonelike it’s a snowed-in holiday. Extra snacks, board games, movie marathon in the lower lounge. The magical ones will be delighted, the pissed ones can soothe themselves with carbs.”
Becky nods, fingers flying on her tablet as she takes notes. “On it.”
“Housekeeping needs to prep rooms like everyone’s staying another night,” I add. “Fresh towels, extra blankets, make sure every bathroom has stacked toiletries. Tell maintenance to triple-check the generators and the fireplaces. I want carbon monoxide detectors tested before lunch. We’re not screwing around with safety.”
“You got it.” She hesitates. “The county emergency line asked us to keep vehicles off the road unless it’s life-or-death.”
“Fine by me.” My jaw tightens. “If anybody has a problem with that, they can take it up with the sheriff’s office.”
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
For a heartbeat, my chest gets tight in a completely different way.
It’s her.
One text. No frills, no emojis, just pure Sierra.
SIERRA
Are you awake or dead?
Awake. Questionable on the dead part.
Why?
SIERRA
Need a favor.
Important.
Potentially illegal.
…Sierra.
SIERRA
Kidding.
Mostly.
