Caleb barrels on. “Because Everett, my dude—she is married.Married.And not like happily. Like bored-rich-woman-married. And she is best friends with Tara. And she literally live-streamed her Botox appointment last month. If you touched her, the internet will know before breakfast.”
“No, Caleb. I didn’t decide to hang up my legacy to become an escort. But thanks for asking.”
“THANK GOD,” Caleb says. “Because she was already planning your wedding in the bar last night. I swear to God she told Nolan she ‘felt a connection.’”
Nolan lifts a shoulder. “She did say that.”
Roman pinches the bridge of his nose. “We’re losing the thread.”
Caleb leans in. “So if it wasn’t Botox Barbie, who was it? One of the fitness influencers? Becky from the desk? The woman who keeps trying to buy Roman for lumberjack content?”
Roman elbows him. “Don’t bring me into this.”
I run a hand down my face. “I’m not discussing it.”
Caleb beams. “Which means it absolutely happened. And I want you to know, sincerely, from the bottom of my heart—I am proud and also deeply, profoundly jealous.”
“You don’t shut up long enough for a woman to get a word in. If you did, you might not be jealous.”
Caleb throws up his hands. “Talking isn’t exactly the priority when the pants drop, Everett.”
“Yeah, and that’s why yours go back on so fast,” I say. “Now, if you don’t mind, we have a lodge to manage.”
Roman snorts. Nolan covers a rare grin by scratching his chin.
By the time we hit the lobby, Tara’s already in full swing.
She’s perched on one of the leather chairs near the front windows, wrapped in a chic cream lounge set that probably costs more than my first snowmobile. Her hair and makeup are camera-perfect, despite the hour. One of her crew guys is filming her “candidly” staring out at the snowstorm with a mug of coffee she definitely isn’t drinking.
A group of guests near the fireplace falls quiet whenshe glances their way. The silence has a sharp edge. There’s side-eye. A lot of it.
Good.
I walk straight to her.
“Morning,” I say.
She startles, just a flicker before Professional Host face slides into place.
“Everett.” Her smile is smooth as glass. “Isn’t this wild? Our weather team didn’t see this coming at all. It’s going to make incredible television. I was just telling my crew we need to get some B-roll of the kids playing in the snow before we get on the road.”
“About that,” I say. “Nobody’s getting on the road.”
She blinks. “What?”
“The county issued a travel advisory. They’re asking everyone to stay put until they can clear the main roads.” I nod toward the buried parking lot. “We’re officially snowed in. That means no vehicles up or down the mountain unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
Her smile slips. “You’re joking.”
Roman steps up beside me, all competent menace. “He’s not.”
“We’re fully staffed,” I say. “We have supplies, generators, and safety protocols for winter storms. We’ll keep the lodge comfortable. But unless it’s an emergency, there’s no getting on or off.”
Her jaw tightens. “Define emergency.”
“Fire, medical, or death.” I keep my tone even. Her eyes flash. For a second, I see the woman who stood onmy deck and calmly aired my family’s worst night to the world.
Before she can launch into whatever argument she’s loading, Sierra sails through the lobby, a shoebox clutched to her chest and her camera perched on top.
