“Understood,” she says finally.
“Glad we’re on the same page.” I step back. “Enjoy the storm. Breakfast buffet starts in ten. Pajamas encouraged.”
I turn away before she can answer.
We’re halfway down the hallway to the back offices when Nolan glances at me. “You good?”
I exhale. “I’m not going to lie. Telling her ‘fire, medical, or death’ felt really good.”
Caleb snickers. “And Sierra offering to commit homicide on your behalf? That was next-level hospitality.”
“Don’t say homicide in the lobby,” Nolan mutters.
Roman looks toward the stairs where Charlie, Holly, and Dixie haul shoeboxes like they’re running an underground operation.
“They’re up to something.”
“Yeah,” I say carefully. “Sierra mentioned she needed a favor. Didn’t say what. Told me not to freak out.”
That earns me three identical looks: confusion, suspicion, and in Caleb’s case, delighted chaos.
We reach the doorway to the staff hall. I pause, glancing back at the great room as guests drift in—kids in fleece onesies, adults in flannel pajama pants, staff weaving through with carafes of coffee and trays of cinnamon rolls.
Outside, the storm growls against the glass.
Inside, the lodge glows—fireplaces roaring, garlands twinkling, sixty-four people settling into the kind of unexpected snow day they’ll talk about for years.
This is what I wanted the lodge to be.
A place people remember.
A place they come back to.
Tara tried to turn it into a spectacle.
Sierra’s about to turn it into something else entirely.
My phone buzzes.
SIERRA
About that favor… I need the great room tonight after dark.
Indoor heritage walk.
Can you make that happen?
My heart kicks, but my reply stays neutral.
ME
You’re hijacking my programming now?
SIERRA
I’m fixing your reputation. Try to keep up.
A laugh escapes me before I can stop it.
