I gesture to the next panel—the scraps and confessions.
“These are things I wrote when I didn't have the guts to say them out loud.”
I pick up a scrap. “This one says, 'Do NOT forget how he looked at you today.' Apparently teenage me was dramatic and had raccoon handwriting.”
Laughter breaks the tension.
Holly hands me another.
“If he kisses me tonight, I'm not going to survive it.”
Charlie hollers, “Spoiler: she survived!”
The room laughs again.
“Look,” I say, “I know this is ridiculous. It is ridiculous. But for eleven years, I kept all of this hidden because loving him felt dangerous. I thought choosing him meant losing everything else.”
My throat tightens.
I look at Everett.
“And then last night... I realized the only thing I was afraid of losing was him.”
His breath stutters.
Out of the corner of my eye, Bruce's expression shifts—something wondering, something aching, something maybe waking up.
Shelley bites back a smile. She 100% knew this was coming.
“I'm not here to talk about clickbait storylines,” I say, flicking a glance at Tara's crew, who suddenly study the ceiling. “I'm not here for drama or edits made by people who weren't in the room.”
My voice steadies.
“I'm here because Everett Morgan is the fifth-generation heart of this lodge.”
A ripple of agreement crosses the room.
“Because he works harder than anyone,” I continue, “and he does it quietly, steadily—like the mountain itself taught him what endurance looks like. Because he loves this place in a way cameras can't capture. Not in sound bites. Not in sensationalism.”
I gesture to the photos.
“This is his story. Through my lens. Through my heart. This is what it looks like when someone grows up loving a boy who turned into a man who turned into home.”
The room holds its breath.
Then I move to the final board.
The one with the photo I took yesterday—Everett lit by broken gold, jaw set, fierce and steady.
“And this,” I say softly, “is the moment I stopped running.”
A quiet sound escapes him—a small break he can't hide.
Charlie fans herself.
Dixie whispers, “Somebody sedate me.”
Holly squeezes my hand.
