Every loaded glance. Every accidental touch. Every moment where I forget myself and look at him the way I looked at him when I was seventeen.
Tara Greene will see it. She'll seeus. She'll sniff out the tension like a bloodhound in Chanel, and she'll dig until she finds the story nobody's supposed to know.
I should say something. Point out that maybe—just maybe—inviting a professional drama excavator into our carefully constructed house of cards is a catastrophically bad idea.
But Everett's already agreed. I’mnota partner. And really, what am I supposed to say?
This is dangerous because I'm hiding an eleven-year secret that could destroy multiple relationships and I'd really prefer not to be exposed on national television, thanks.
Yeah. That'll go over great.
So I smile. Nod. Pretend my pulse isn't screaming.
And hope to God I'm better at hiding than Tara Greene is at finding.
“Focus. We still need to plan. Well, you need to plan,” I cut in before his enthusiasm reaches levels that require medical intervention. “You can't just announce an event and wing it. That's how people end up on the news. The bad part of the news.”
“She's right.” Nolan checks his phone. “It's almost five-thirty. We've got maybe three days to put this together if we want to launch Friday.”
“Three days.” Everett's laugh is humorless. The laugh of a man who's accepted his fate and is just along for the ride now. “To plan, market, and execute an event that could save the lodge. No pressure. None at all. I'm totally fine.”
“You don't look fine,” Caleb observes. “You look like you could use another drink.”
“Good thing you've got us,” Roman says, and there's something warm in his voice.
Something that sounds like we've got your back. Like you're not alone in this. Like we're going to figure this out together even if it kills us, which it might.
“Okay.” Nolan straightens on his stool. “If we're doing this, we need a real schedule. Heritage Walk on Friday, fine. But we need more than one event per day.People need options. Variety. Reasons to stay instead of just driving through.”
“Lumberjack games,” Caleb offers immediately, because of course that's where his brain goes. “Saturday afternoon. I can rally the crew from Roman's construction team. Make it competitive.”
The planning session that follows is chaotic and loud and exactly like every family dinner I've ever survived—everyone talking over everyone else, ideas bouncing off the walls like ricocheting bullets.
This was us. Before everything fell apart.
The five of us, sprawled across this very room, dreaming up schemes and getting into trouble. Everett at the center of it, the only child who'd inherited three brothers whether he wanted them or not.
I'd almost forgotten what this felt like. All of us together. A unit.
A family.
Don’t.
Don't get attached to something you can't keep.
But the warmth stubbornly spreads anyway. Like light leaking into a darkroom, blurring the image the same way it blurs lines I’d laid down.
By the time the sky starts to lighten outside the great room windows, we have a loose plan. Snow-or-Shine Fest, running all week. Heritage walk, lumberjack games, A “Best of Maine” food crawl through the restaurant.
And yes, fine, Tara Greene and her cameras. But on Everett's terms. Cultural. Respectful.
No manufactured drama.
Famous last words.
“Alright, that's the skeleton,” Roman says. “We can flesh it out over the next couple days.”
“Someone needs to coordinate with Holly and Chance,” Nolan adds. “Get them up to speed.”
