“That was over a decade ago.” Her voice is gentle. Almost kind. The way a surgeon's voice is kind right before the first incision, but notably after you signed waivers saying you won’t hold it against them if they kill you or something. “Your father remarried. He's on his honeymoon right now, isn't he? Yet here you are. Still local. Still single. Still circling this lodge like it's the center of your universe.”
How does she know I'm single?
“I have a career here. Clients. A reputation.”
“You have a reputation everywhere. The Pemaquid estate alone could have launched you nationally. You chose to stay small. Stay close.” She pauses. “Stay near Morgan Lodge.”
“That's not?—”
“Eleven years.” Tara pulls up something on her tablet, scrolling with one manicured finger. “Seven as a certified preservation specialist. Seven years of projects up and down the coast. Churches, estates, historic homes. But never this lodge. Not until now.” She looks up. “Why is that?”
Because I couldn't. Because walking through those doors felt like reopening a wound I'd spent years trying to close. Because every room holds a memory and every memory holdshimand?—
“The timing never worked out,” I say. “Everett's grandmother was particular about who worked on the property. After she passed?—”
“Everett came home.” Tara's smile is smalland sharp. “After nine years away. And suddenly the timing works out perfectly.”
“Coincidence.”
“I don't believe in coincidences.” She sets down her tablet. “I believe in patterns. And the pattern I'm seeing is fascinating.”
My hands are trembling. I press them flat against my thighs to still them.
“What pattern?”
“You corrected me on the generation count before Everett could. Fifth, not fourth. That's not casual knowledge, Sierra. That's someone who knows this family's history intimately.” She pauses. “More intimately than a preservation consultant should.”
“The Barretts and Morgans have deep history?—”
“So you keep saying. Let's talk about that history.” She picks up her tablet again. “All three of your brothers are investors in this lodge. Significant financial stakes in a property you happen to be consulting on. That's quite a conflict of interest.”
Thank God. A pivot. I'll take it.
“It's what makes this festival special,” I say, leaning into the safer topic. “It's not just about saving a business. It's about preserving a legacy and it’s the first time they’re working together for the longevity of the lodge.”
Tara's eyes light up. “Let’s get back to your brothers. They’re investors now. Tell me more about that.”
I spend the next several minutes explaining the partnership—the stakes, the shared history, the way our families have been intertwined forgenerations. Safe territory. Business territory. Nothing that can expose me.
But when I finally take a breath, Tara doesn't look satisfied.
She looks like she's filing information for later.
“Interesting,” she says slowly. “I'll definitely want to talk to your brothers about all of that.” She sets down her tablet and fixes me with a look that makes my skin crawl. “But let's come back to you for a moment. You deflected my question about romance. Twice now.”
“I answered your question.”
“You gave me a line about architecture. That's not an answer. That's a wall.” She tilts her head. “What are you protecting, Sierra?”
Everything. I'm protecting everything.
“I'm a private person.”
“Fair enough.” She stands, smoothing her perfectly tailored suit. “One more question, and then I'll let you go.”
I stand too, already calculating the fastest route to the door.
“Are you seeing anyone currently?”
