Everett’s jaw hardens. “Sierra put a lot of work into that tour.”
Something small and bright flickers in my chest at the way he says it—protective, certain, like the work meant something.
“I know she did,” Roman says immediately, hands up. “And it showed. It was… thorough. Really thorough. Maybe it’s not the hook people respond to. Not right now.” He meets Everett’s eyes. Then, softer: “Not with what’s at stake.”
The flicker dims. But it doesn’t go out.
“What exactly are you suggesting?” Everett asks.
Roman glances at his brothers, but none of them jump in. For once, Caleb doesn’t lead with a joke. “We’ve been talking,” Roman says. “And we think maybe the walk needs a little… atmosphere. Not replacing Sierra’s work. Enhancing it.”
Nolan adds, “People like experiences. Night tours. Lanterns. Not to replace the history, but enhance it. Package it differently.”
Roman lowers his voice—not enough, but the effort counts. “Something with more atmosphere… something people feel, something they can’t just scroll past.”
Caleb holds out his hands and shrugs. “Sex sells, Everett. We gotta pivot.”
The warm flicker dies.
Sex sells. Of course it does. Of course that’s what matters.
Because four generations of history, the craftsmanship of master woodworkers, the vision of a family who built something lasting—none of that matters if it can't be hashtagged and thirst-trapped.
“What exactly are you proposing?” Everett asks, his voice careful.
“Let us handle the rest of the week's events. Me, Caleb, Nolan. You’re both uncomfortable taking it in a fresh direction and that’s okay, but the event can’t wait for you to get comfortable.”
Roman glances at our brothers, who nod in agreement with him. “We'll do a 2.0 version tomorrow. Heritage Walk: After Dark. Torchlit. Romantic.”
“The heritage walk isn't romantic,” Everett says. “It's historical.”
“Then we make it romantic.” Caleb is already typing on his phone, ideas clearly forming faster than his mouth can keep up. “Atmosphere. Storytelling. We lean into the whole 'rugged mountain men' thing. Trust me, it'll work.”
Everett shifts, uncomfortable. “Rugged mountain men, torches, and romance? That’s your idea?”
Caleb shrugs, but he doesn’t grin. “It doesn’t have to be cheesy. Just… engaging. Something people want to post about.”
Roman nods. “We’re not trying to hijack anything, Ev. We just don’t have time to rebuild momentum. Letus put together a version for tomorrow. If you hate it, we scrap it. Look, we’re just trying to help.”
Everett looks like he wants to argue. I can see the storm building—indignation, protectiveness, frustration—all cracking under the weight of reality.
He exhales slowly. “Fine. Tomorrow. But I want the plan before anything goes live.”
“Done,” Roman says, relieved rather than triumphant.
Nobody checks whether the thing they’re “enhancing” is the one thing I’ve been hanging my self-worth on.
I'm just the baby sister. The one who needs to be protected and managed and worked around.
The one whose vision just got hijacked, and who can't do a damn thing about it.
I slip out the back door before anyone notices welcoming the slap of cold air—anything to shock me out of the humiliation burning in my chest.
My phone buzzes. Another notification from TravelWithTalia’s thread. The likes are up to five hundred now. Someone's quoted it with “yikes, might skip this one.”
Shoving my phone in my pocket, I start walking. I don't know where I'm going. Anywhere that isn't here. Anywhere I don't have to watch my brothers turn my life's work into a punchline.
Heritage Walk: After Dark. Torchlit. “Romantic.”
