Caleb snags my sleeve and drags me around the corner, Sierra’s laughter echoing behind us.
Two hours later we reach the final tally for the Heritage Tour: After Dark Edition.
Three marriage proposals. (All to Jake.)
Two indecent proposals. (One to Jake, one to the boulder.)
One request to “recreate settler times but with less clothes.” (Denied, but only because Caleb couldn't figure out the liability waiver.)
Fourteen noise complaints from the neighboring property.
One instance of someone spray-painting “MOUNT ME EVERETT” on the lodge sign… vandalism I found when Caleb dragged me around the corner for photos.
Bright red letters across wood my great-grandfather carved by hand. The sign that's welcomed every guest for hundred years. The sign my grandmother used to touch every morning like a good luck charm.
I’m still trying to figure out if “MOUNT ME EVERETT” means the mountain or me.
Hell, I’m still trying to figure out why my first instinct is to laugh instead of scream.
Maybe because screaming would mean admitting this matters. That watching my name turning into a punchline actually hurts. That somewhere under all thebourbon and resignation, I'm still the kid who promised his grandmother he'd take care of this place.
I didn't promise to turn it into a thirst trap.
But here we are.
“Everett?” Caleb's voice cuts through. “Photos. Now. The lighting's perfect.”
I tear my eyes away from the sign.
“Coming.”
Revenue: More than we made in the entire month of November.
My dignity: What fucking dignity?
Oh, and the Prius? Still in the fucking snow bank.
And now three Barrett brothers descend upon me like locusts with ideas.
“We could do themed nights,” Caleb says with a disturbing amount of enthusiasm. “Frontier Fridays. Settler Saturdays. Maybe a whole 'Winter is Coming' thing where?—”
“I will burn this lodge to the fucking ground.” The words are little more than a growl as I pinch the bridge of my nose and kick mentally kick my own ass for not appreciating the lowkey days as much as I should have.
You know, the ones where all I had to deal with was a rotten window, a pissed off preservation specialist, and the fourth generation Morgan who refused to let go.
“That's the spirit! We could totally incorporate fire into the?—”
“Caleb.” My voice turns feral in a way that surprises even me, but at least it finally grabs his attention.
“Shutting up now.”
The brothers scatter. Caleb to charm more guests. Roman to check on the bar. Nolan to do whatever Nolan does when he's processing—probably stand in a corner looking thoughtful and making everyone nervous.
I stay where I am.
The lodge still buzzes. Laughter, music, the relentless churn of people having the time of their lives at my family's expense.
No. That's not fair. They're having the time of their lives because of my family. Because the Barretts saw what I couldn't—that sometimes survival means letting go of what you thought you were saving.
