A flash ofblonde hair catches my eye.
There she is, camera raised, moving through the crowd with the quiet focus I've always loved about her. The way she disappears into her work.
The way she sees things no one else notices.
Always watching, but never letting herself be seen.
“Go,” Roman says, and I realize I've been staring. “We've got things covered here. Today's schedule is locked. Nothing else needs your approval.”
“The beard competition?—”
“Is being judged by Uncle Seth, who is having the time of his life.” Roman grins. “Go. Be present. Shake some hands. Let Tara's cameras see you being the charming fifth-generation host instead of the stressed-out guy who just had a fight with his dad.”
He's right. I hate that he's right, but he is.
“Thanks,” I say, and mean it.
“That's what partners are for.” Caleb slaps my shoulder as I pass. “Now go charm some old ladies and make this lodge look like it isn't run by a family on the verge of a collective breakdown.”
“Inspiring pep talk.”
“I try.”
Chapter Eighteen
Sierra
Saturday morning arriveswith the kind of crisp, golden sunshine that makes you believe in second chances.
Or at least, that's what the light streaming through my window is trying to sell me.
I'm not buying. I've got swollen lips, approximately four hours of sleep, and a secret that grew teeth last night and is currently chewing through my sanity.
But there's a festival to document. A lodge to save. And if I lie in this bed any longer replaying the way Everett's hands felt on my?—
Nope. Up. Coffee. Camera. Professionalism.
I find my brothers in the great room, huddled around a whiteboard covered in Caleb's chaotic handwriting.
Today's schedule looks like it was designed by a twelve year old boy with a marketing degree with “SATURDAY’S HUNG LIKE A MORGAN HANGOVER SCHEDULE” scrawledacross the top.
Have they learned nothing?
10am: Best Beard Competition
12pm: Heritage Sausage Fest
2pm: Kids' Craft Corner
