“I’m sorry, Rosa,” Kate said. “I started cleaning last night, but I guess I got distracted.”
“Don’t be silly,” Rosa responded. “You shouldn’t worry about such things.”
Marcy arrived next, stamping snow from her boots. “Roads are worse than yesterday. Took me forty minutes from my place.” She unwound her scarf, revealing cheeks red from cold. “How'd the fancy dinner go?”
“About as expected.”
“That bad?”
Kate thought about it. “I’m pretty sure I saw a tear.”
“The grandmother? Didn't know her type could cry.”
“Apparently they can, when they have to.”
Marcy started pulling out ingredients for breakfast: eggs, bread for French toast, the maple syrup from the local farm that guests always commented on. The familiar routine of morning preparation filled the kitchen, and Kate felt something in her chest loosen. This was real: the work, the inn, the people who showed up every day regardless of snow or family drama.
Dani arrived at nine, looking like she'd stepped from a catalog in her wool coat and pristine boots. She found Kate in the office, going over the books for the hundredth time, trying to make the numbers work.
“We need to talk,” Dani said, closing the door behind her.
“I'm working.”
“The bills will still be there in an hour.” Dani sat in the chair across from the desk, their mother's chair, with its worn arms and squeaky wheel. “Kate, about Lillian…”
“No.”
“You should at least look at the trust documents.”
“I’m not interested.”
Dani pulled a folder from her bag, placed it on the desk between them. “Just look. Please.”
Kate could see the lawyer's letterhead through the translucent cover, could make out numbers that seemed impossible, enough to fix everything, enough to stop worrying, enough to breathe.
“I see she’s sent you to do her bidding. What's the real cost?” Kate asked.
“There isn't one. That's what I'm trying to tell you.”
“There's always a cost with people like her.”
“People like her? You mean our grandmother?”
“I mean people who think money solves everything.”
Dani leaned forward, and Kate could smell her perfume, something light and expensive, nothing like the vanilla body spray she used to wear in high school. “It doesn't solveeverything. But it solves some things. Like Pop getting proper care. Like the inn not falling down. Like you not killing yourself trying to hold it all together.”
Through the window, Kate could see Ben getting tools from his truck, already at work despite the snow. He moved carefully but confidently, securing a ladder and then a bright blue tarp over the damaged section. His breath clouded in the cold air, and she found herself watching the sure way he handled his tools, the methodical approach to the repair.
“Kate?” Dani's voice pulled her back. “Are you even listening?”
“I'm listening.”
“No, you're watching the contractor.”
Heat rose in Kate's cheeks. “I’m making sure he’s doing what we need.”
“Right.” Dani's tone was knowing. “He's cute.”
