They worked in awkward silence for a few minutes before Kate couldn't stand it anymore. “I should get back.”
“Kate.” The way he said her name, like he knew her, like he understood something about her, made her jaw clench. “You don't have to run every time.”
“I'm not running. I have responsibilities.” She set down the sandpaper harder than necessary. “Not everyone can just spend their morning playing with furniture.”
His face shuttered slightly. “Right. Of course.”
Kate left feeling angry at herself and at him. He didn't know her. He thought he did, thought she was some damaged woman who needed saving, probably. Just like every other man who thought they could fix things with their hands and their patient smiles.
She ran out of the barn and into her car, driving off much faster than the road allowed.
Back at the inn, she found Lillian in the dining room with an interior designer, fabric samples spread across the table.
“Good morning, Katherine,” Lillian said coolly. Yesterday's vulnerability was gone, replaced by professional distance. “This is Martin. He'll be handling the redesign.”
“What redesign?”
“The guest rooms. They need updating if we're going to charge competitive rates.”
Kate looked at the samples, all grays and whites, modern and impersonal. “Our guests like the traditional feel.”
“The guests tolerate it because the rates are low.” Lillian picked up a swatch of ivory fabric. “We need to appeal to a higher-end market.”
“This isn't the Ritz. It's a family inn.”
“Which is precisely why it's failing.”
Martin, sensing tension, excused himself to measure the windows. Lillian and Kate faced each other across the table.
“I wasn't aware we'd discussed redecorating,” Kate said.
“We didn't need to. It's obvious to anyone with eyes.”
“Is it?”
“Katherine, I'm trying to help.”
“By erasing everything that makes this place ours?”
“By making it profitable. Sentiment doesn't pay bills.”
“You sound like my mother never existed here.”
Something flickered in Lillian's eyes. “Your mother is exactly why I'm doing this. She loved this place, but she also understoodthat love isn't always enough. Sometimes you need practical solutions.”
Before Kate could respond, Amy appeared in the doorway. “Mrs. Whitfield? Your doctor's office called here, looking for you. They need to confirm your appointment.”
"Which appointment?" Lillian asked sharply.
"Today at two. They said it's for your treatment."
Lillian's face went carefully blank. "I'll call them back." She gathered her things quickly, but Kate noticed how she moved, slowly, deliberately, gripping the table edge like it was holding her upright. "Martin will continue measuring. Try not to scare him off, Katherine."
After she left, Kate stood alone in the empty dining room, irritation burning in her chest. Of course Lillian had given the inn's number as her contact. It was another way to insert herself into their lives, to make herself indispensable, to ensure they'd know about her appointments and worry about her health. Classic Lillian manipulation, using even illness as a tool for control.
Except... Kate had seen that careful grip on the table. The way Lillian had paused at the door, gathering strength before walking to her car. Whatever was wrong, it wasn't nothing.
Kate found Amy in the kitchen with Pop, who was having one of his increasingly rare good mornings, helping measure flour for cookies.
