“Okay, everyone, stop,” I said, raising my voice enough to cut through the noise. “We’re getting ahead of ourselves. Let’s ask the important questions before we tear each other apart.”
The room quieted, all eyes turning toward me. I squeezed Kent’s hand before releasing it. Sitting up straighter, I addressed him directly.
“How much control would you have?” I asked. “If you invest, are you going to come in here and start making all the decisions? Turn us into some corporate retreat center?”
Kent shook his head immediately. “That’s not what I want. Your family maintains operational control. You know this place, you know what makes it special. I’m not here to change that.”
“Then what exactly would your role be?” my father asked, leaning forward with his elbows on the table.
“Think of me as a partner who provides capital and business expertise,” Kent explained. “Marketing strategies, financial planning, connections to suppliers and contractors. I can help streamline operations and expand your reach without changing what makes Northwood special. That’s what you guys do. That’s what you all know. I wouldn’t pretend to know more than you about the lodge or your property.”
“But you’d have a say,” Brom interjected. “You’d have financial stake, which means you’d have power to influence decisions.”
“Of course I would,” Kent admitted. “That’s how partnerships work. But I’m not interested in forcing changes you’re uncomfortable with. Any major decisions would be made together.”
Brom’s jaw tightened. He wasn’t buying it.
“What about modernization?” Stacy asked. She’d been mostly silent during the debate, but now her question cut right to the heart of one of my biggest fears. “Are you going to want to gut this place and turn it into something trendy? Because that’s not who we are.”
Kent turned his attention to her. I was grateful to see him take the question seriously.
“I’m not interested in turning Northwood into some hipster destination with Edison bulbs and reclaimed wood everywhere,” he said. “What I saw when I came here was authenticity. Real Christmas spirit, real family values, real connection. That’s what people are hungry for, and that’s what we’d be selling.”
“But you’d want to upgrade things,” my father pressed. “You mentioned facilities.”
“Yes,” Kent acknowledged. “Things like updating the plumbing in some of the older guest rooms, maybe adding better insulation so you’re not hemorrhaging money on heating costs.Practical improvements that make the guest experience better without changing the place.”
“What about the tree farm?” I asked. “Would that be part of this?”
“Everything would be part of it,” Kent said. “The lodge, the farm, all of it.”
The conversation continued. I found myself zoning out a bit. My mind was in the clouds imagining all the positive changes. It was the dream I wanted.
But clearly not everyone was on board.
And it wasn’t going to get solved tonight.
It had been an exhausting day. The kind that left you feeling wrung out and emotionally drained, like you’d run a marathon while juggling flaming torches and making life-altering decisions.
The family meeting had gone on for over an hour, voices raised and lowered, arguments flying back and forth across the table like verbal ping-pong balls. They weren’t totally closed off to Kent’s investment idea, which was more progress than I’d dared hope for, but they had a lot to consider. A lot of questions that needed answers. There were a lot of details that needed to be worked out. And most importantly, there was a lot of trust that needed to be rebuilt.
Dad finally called an end to the discussion when it became clear we were all too tired and too emotional to make any further headway.
“We’ll sleep on it,” he said, his voice carrying the kind of finality that meant the conversation was over for tonight. “Talk more tomorrow when heads are clearer. It’s a lot to take in.”
“I will do my best to answer any questions,” Kent said. “I want to be completely open and honest. I don’t have all the answers. I just know I want to save this place. Sylvie said you would be closing up in January. I don’t want that to happen.”
Brom opened his mouth to say something, but Stacy gave him a look that said, “Zip it,” and he did.
Kent and I stepped out onto the porch. He let out a long exhale.
“Come on, let’s go get your bag,” I said. “You can sleep at my place.”
We walked to the small cabin. I couldn’t believe he actually thought he was going to sleep in there. He was a tall man and that couch looked extra small.
I watched Kent toss his duffel bag onto the tiny couch. I couldn’t help but laugh. The thing looked like it belonged in a dollhouse compared to his tall frame.
“You were seriously going to sleep on that?” I asked, gesturing at the sad excuse for furniture. “Your feet would be hanging off one end and your head off the other.”
