He didn’t finish the thought, just shook his head and took another drag from his cigar.
“Why do you think things have changed?” I asked.
He sighed. “Time marches on. People change. Society changes. You either change with it, or you get left behind. We didn’t change. I don’t necessarily think that’s a bad thing. I admire it in a way, but we all agreed to keep doing what we’ve always done to our own detriment. We’ll just have to find a new way while holding on to the old ways. Unfortunately, not everyone is going to be able to do that here.”
Which was exactly what my father had said. The buyout would launch the families into a new life. If they stayed and watched the town die, they would lose everything.
But something told me Sylvie was not going to accept that. It just wasn’t in her nature. I didn’t even know her all that well, but she gave off such a strong energy.
We smoked in silence for a few more minutes. I found myself wondering about Wesley’s living situation. The cabin was charming, but it couldn’t be more than a few hundred square feet.
“I should get to bed,” Wesley said and got to his feet. “I’m sure you’d rather be snug as a bug in your own bed.”
He opened the door to the cabin.
“Do you actually sleep here?” I asked as he started to head back inside.
Wesley grinned and pointed up at the hand-painted sign above the door that read “Santa’s Cabin.”
“Of course I do. I’m Santa.”
He disappeared inside, leaving me standing there with more questions than answers. There was no way the guy actually livedin that tiny hut year round, right? He had to have a real place in town. But something about his commitment to the character, even when no kids were around to see it, was oddly touching.
I made my way back to the lodge, winding through the quiet lobby and main rooms. The atmosphere was completely different from earlier in the evening. It was peaceful and cozy instead of bustling with activity. A fire still crackled in the grand stone fireplace, and a solitary guest sat nearby with a book, looking perfectly content.
Soft instrumental Christmas music played from speakers hidden somewhere in the room. It was barely audible, but just enough to chase away the quiet. The air was filled with the lingering scents of whatever had been baking in the kitchen earlier. I breathed in deeply and was hit with an unexpected wave of nostalgia.
The smell was familiar, similar to the pot of mulling spices that the kitchen staff at my father’s estate used to keep simmering on the stove from Thanksgiving until New Year’s. But somehow this felt different. Warmer. More genuine.
The Bancroft estate had always been beautiful, elegant, impressive in all the ways that money could buy. But it had never felt like this. It had never actuallyfeltlike Christmas, not in any meaningful sense. This lodge, with its mismatched furniture and over-enthusiastic decorations, somehow captured something that all of my family’s wealth and sophistication had never managed to achieve.
It was jarring to realize that I’d never actually experienced the feeling of Christmas before tonight. Not real Christmas, anyway. Just the expensive imitation that passed for holiday celebration in my world. Kathy did a good job with Christmas, but I did my best to avoid hanging out with them.
But I got it now. I understood the sense of love and celebration.
Back in my room, I tried to focus on practical matters. I needed to figure out my next moves. I had to figure out how to approach the Northwood family about the acquisition. What angles might work best to convince them that selling was in their best interests? I knew there would be serious resistance, and I couldn’t blame them. But I also knew they were fighting a losing battle.
My thoughts kept drifting back to Sylvie and the conversation with Wesley. “It’ll break Sylvie’s heart.”
The words echoed in my mind as I got ready for bed. I could still see her face in the gazebo earlier, the tears in her eyes as she talked about her simple dream of preserving her family’s legacy. The trust she’d shown by opening up to me about her fears.
I had to get her to see that the Bancroft acquisition was right for her and her family. I was a smooth talker by nature. I’d been trained from childhood to be persuasive. I knew how to find the right arguments to get people to do what I needed them to do. How hard could it be to convince one small-town woman that selling to my family was her best option?
The money we were offering would set all of them up for life. They could start over anywhere they wanted, do anything they wanted. Wasn’t that better than slowly watching everything they’d built crumble around them?
Even as I tried to construct the arguments I would need to make, my gut was churning with unease. I knew what I had to do. I just wasn’t sure I could actually do it anymore.
CHAPTER 19
SYLVIE
The next morning, I had to make the difficult decision to trust Ozzo with tree sales while I focused on setting up for the annual Christmas Holiday Party at the lodge. It went against every instinct I had. Leaving him unsupervised was like leaving a well-meaning tornado in charge of delicate operations. Unfortunately, we simply didn’t have enough hands to do everything that needed doing.
Back in the old days, we had plenty of extra staff around. Staff that handled the party planning. Staff that handled the decorating and cooking. Not anymore. We were a bare bones operation.
“Just remember,” I told him as I handed over the keys to the payment booth. “Be helpful, be friendly, and please, for the love of all things Christmas, don’t knock anything over.”
“You got it, boss lady,” Ozzo said with his characteristic enthusiasm. “I’ll take good care of everything. Nobody’s gonna knock over any trees on my watch.”
