Lydia
By late afternoon, my binder had started to feel like it was judging me.
It sat open on the front desk, pages spread out like evidence. Safety requirements with parade rules and submission forms. Ephram’s calm, professional voice echoed in my head every time I tried to pretend I could solve this with enthusiasm alone.
Tomorrow at noon.
I reread the deadline until the words looked like they belonged to someone else.
The lobby was busy in the way it always was now. Renovation sounds came in waves, punctuated by laughter, raised voices, and the occasional thud that made me stop breathing for half a second. Every time I looked up, I half expected to see Collin standing right in front of me, smiling politely, ready to suggest that marriage could solve the loan problem.
He had not proposed to me yet.
He had proposed to Jane. He had moved on to Lucy. Once he realized Lucy wasn’t available he would move on to the next Bennet until one of my sisters said yes or he came to me. And he had, very clearly, noticed that I existed.
It was like watching a storm build from a distance. You didn’t know exactly when it would hit, but you could see the shape of it forming.
I picked up my phone, put it down, picked it up again.
I had already called the last rental place two towns over. They had refused, politely, as if they were turning down a request for a table reservation rather than a desperate need for transportation.
I had called two local businesses. One had said their insurance did not allow it. The other had said their truck was “in the shop,” which might have been true, but I suspected it was also code for “please stop talking.”
I had asked my sisters, which felt like admitting failure.
I hadn’t asked my parents, because they had already risked everything to buy this inn and I could not stand the idea of adding ‘Lydia needs a parade vehicle’ to their list of burdens.
My phone buzzed with a notification from the Snowdrop Inn account. Someone had commented on our latest post, which was a cheerful picture of our wreath on the front doors.
“Cute! Are you guys open yet??”
I stared at it.
Open yet. As if we were a bakery that had just not flipped the sign.
I typed a polite reply. Deleted it. Typed a new one. Deleted that too. I could not afford to be snippy, even when my nerves were thin.
I was still staring at the screen when Lucy appeared beside me like a protective shadow.
“You look like you are about to stage a one-woman rebellion,” she said.
“I am about to stage a one-woman parade float,” I replied. “Possibly by dragging it behind me in sheer spite.”
Lucy leaned on the desk and glanced at the binder. “How bad?”
“Tomorrow at noon is the submission deadline,” I said.
Lucy’s eyebrows lifted. She looked toward the sitting room where Collin was hovering near my mother again, postureangled just enough to look helpful while being deeply in the way. He caught Lucy’s gaze and smiled. Lucy’s expression did not change, which was the closest she came to snarling in public.
“He is still not giving up,” Lucy said quietly.
I lowered my voice automatically. “On you?”
“On the concept,” she said. “He asked me if I thought Jane might reconsider. I told him Jane is not a mail order bride. He did not understand the metaphor.”
I almost laughed, but I didn’t have it in me. “He is going to come over here next.”
Lucy’s mouth tightened. “Yes. And I do not like the way he waits for people to get tired. He wears them down until they simply agree.”
