That hit something in my chest. Not because it was dramatic, but because it was accurate.
Collin did not argue loudly. He did not stomp around demanding attention. He simply persisted. He made it feel easier to surrender than to hold the line.
My throat tightened and I forced myself to breathe.
“I need to leave,” Lucy said suddenly. “I can’t stay here and watch him hover. I will say something unforgivable, and Mother will make that face like I have embarrassed her in front of royalty.”
“Mother would embarrass herself in front of the royalty,” I muttered. I felt a little bad at the uncharitable thought but it was true.
Lucy’s eyes flicked to my phone. “Can you leave for an hour?”
“Probably,” I admitted.
“Good,” she said. “Then we might as well go. If the outcome is the same, at least we can have coffee.”
I hesitated, because leaving felt irresponsible when everything was on fire, but staying felt worse. Staying meantstaring at the binder until I started believing my own worst thoughts.
Lydia Bennet couldn’t do one thing right. It was depressing.
“I should stay and brainstorm any ideas where I can conjure up a vehicle and trailer,” I murmured.
“You need a break. Sometimes I think better after I step away from a problem for a little while. Also you need coffee. And a plan that does not involve you carrying an entire float on your back." Lucy grabbed her coat, and tossed me mine.
I snorted. “Do you think the parade committee would allow that?”
“Only if you are wearing reflective tape,” Lucy said.
Despite myself, I smiled.
We left the desk to my mother, who protested vaguely but was clearly relieved to have something else to manage besides our facial expressions. Outside, the cold hit my cheeks and made my eyes water. It was bracing. It made everything feel sharper, more real.
We had barely gotten into the car when I stopped and pulled out my phone again.
Lucy glanced at it. “What now?”
“In desperation,” I said, “I am going to ask the internet.”
Lucy’s eyebrows rose. “That is either brilliant or catastrophic.”
“Yes,” I said. “Exactly.”
I opened the Snowdrop Inn social account, switched to selfie mode and aimed my camera at my face.
My hair had been in a bun for hours. A few strands had escaped. My cheeks were pink from the cold. I looked like a woman who had made too many lists and solved none of them.
Perfect.
I recorded a short story as Lucy drove into Maple Ridge.
“Okay,” I said, trying to sound upbeat. “Maple Ridge friends. I need a favor. The Snowdrop Inn is trying to put a float in the Christmas parade. I need a vehicle for tomorrow. A truck, a pickup, anything that can safely carry a display. If you have ideas, message me. Please be kind, I am one minor inconvenience away from becoming a seasonal villain.”
Lucy covered her mouth with her hand, shoulders shaking.
“Post it,” she said.
I posted it.
The first replies came in under a minute.
