I circled the wordvehicleonce. Then again. The float was not a float until it could move.
I had spent most of last night imagining the Snowdrop Inn float rolling down Maple Ridge’s main street like it belonged there. Pine branches. Warm lights. A big sign that read SNOWDROP INN REOPENED in letters you could see from the sidewalk. Something classic enough to look intentional, not desperate. Something charming enough that people would talk about it later without laughing.
I could do this. I could take one visible task and execute it properly. I could hand my family something they didn’t have to double-check. I could be the sister who made a plan and followed through.
The front door opened with a creak, and optimism left the building.
Collin stepped inside.. His coat was pressed within an inch of its life. His scarf was knotted too tightly. His shoes were polished to a shine that could reflect almost as well as a mirror. His haircut was from a barber who severely disliked him and it showed.
He paused just inside the threshold, surveying the lobby with the faintly pleased expression of a man who believed his presence improved the room.
“Cousin Lydia,” he said warmly, as he expected me to welcome him.
I stared at him for half a beat longer than polite society recommended. I didn’t pretend to like him. “Collin.”
His smile wobbled. “Cousin Lydia. How very good to see you.”
I looked at our guest schedule and saw he wasn’t there. “I did not realize you were coming.”
“One does not always announce such visits,” he said importantly. “Family business is best attended to promptly.”
“Family business?” I asked.
Mom appeared from the hall as if she had been summoned by the word family. Surprise crossed her face, then smoothed into brightness that looked a little forced.
“Collin. You are early." She wiped her hands on her apron, a sure sign she was nervous.
“I thought it best,” he said, removing his gloves with deliberation. “An investment should be checked on regularly, after all.”
Investment. The word landed with weight. I looked between Collin and Mom, confused.
Dad came into view from the stairwell, smiling broadly. “Collins. Good to see you.”
Jane followed from the kitchen doorway, wiping her hands on a towel. Her smile was pleasant. Her eyes were not.
Collin looked pleased to have an audience.
“So this is it,” he said, moving forward. “The Snowdrop Inn. Quite the undertaking. Very ambitious.”
“It has been a lot of work,” my mother said quickly. “But we are making excellent progress.”
“I can see that,” he replied, nodding as if progress were something he personally approved of. “Naturally, I wished to ensure my contribution was being put to good use.”
Jane’s head tilted slightly. I tightened my grip on the clipboard.
“Contribution?” I echoed, keeping my voice light. “I did not realize you had contributed.”
“Oh, yes,” Collin said. “I provided a portion of the purchase funds. A family arrangement.”
My father cleared his throat. “It was the most flexible option available at the time.”
“You mean the mortgage,” I said, because surely this was a misunderstanding and we were all about to laugh.
“Not precisely,” Collin replied, chuckling. “Banks are so impersonal. I prefer arrangements that keep things within the family.”
The lobby felt suddenly colder.
He drifted toward the sitting room, and in the absence of better options, we followed him. The room was still mostly empty, because furniture ranked below plumbing on our priority list. Collin chose the only decent chair and sat as though the inn belonged to him and this was his staff meeting.
