“We would have asked questions,” I murmured back. “We would have tried to find a way, any way other than this.”
Jane’s gaze softened. “We still can. Later.”
“You get to tell Jane,” I murmured, absconding from that conversation.
“Coward,” Jane muttered to me.
Collin’s voice floated back from the hall. “Mr. Bennet. I would like to discuss the projected profit schedule at your earliest convenience.”
Dad’s smile tightened. “Certainly.”
As Mom turned to follow Collins and Dad, she glanced back at us, and for a moment she looked older, tired, and worried..
That was the moment my anger shifted into something more complicated. My parents had not taken a loan from Collin because they were foolish. They had done it because they believed in this place and in us. They had done it because dreams are expensive and banks do not loan money to sentiment.
I didn’t forgive the secrecy even if I understood the impulse.Still, understanding didn’t make Collin any less irritating.
I escaped to the small office we had claimed as temporary headquarters because I needed a door between me and my cousin’s voice. The office still smelled faintly of old paper and fresh paint. A stack of renovation receipts sat in a neat pile on the desk. I stared at them for a beat, then forced myself to look back at my list.
If the inn succeeded, the loan became a footnote. If the inn did not succeed, it became a disaster.
I flipped to a new page and focused on something I could control.
The float.
The float was supposed to be my visible contribution. A way to tell Maple Ridge that the Snowdrop Inn was in business again. A way to bring interest and bookings, eventually. A way to build momentum.
All of that depended on one unromantic reality that a float needed a vehicle.
I picked up my phone and started calling.
The first rental place was polite but firm. “We do not allow parade use. Insurance will not cover it.”
“I can add signage,” I offered. “Cross-promotion. We will highlight your business.”
“I appreciate that,” she said kindly. “But no.”
I thanked her and tried another place farther out. Same answer.
The third call was shorter. The man on the phone did not even pretend to consider it. “No parades,” he said. “No.”
Borrowing was the obvious answer. It was also the most uncomfortable.
I scrolled through my contacts slowly, and the truth settled in. Most of my relationships in Maple Ridge were polite. Friendly and not favor-level. I could chat with people in the grocery store. I could wave at them from across the street. Icouldn’t ask them to hand me their truck for a parade and trust I would return it unharmed.
My stomach tightened again, the same feeling as earlier, just repackaged. The float was suddenly not a fun idea. It was a public test, and I could already hear the polite laughter if it failed.
Jane knocked lightly before stepping inside.
“Any luck?” she asked.
“No,” I said, and hated how flat my voice sounded. “No one wants their vehicles in the parade.”
Jane’s eyes moved to my page. “Everyone said no.”
“Yes.”
She leaned against the desk, thinking. “What about local businesses? The hardware store. The lumber yard.”
