“I don’t know anyone well enough to ask,” I said, and the words came out sharper than I intended.
“You do not have to know them forever,” she said. “You have to ask once.”
“I hate asking,” I admitted, and the confession felt like pulling off a bandage.
“I know,” she said simply.
I stared at my list again, at the word VEHICLE circled twice, and felt the familiar urge to retreat into embarrassment before anyone could witness it. That was the old pattern. Get excited. Hit resistance. Collapse inward. And decide it was safer not to try.
I didn’t want to be that person anymore. Surely I could pull off one float for a parade?
From the hallway, Collin’s voice drifted faintly. “If one cannot execute properly, it’s better not to attempt at all.”
Jane’s eyes narrowed in the direction of the sound. “He talks as if he is the mayor.”
“He talks as if he owns the building,” I muttered.
Jane sighed. “He does not. Not really.”
“Not yet,” I said, and immediately wished I hadn’t.
Jane’s expression softened. “Lydia. We will be fine.”
I wanted to believe that. I also wanted to stop relying on belief as a business plan.
Jane reached out and squeezed my hand. “Let’s take the next step. We ask. We keep it simple. We accept no if it is no and we move on.”
I nodded.
After she left, I looked at my list one more time.
I did not have the answer yet. I did not have the truck. I did not even have a promising lead.
What I did have was determination, and a very clear picture of what it would feel like to back down. It would feel like confirming the version of myself everyone still expected.
If the Snowdrop Inn was going to stand, then so was I. Even if it took swallowing my pride and asking for help I would rather avoid.
I opened the office door and stepped back into the inn’s noise, my clipboard tucked under my arm like armor.
Chapter Four: In Need Of Shelter
Ephram
The house was colder than it should have been.
I noticed it the moment I woke up, the air sharp enough to make my lungs ache when I breathed in too deeply. The furnace had been out the night before, and I had hoped the space heaters would be enough to carry it through until morning but it was even colder than I imagined it would get.
I sat up slowly, listening. No hum. No click. No false start that suggested the furnace was at least trying. It was just quiet.
I swung my legs out of bed and stood, the cold biting through the floorboards into my feet. The thermostat confirmed what I already knew. Blank screen. No response no matter how many buttons I pressed.
“All right, I have no heat,” I said aloud, because acknowledging the problem made it easier to deal with.
I pulled headed for the bathroom, already planning the rest of the morning. Hot shower then a coffee and hot breakfast before beginning my day. In the bathroom I turned the shower handle to prewarm the water.
No sputter. No weak stream. No water at all.
I stood there for a moment, hand still on the faucet, then shut it off and went into the kitchen. The light flicked on, reflecting off something on the floor near the sink.
