I glanced at her and felt a familiar warmth. Meri had chosen her quiet and refused to apologize for it. She didn't seem concerned with who was paired off and who wasn’t. According to her, fictional people were far more interesting anyway.
Lydia leaned over the back of a chair to say something loudly about skating schedules. Meri held up a finger without looking up. Lydia laughed and moved on, unoffended.
I watched the scene and became aware of a pattern I had been tracing without meaning to. Jane, Lucy, and Lydia were all settled in their own ways, all moving forward. Meri, contentedly detached. And me, somewhere in the middle feeling a little left behind sometimes.
The thought passed quickly. There was too much to do, too much motion for lingering. I reached for another mug, another small task, bringing dishes back and forth from the kitchen, and let the morning carry me along.
I grabbed some clean mugs to restock the coffee cart and paused by the bulletin board near the staff entrance. Notices layered the cork: winter events, snowplow schedules, and Lucy’s handwritten reminders of what to do about missing mittens. Above it hung a framed photograph from before the main floor renovation, when the paint had dulled and the porch steps slanted slightly to the left.
I looked at it longer than I meant to. It still surprised me that we had done it. That the SnowDrop Inn had gone from an empty building people passed with fond nostalgia to a place where strangers debated cocoa toppings before nine in the morning. Lucy had come back first, uncertain but determined to help Mom and Dad with their purchase of the run down inn. Jane had believed in it and fed everyone until they believed too. Lydia had brought energy and noise. Meri had pretended indifference and read every scrap of local history she could find. And I had filled the spaces between.
Sometimes I wondered if that was enough to be known for.
I brought the clean mugs to the coffee station. Jane mouthed a thank you before rescuing a guest who had wandered too close to the kitchen with hopeful intent.
“Do you think the rink will be open all afternoon?” the guest asked.
“It should be,” Jane replied. “The ice holds well when the temperature stays steady. Kitty knows the schedule. Kitty?”
I looked up, momentarily surprised, then remembered I had answered that question repeatedly all week.
“Open at noon,” I said. “They clear it at three, then reopen at four. There is a family skate tonight.”
The guest brightened. “My daughter has been begging to skate under the lights.”
“There are string lights,” Lydia added from the doorway. “It looks magical. Also, I almost fell twice, but I didn’t. I want that noted.”
“Hale Lodge is doing beginner snowboarding lessons today,” Lydia continued. “Kitty, you should try it.”
“You will break something,” Meri said without lifting her eyes.
“I won’t,” I replied, mostly out of habit.
Lucy passed with a stack of linens. “She absolutely will. Remember the time she and Lydia tried skydiving?”
Lydia laughed. “Trying new things builds character.”
“It builds bruises,” Meri muttered.
I smiled despite myself. I didn't actually want to snowboard. I wasn’t particularly good at downhill skiing so snowboarding was probably just as terrifying, but I wasn’t about to let Kitty know that.
Jane clapped her hands lightly.
“Just a reminder,” she said, “the town is finalizing the winter festival schedule today. They want to host a talent show in the town square next week. Simple acts, nothing formal. I am going to the planning meeting this afternoon.”
“A talent show,” Lydia repeated, delighted. “Perfect.”
Lucy tilted her head. “Perfect for what?”
“For everything,” Lydia said. “Festive vibes, romance, drama, and public embarrassment.”
Jane blinked. “I was thinking about community spirit.”
“That too,” Lydia agreed.
Meri’s mouth twitched.
“They want cocoa stands and small prizes,” Jane continued. “If we help, it will bring more visitors. I mentioned we have sisters who are good at organizing.”
