She didn’t miss what he didn’t say.
Mia hadn’t called him. Or asked for his opinion. And someone else was handling the important things now.
And Roy knew it.
Cameras meant that the farm was no longer an option. That didn’t end anything. It just redirected it.
Her phone buzzed.
She glanced down without thinking.
Ridgeway Foundation Fundraiser
Catering by Plated Perfection
Hosted at the Event Barn at Whitmore Farm
She stared at it, her pulse ticking louder in her ears.
That wasn’t right.
She opened it. Read it again. And again.
Roy noticed. “What’s wrong?”
“Ridgeway switched caterers,” she said, keeping her voice steady.
He frowned. “I thought that one was yours.”
“So did I.”
The room suddenly felt smaller, the air pressing in. She couldn’t catch her breath.
The fire hadn’t stopped Mia, and now, the cameras protected her.
But this—this was public humiliation.
She’d told everyone that Ridgeway was hers. Now, people would talk. Probably already were and most likely laughing at her.
Roy exhaled. “That’s rough.”
She forced a smile. “It happens.”
This wasn’t about losing a job. It was about being erased. She stayed. Built her business. Her father donated to Ridgeway. And Mia came back and took what should’ve been hers.
She scrolled again, catching a comment about logistics and off-site storage for rentals.
She looked up casually. “Mia keeps a lot of her stuff off-site, right? Tables, linens, plates, silverware, that kind of thing.”
Roy nodded. “Some of it. Easier than hauling it back and forth and storing it at the barn.”
“What if that’s what the fire was all about? People poking around,” she said lightly.
Roy frowned. “You think someone was snooping around and set it by accident?”
“Or on purpose,” she said. “Fires don’t always start because someone means to burn the place down.”
The woman shrugged. “When a site isn’t being watched, people notice.”
