Today, I’m not so sure.
Dad is at his most difficult at eight in the morning. I know this. I’ve known this for thirty-five years.
“What makes you two think you can run this place?” he growls.
Natalia rests her hand on my forearm — her gentle signal for slow down — and I take a breath.
“You built this yourself,” I say, “and you get every bit of credit for that. But your opinion isn’t the only correct one here, Dad.”
He stiffens.
“I came here wanting to make you proud,” I say. “Get you the best retirement possible. And the offer I got yesterday isn’t that.” I look at him. “I let you down, and I’m sorry. But I think I have a better plan.”
He’s quiet, which almost scares me.
Natalia steps in. “I’ve been helping run this resort since I was seventeen. And even if Max hasn’t been here day-to-day, he’s a great businessman. You paid enough for that MBA, didn’t you?”
“Sure the hell did,” Dad grumbles.
“Angus.” Mom rests her hand on his arm. “Why don’t we let them try? We’ve overspent on renovations. Let’s not dip any further into retirement.”
Dad looks at me. Then Natalia. Then back at me. “We’ve got two options. Keep going the way we have been, which is bleeding cash. Or I step aside.” He pauses and I hold my breath.
Finally, he reaches across the table and extends his hand. “It’s all yours.”
Natalia squeals and goes to hug him. I shake Dad’s hand, and something coiled in my chest releases.
I’m staying.
When Natalia excuses herself while sporting the satisfied smile of someone who has been right from the beginning and is showing extraordinary restraint, Mom slides into the chair beside Dad, eyes twinkling. Dad takes his coffee and wanders off to find the truck keys.
“I heard your friend is also staying,” she says.
“Her name’s Lauren.”
“I know. She’s lovely.” She looks positively gleeful. “Tell me everything.”
I tell her some of it. Not everything — some things are Lauren’s to keep. The photographs. The way she’d looked at the springs that first night like she was seeing something she’d beensearching for without knowing it. The way she strokes my hair in our quiet moments.
“She doesn’t have anywhere she needs to be?” Mom says, her brow furrowing with concern.
“No.”
“The last woman you were serious about left without warning. Lauren has some wanderlust. Which isn’t a bad thing, but?—.”
“Lauren is nothing like Adriana.” The words come out with more certainty than I expect. “Adriana was keeping things from me. Lauren…” I stop. Think about how to say it. “With Adriana, things were okay. I was content. With Lauren it’s different. From the moment I saw her there was a pull I couldn’t account for and it hasn’t gone away.”
I pause. “I also felt that way once before, a long time ago, about this place. And then I left anyway.”
Mom looks at me steadily.
“I’m not leaving this time,” I say.
She squeezes my hand. “Then don’t leave her wondering how you feel.”
“I don’t quite understand what she does for a living. Social media something?” Mom asks. “Can she do that from here?”
“She’s basically a photographer.” I wave my hand. Then something clicks. “Actually, you’ve sparked an idea. The resort needs a real marketing push. Lauren knows algorithms, content, brand positioning, all of it. And her photography, hmm. I need to ask her about this. We could build something together.”
Mom’s expression does something careful. “Have you asked her?”
“Not yet. I want to think it through first.” I pause. “Make sure it’s actually a good idea and not just me being excited.”
“Good,” Mom says simply. “Think it through. And bring her to dinner this week. Just the four of us — I don’t want to overwhelm her with the whole family again so soon.”
I drive back to the resort with my to-do list growing by the minute, but my mind is on Lauren. At Jonathan's dinner she'd saidwe— casual, unplanned, like it was already true. Neither of us had followed up on that conversation properly. I was looking forward to fixing that.
The limestone heart is in my shirt pocket, but I don't remember putting it there this morning.
I'd always dismissed the magic of Cypress Grove. I was starting to think I'd been wrong about it.
