Chapter 57
SYLVIE
Iwatched my family argue about Kent’s proposal, their voices overlapping in a chaotic symphony of concern and possibility.
My father kept circling back to the financial details while Brom remained convinced this was all some elaborate trap.
I could feel Kent’s tension radiating beside me.
He felt attacked. I didn’t blame him. It was four against two. Because I was definitely on his side.
“Okay, everyone, stop,” I said, raising my voice enough to cut through the noise. “We’re getting ahead of ourselves. Let’s ask the important questions before we tear each other apart.”
The room quieted, all eyes turning toward me. I squeezed Kent’s hand before releasing it. Sitting up straighter, I addressed him directly.
“How much control would you have?” I asked. “If you invest, are you going to come in here and start making all the decisions? Turn us into some corporate retreat center?”
Kent shook his head immediately. “That’s not what I want. Your family maintains operational control. You know this place, you know what makes it special. I’m not here to change that.”
“Then what exactly would your role be?” my father asked, leaning forward with his elbows on the table.
“Think of me as a partner who provides capital and business expertise,” Kent explained.
“Marketing strategies, financial planning, connections to suppliers and contractors. I can help streamline operations and expand your reach without changing what makes Northwood special. That’s what you guys do.
That’s what you all know. I wouldn’t pretend to know more than you about the lodge or your property. ”
“But you’d have a say,” Brom interjected. “You’d have financial stake, which means you’d have power to influence decisions.”
“Of course I would,” Kent admitted. “That’s how partnerships work. But I’m not interested in forcing changes you’re uncomfortable with. Any major decisions would be made together.”
Brom’s jaw tightened. He wasn’t buying it.
“What about modernization?” Stacy asked. She’d been mostly silent during the debate, but now her question cut right to the heart of one of my biggest fears. “Are you going to want to gut this place and turn it into something trendy? Because that’s not who we are.”
Kent turned his attention to her. I was grateful to see him take the question seriously.
“I’m not interested in turning Northwood into some hipster destination with Edison bulbs and reclaimed wood everywhere,” he said.
“What I saw when I came here was authenticity. Real Christmas spirit, real family values, real connection. That’s what people are hungry for, and that’s what we’d be selling. ”
“But you’d want to upgrade things,” my father pressed. “You mentioned facilities.”
“Yes,” Kent acknowledged. “Things like updating the plumbing in some of the older guest rooms, maybe adding better insulation so you’re not hemorrhaging money on heating costs. Practical improvements that make the guest experience better without changing the place.”
“What about the tree farm?” I asked. “Would that be part of this?”
“Everything would be part of it,” Kent said. “The lodge, the farm, all of it.”
The conversation continued. I found myself zoning out a bit. My mind was in the clouds imagining all the positive changes. It was the dream I wanted.
But clearly not everyone was on board.
And it wasn’t going to get solved tonight.
It had been an exhausting day. The kind that left you feeling wrung out and emotionally drained, like you’d run a marathon while juggling flaming torches and making life-altering decisions.
The family meeting had gone on for over an hour, voices raised and lowered, arguments flying back and forth across the table like verbal ping-pong balls.
They weren’t totally closed off to Kent’s investment idea, which was more progress than I’d dared hope for, but they had a lot to consider.
A lot of questions that needed answers. There were a lot of details that needed to be worked out.
And most importantly, there was a lot of trust that needed to be rebuilt.
Dad finally called an end to the discussion when it became clear we were all too tired and too emotional to make any further headway.
“We’ll sleep on it,” he said, his voice carrying the kind of finality that meant the conversation was over for tonight. “Talk more tomorrow when heads are clearer. It’s a lot to take in.”
“I will do my best to answer any questions,” Kent said. “I want to be completely open and honest. I don’t have all the answers. I just know I want to save this place. Sylvie said you would be closing up in January. I don’t want that to happen.”
Brom opened his mouth to say something, but Stacy gave him a look that said, “Zip it,” and he did.
Kent and I stepped out onto the porch. He let out a long exhale.
“Come on, let’s go get your bag,” I said. “You can sleep at my place.”
We walked to the small cabin. I couldn’t believe he actually thought he was going to sleep in there. He was a tall man and that couch looked extra small.
I watched Kent toss his duffel bag onto the tiny couch. I couldn’t help but laugh. The thing looked like it belonged in a dollhouse compared to his tall frame.
“You were seriously going to sleep on that?” I asked, gesturing at the sad excuse for furniture. “Your feet would be hanging off one end and your head off the other.”
He looked down at the couch, then back at me with a sheepish grin. “I’ve slept in worse places.”
“Name one.”
“Airport terminals. My brother’s couches. Floors. That one time in college when I passed out in a bathtub after—” He stopped himself. “The point is, I would have made it work.”
“You would have been miserable,” I said, shaking my head. “And probably frozen solid by morning.”
Without warning, Kent flopped dramatically onto the couch, his long legs dangling over the armrest in a way that looked supremely uncomfortable. He patted the narrow space beside him with an exaggerated come-hither expression that was so ridiculous I had to bite back another laugh.
“Come here,” he said, his voice dropping to that low, teasing tone that made my stomach flip. “Let me show you how cozy this is.”
“Kent.”
Before I could finish my protest, he reached up and grabbed my hand, tugging me down onto him. I landed with a soft “oof” against his chest, and his arms immediately wrapped around me, holding me in place.
“See?” he murmured against my ear. “Perfectly comfortable.”
I tried to prop myself up to give him my best unimpressed look, but his arms tightened around me, keeping me pressed against him. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Maybe,” he admitted, one hand coming up to brush a strand of hair away from my face. “But you like it.”
I did. God help me, I really did.
His fingers traced along my jawline. I felt myself melting into him despite the awkward position. The couch was definitely too small for both of us, but I didn’t care.
“I missed this,” Kent said softly, his hazel eyes searching mine. “Missed you. Every single day.”
My heart did that annoying flip thing again. “It’s only been a week.”
“Longest week of my life.” His thumb brushed across my lower lip, and his gaze darkened. “I kept thinking about how I’d screwed everything up. How I might never get another chance to hold you like this.”
“You’re holding me now,” I whispered.
“I am.” His voice was almost reverent. “And I’m not letting go.”
Then he was kissing me, soft and sweet at first, like he was savoring the moment. I sighed against his mouth, my hands sliding up to tangle in his hair.
I pulled back. All I had was my instincts. I needed to look him in the eyes.
“Did you mean it?” I asked. The question had been nagging at me since he’d spoken to my family. I needed to hear his answer when it was just the two of us.
“Mean what?” Kent asked.
“When you said you can’t imagine leaving this place behind. All of it. Really?”
He cupped my face, keeping his eyes locked on mine. “Not the farm,” he said quietly. “You.”
The words hit me, stealing my breath and making my heart skip against my ribs. There was something so direct about the way he said it. It was unguarded and honest. I felt my remaining defenses crumble a little more.
“Sylvie,” he continued, “I want your family to take my offer. I want to help you and Brom make this place everything you’ve always dreamed it could be.
I want to stay here and build something with you.
” He brushed a kiss against my forehead.
“I want to stay with you. For you. Because a life without you in it isn’t a life I’m interested in living anymore. ”
“For how long?” I asked.
I saw him take a breath like he was preparing to jump off a cliff.
“I don’t think you understand,” he said.
“I’m in love with you. Completely, utterly, head over heels in love with you.
And I would never ask you to leave your dream behind.
This place, your family, everything you’ve built here, it’s part of who you are.
And me?” His voice cracked slightly on the last word. “I’ve never had a real dream.”
My heart hurt at that admission. How was that possible? How could someone go thirty years without ever having a real dream?
“What do you mean?” I whispered.
Kent’s hands dropped from my face. He looked over my shoulder like he was seeing something from his past.
“The way I grew up,” he said. “I could have everything I wanted, whenever I wanted it. Money was never an object. Opportunities were handed to me. I dreamed of summers on yachts surrounded by models. Of luxury imported sports cars that cost more than most people’s houses.
Of glamorous parties in my penthouse with new women in my bed every—”
“You can stop,” I said, smiling slightly despite the pang of jealousy at the mention of other women.
He looked back at me, his expression apologetic. “Sorry. The point is all my dreams have been shallow. Selfish. About accumulating things or experiences that would make me look successful or feel important for a few minutes.”
He pulled me closer.
“And then I met you,” he said simply. “And this town got under my skin. I realized I’ve been driving in the wrong lane my entire life.”
Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, though whether they were from the cold or the emotion in his voice, I couldn’t say.
“I want you,” Kent continued, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper.
“I want everything that comes with loving you. The early mornings and the late nights. The family dinners and the business meetings. The way you get excited about Christmas lights and hot chocolate and making sure every guest feels like they’re part of something special. ”
He reached for my hands, threading our fingers together.
“I want to argue with you about Christmas decorations and watch you turn skeptics into believers. I want to help you restore this place to its former glory and then keep making it better. I want to wake up every morning knowing that the work I’m doing matters.
I want to know I’m building something instead of tearing it down. ”
The sincerity in his voice was almost overwhelming. This wasn’t the smooth corporate speak I’d heard from him before. This was raw and unfiltered and so vulnerable.
“I want a life that has meaning,” he said. “And you’ve shown me what that looks like.”
I stared up at him, taking in the way the Christmas lights played across his features, the way his eyes held mine with intensity and hope. This was the man I’d glimpsed in moments throughout our time together.
This was the man I’d fallen in love with, even when I’d been trying to convince myself I hadn’t. Without another word, I leaned in and kissed him.
When we broke apart, both breathing a little unsteadily, I kept my forehead pressed against his.
“Let’s go home,” I said.
“Where?” He was teasing and I loved it.
“Let’s go.”
Kent’s answering grin was brilliant enough to power the entire light display around us. “Lead the way.”
We walked back toward my apartment hand in hand. Tomorrow would bring more conversations with my family and a lot of details to work out but tonight was just for us.