Chapter 67
SYLVIE
The Christmas Eve party was in full swing by the time Kent left to pick up Mr. Withers. I couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride at how magical everything looked. The lodge had been transformed into a party that would have made Martha Stewart weep with envy.
Yes, it was a little overdone, but that’s what made it so pretty.
It was extra. People liked extra. Every surface had something that looked Christmasy.
The music and drinks and the smells coming from the kitchen were making everyone hungry.
My mouth was watering, anyway. I couldn’t wait to eat.
Stacy and Emmy had put out an assortment of appetizers which were holding off the hunger pangs for now.
Everyone was eating, drinking, and being very merry.
It was perfect.
The festivities had naturally spilled out onto the front porch where we’d set up outdoor heaters to keep the cold at bay.
It was a great way to get a view of the trees decked out in all the lights.
They were twinkling brighter than ever. Not just the ones we’d traditionally decorated around the lodge, but all the trees on the farm that Kent had transformed into his magical light display.
I should have been bummed that we had so many trees leftover. That was not a good sign for business, but I wasn’t worried any longer. Next year would be better. For now, I was happy to have the trees and all their pretty lights.
Guests were mingling between the main room and the porch, their faces flushed with wine and laughter. I could hear children’s excited chatter mixing with adult conversation and the occasional burst of delighted laughter from someone discovering a particularly clever decoration detail.
Some of the kids were enjoying the craft table we had set up to keep them occupied. We would deal with the glitter later. For now, the mess was worth them being busy and allowing their parents to mingle.
Definitely going to be a mess in the morning, though.
“Sylvie!” Brom called from across the room. He was waving his phone.
My stomach dropped. Had something happened? Did Kent slide off the road? Get in a wreck on his way to get Phineas?
I rushed over. “What’s wrong? What happened? Is he okay?”
Brom frowned at me. “What?”
“Is someone on the phone, Brom?”
He frowned. “What? No. We should take some pictures! For next year’s marketing materials. Or maybe we could finally get that website built? Imagine if we could make that happen?”
I sighed with relief while contemplating kicking him for freaking me out like that. “Pictures?” I asked, still trying to get my heart to slow and my brain to relax.
“Pictures! Think ahead for next year. This is perfect. Look around!”
We were surrounded by the perfect chaos of our Christmas Eve celebration. He was absolutely right. This was exactly the kind of atmosphere that would make people want to book a vacation with us.
“Yes!” I said with a bright smile. “Let’s do it!”
Within minutes, Brom had recruited Aspen and Alder as willing photo subjects.
We trooped outside into the cold to capture the magic of the light display.
The kids were being complete hooligans, making ridiculous faces and staging dramatic poses that had nothing to do with showcasing the lodge’s festive atmosphere and everything to do with the fact that they were practically vibrating with excitement about Santa’s impending arrival.
“Stand still for two seconds!” Brom pleaded, trying to get a shot of the kids in front of the lit-up trees. “I need at least one photo where you don’t look like deranged elves!”
“We are deranged elves!” Aspen declared, throwing her arms wide and nearly knocking over Alder in the process.
I didn’t think she knew what deranged meant, so it was extra cute watching her smiling.
“Santa’s coming tonight!” Alder added, as if this explained everything about their behavior.
I giggled as I watched my brother try to wrangle two hyperactive kids while simultaneously operating his phone’s camera with fingers that were going numb from the cold.
We were all freezing our butts off, but the photos were going to be amazing.
They were going to be full of genuine joy and the kind of family chaos that you couldn’t fake in a staged marketing shoot.
This was better. Natural. Candid. Real. In a world full of performance, our lodge was going to be the throwback to the old ways when people made real human connections. Nothing digital or fancy, just good old-fashioned holiday fun.
“One more!” Brom called, his breath forming clouds as he spoke. “I want to get the lodge in the background with all the lights!”
We dutifully arranged ourselves for what felt like the hundredth time. I had to admit that despite the cold, this was actually fun. It was nice to have hope for the future.
By the time we finally headed back inside, my cheeks were stinging from the cold, but my heart was full.
The warmth of the lodge hit us like a physical embrace.
I could see dinner was being put out on the tables.
Everyone was slowly migrating toward the long tables, claiming their seats in preparation for the feast.
I looked around, hoping to spot Kent walking through the door. He still wasn’t back. I couldn’t help but wonder if something had gone wrong with picking up Mr. Withers. What if the old man had changed his mind? He could be a grump, and Kent could be stuck arguing with him.
The front door opened with a rush of frigid air, and Kent stepped inside, stomping snow off his boots. Behind him, moving more slowly but with unmistakable dignity, was a figure I almost didn’t recognize.
Mr. Withers was wearing a dark gray suit that looked like it had been tailored sometime in the sixties but was clearly his very best. Around his neck was a thick wool scarf that had probably been expensive once upon a time, and on his head sat a cap that gave him an old-fashioned, distinguished air.
But the most shocking thing wasn’t his clothes—it was the velvet green bowtie at his throat and the fact that he was smiling. Actually smiling, not grimacing or scowling or wearing his usual expression of generalized annoyance with the world.
Even more shocking, he was laughing at something Kent had said as they made their way into the lodge.
“Is that Mr. Withers?” Stacy asked in surprise, appearing at my elbow with a serving spoon in one hand.
“Can’t be.” Emmy giggled from beside her. “Kent’s jokes aren’t that funny.”
I laughed, though I had to disagree with Emmy’s assessment.
I thought Kent was pretty funny, actually.
And I knew from personal experience what it was like to feel better just by being in his company.
There was something about Kent’s presence that made you feel like you were worth paying attention to, like your stories and opinions mattered.
But I was also perfectly happy if they never knew that about him. That was my little secret. I didn’t want to have to be jealous of my best friend ogling my man.
And he was my man.
I made my way over to greet our newest arrival, who was looking around the festively decorated lodge with wide eyes.
“Mr. Withers,” I said warmly, taking his coat and hat. “I’m so glad you could make it. You look absolutely dapper in that bowtie.”
The old man’s cheeks flushed slightly at the compliment. “Well,” he said gruffly, though his eyes were twinkling. “Kent kept nagging me to dress up for the occasion.”
“And you certainly did,” I said, admiring the green bowtie that was clearly a treasured piece from his collection. “Come on, let me show you to your seat. You’re just in time for dinner.”
I led him to the chair I’d saved right beside mine at the main table. He settled in with the careful movements of someone whose joints weren’t quite what they used to be but who was determined not to make a fuss about it.
“This is quite the celebration,” he said, looking around at the crowded room with genuine appreciation.
“It is,” I agreed, serving him up a plate loaded with Stacy’s amazing food. “And we’re so happy you’re here to share it with us.”
Sober. I didn’t add that last bit, but I couldn’t smell liquor on him. Phineas was sober.
I glanced over at Kent, who was shaking hands with one of the other guests. He turned and caught me staring. I liked that. I liked that when we were in a room, we could always find each other.
Everyone was finding their seats now that food was coming out. Glasses were being filled with wine and mulled cider. The talking and laughter meant everyone was having a genuinely good time. The music could only be heard when there was a lull in conversation.
Perfect.
Kent and I loaded our plates and took our seats at the table.
“Dang, this smells amazing,” Kent said.
“I agree.”
Just as people were starting to dig into their food, Dad got to his feet, wine glass in hand.
“Oh no,” Brom groaned theatrically. “Dad’s about to speechify. Can’t we eat first?”
“I want my turkey while it’s still hot!” Stacy called out, earning a round of laughter from the table.
Dad held up his free hand for silence, though he was grinning at the good-natured protests. “This will be brief, I promise. But there are some things that need to be said.”
The room quieted, though I could see people continuing to sneak bites of food while they listened.
“This year has been challenging.” Dad paused, looking around the room at everyone.
“We’ve faced uncertainties about our future that would have broken a lot of families.
But my children?” He looked directly at Brom and me, his eyes bright with pride.
“My children have shown tenacity and determination that frankly amazes me. They’ve refused to give up on this place even when giving up would have been the logical choice. ”
Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. Dad wasn’t usually one for emotional speeches and hearing him acknowledge how hard we had all worked meant a lot.
“Brom,” Dad continued. “You’ve kept this business running through sheer force of will and an attention to detail that would make a Swiss watchmaker jealous. And, Sylvie, you’ve been the heart and soul of this place, making sure that every guest who walks through our doors feels like family.”
Now the tears were really threatening to fall. I reached for Kent’s hand under the table and felt him squeeze my fingers reassuringly.
“But tonight,” Dad said, his voice growing stronger. “I also want to thank someone who showed up at exactly the right time and stepped up when it counted most.”
He turned to look directly at Kent. My heart swelled with love and gratitude. Kent’s hand tightened around mine.
“Kent Bancroft could have seen us as just another business opportunity. He could have gone through with his original plans and none of us would have blamed him. It would have been the smart financial move. Instead, he chose to see us as people worth investing in, worth believing in. He chose to become part of our family rather than simply acquiring our assets.”
The room had gone completely quiet now, all attention focused on Dad’s words. No one was sneaking food anymore.
“So tonight, I want to raise a glass to Kent,” Dad said, lifting his wine glass high.
“For showing us that there are still people in this world who believe that doing the right thing matters more than doing the profitable thing. For proving that sometimes the best business decisions are the ones made with your heart.”
“To Kent Bancroft!” the table chorused, everyone raising their glasses in a toast that made my heart feel like it might burst with happiness.
Kent looked stunned by the acknowledgment, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment or gratitude or simple overwhelming emotion. When he caught my eye, the smile he gave me was so full of love and wonder that I had to blink back tears.
This was what family looked like. This was what belonging felt like. And watching Kent experience it for what might have been the first time in his adult life made this Christmas Eve even more perfect than I’d dared to hope.
As the toast concluded and people dug in, I leaned over to whisper in Kent’s ear.
“Welcome home,” I said softly.