Chapter 70
KENT
We bundled up in our coats and stepped out into the snow, which was still falling steadily. The world had gone quiet the way it does after a heavy snowfall, with that hushed quality that made me feel like we were the only two people awake in the entire universe.
Sylvie slipped her mittened hand into mine as we trudged through the accumulating drifts toward her apartment above the garage.
My legs felt like lead. I could see from the way she was moving that she was just as exhausted as I was.
But the walk through the snow was peaceful.
It felt like the right way to end this perfect night together.
Just us. Just the lights and the snow and peace.
By the time we climbed the stairs to her apartment, we were both breathing hard and covered in snow. I stomped my boots on the mat while Sylvie fumbled with her keys, her fingers clumsy from the cold.
Inside, we stripped off our wet coats and boots in a tired silence.
I was beyond exhausted, the kind of bone-deep tired that comes from physical labor combined with emotional intensity.
Making beds, hosting guests, having that conversation with my father, signing paperwork for the biggest investment of my life. All of it had taken its toll.
We moved through her apartment like zombies, shedding layers as we went. By the time we reached her bedroom, I was down to my boxers, and she was in nothing but one of my T-shirts that she’d claimed as her own at some point.
I collapsed onto the bed with a groan that was probably more dramatic than necessary. The mattress felt like heaven after hours on my feet. Sylvie climbed in beside me. I immediately pulled her close, fitting her body against mine in a way that had already become familiar, necessary.
I thought she would fall asleep immediately. We were both dead on our feet. But instead, she started talking, her voice animated despite the late hour.
“Did you see how happy everyone was?” she asked, propping herself up on one elbow to look at me. “Like, genuinely happy to be stuck here for the night instead of annoyed about it?”
“I saw,” I said, smiling at her enthusiasm even though my eyes wanted to close.
“And the way the kids were so excited about the unexpected sleepover? One little girl told me this was better than going home because now Santa would have to find her at the lodge, which made it extra special.” She laughed and shook her head.
“That little girl has no idea how much her words meant to me.”
I ran my fingers through her hair, content to listen to her process the evening’s events. This was one of the things I loved about Sylvie. She found magic in small moments. Other people’s happiness genuinely mattered to her.
“And your pictures,” she continued, her green eyes sparkling even in the dim light. “I saw you taking all those photos and talking to guests. What were you doing?”
“Research,” I said simply. “Understanding what people actually value when they’re choosing a place to stay and what creates those memorable experiences that make them want to come back. I wanted to capture the authentic moments.”
“So you’re thinking about marketing?” she asked.
“I’m thinking about everything,” I admitted.
“How we can improve the guest experience, what makes this place special versus other lodges, how we position ourselves in the market.” I paused, pulling her closer.
“But mostly I was just documenting how incredible your family is at making people feel like they belong.”
She kissed me softly, a gentle press of her lips that conveyed more than words could. When she pulled back, her expression was more serious.
“What your father said,” she started, and my body tensed involuntarily. “About the trust fund. Are you really going to be okay?”
“I’ll be fine,” I said, meaning it. “I have my own savings, my investment portfolio. I’m not going to be destitute, Sylvie. I just won’t have access to family money anymore.”
“But that’s a huge change,” she pressed. “You’ve had that security your whole life.”
“And maybe that’s been part of the problem,” I said thoughtfully. “Having that safety net meant I never really had to commit to anything. I could afford to coast, to not care too much about success or failure because the money was always there regardless.”
I shifted so I could see her face more clearly in the darkness.
“Now? Now I have real skin in the game. The investment I made in this lodge isn’t just abstract numbers. It’s my future, our future. If this fails, I actually lose something significant. And weirdly, that feels better than having unlimited resources I didn’t earn.”
“You’re insane,” she said, but she was smiling. “Most people would be terrified.”
“I am terrified,” I admitted. “But I’m also more excited about life than I’ve ever been. Does that make sense?”
“It makes perfect sense,” she whispered, settling back against my chest.
We lay there in comfortable silence for a few minutes. I thought she’d finally fallen asleep. But then she spoke again, her voice drowsy but determined.
“I have so many ideas for improvements,” she murmured. “New packages we could offer, partnerships with local businesses, maybe even expanding to host weddings.”
I smiled into her hair. “Tell me tomorrow,” I said softly. “Right now, you need sleep.”
“But I’m so excited I can’t sleep,” she protested, even as I felt her body relaxing against mine.
“Try,” I urged, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “We have all the time in the world to plan the future.”
Within minutes, her breathing had evened out into the rhythm of sleep. I lay there holding her, listening to the wind howl outside and feeling more content than I could ever remember being.
Holding her like this felt perfect. Her hair tickled my chin, and every few minutes she’d make a small, contented sound that I loved. I was so tired, and I wanted to sleep. I knew I needed to sleep.
But my mind wouldn’t shut off.
In the quiet darkness, with nothing but the distant sound of wind through the trees, my thoughts kept circling back to the same questions that had been lurking at the edges of my consciousness all evening.
Had I walked away from everything because of the offer I had made? Because of the deal Harold and I had struck? Would Dad resent me forever, or was there a chance he would eventually come around? Was I as much of an outcast now as Austin had become when he’d chosen his own path over family loyalty?
The financial reality was starting to sink in too.
If I sank all my available wealth into Northwood Lodge, what would happen ten years from now when the money was used up and they hit another inevitable dip in tourism?
What if this whole venture wasn’t sustainable long term?
Without access to my trust fund, without the safety net of family wealth, what would I do if everything went sideways?
Hell, I would barely be a Bancroft anymore.
I could feel myself spiraling, my breathing getting shallower as anxiety crept up my throat. I didn’t want Sylvie to worry about me. I was putting on a brave face and pretending it was all good, but shit. It was a big deal. It wasn’t just the loss of my trust fund.
It was the disconnect from the family.
I wished it didn’t bother me so much, but it did. Even though Christmas had never felt particularly special with my family—just another obligation wrapped in expensive gifts and formal dinners—it felt kind of wrong not being with them this year.
I thought about Kathy and the extravagant meal she’d be arranging for tomorrow evening.
Christmas dinner was her masterpiece. Seven courses, perfectly coordinated, served on expensive china.
She was a good lady, and she did love to foster family connections.
She loved getting everyone together. I knew she wanted all of us to be close.
When more than a few of us showed up for one of her parties or family gatherings, it made her whole week.
I thought about my brothers and their families. I thought about the tradition of opening one gift on Christmas morning before the formal exchange that evening. All my nieces and nephews and their excitement over whatever elaborate gifts my dad and Kathy would get for them.
Guilt gnawed at my insides as I stared at the ceiling. Those people had raised me, had been the only family I’d ever known. Whatever their flaws, whatever poisonous attitudes about success and social status they held, they were still my blood.
Had I thrown that all away for a woman I’d known for less than a month?
But even as the thought formed, I knew it wasn’t fair to frame it that way. I hadn’t thrown anything away for Sylvie. I’d chosen a different path because being here, with her and her family, felt more like home than anything I’d ever experienced.
I heard a strange noise outside that made me freeze mid-spiral.
At first, I dismissed it as wind or maybe an animal moving through the snow. But there it was again, a sound that didn’t quite fit with the natural quiet of a winter night.
Carefully, so as not to wake Sylvie, I crept to the window and peered outside at the tree farm. The lodge’s interior lights were dimmed to their nighttime setting, but the Christmas lights I had strung through the trees were still twinkling, although the light was muted with the snow.
Nothing was stirring, not even a mouse.
But I knew I’d heard something.
I was about to give up and return to bed when I spotted movement out of the corner of my eye. Down by Santa’s cabin there was a figure on the small porch.
Santa Claus. Well, Wesley, obviously.
Except it didn’t look quite like Wesley. This figure was bigger, broader, with a more substantial gut and a whiter, fuller beard. I squinted, trying to get a better look, wondering if my exhaustion was making me see things that weren’t there.
The guy was arranging something on the porch that I couldn’t quite make out from this distance.
“Kent?” Sylvie’s voice was soft and sleepy behind me. “What are you doing?”
I turned toward her, and she was propped up on one elbow, her hair falling in waves around her shoulders and her eyes heavy with sleep.
“I thought I heard something outside,” I said quietly.
When I looked back toward the cabin, the figure was gone. Completely vanished, as if it had never been there at all.
“Weird,” I muttered.
“What’s weird?” Sylvie asked, patting the space beside her. “Come back to bed where it’s warm.”
“I thought I saw Wesley down at the cabin, but I don’t know.
” I realized how strange it would sound to explain that I’d seen Santa Claus arranging mysterious items on a porch in the middle of the night.
“Why would Wesley be down there anyway? Didn’t your family put him up for the night here in the lodge? ”
“Maybe he forgot something. You know how he is about his Santa duties. Come on, I’m cold. I need your body heat.”
Whatever I’d seen or thought I’d seen could wait until morning. I returned to bed, settling back under the covers as Sylvie immediately curled against my side.
“Better?” she asked, her hand finding my chest in the darkness.
“Much better,” I said, though my mind was still turning over the strangeness of what I’d witnessed.
Sylvie’s fingers began tracing lazy patterns on my skin, and I felt some of the anxiety that had been building start to dissolve under her touch.
“You know,” she said, her voice taking on a teasing quality that immediately captured my attention. “I’ve been thinking about how I want to start Christmas morning.”
“Oh?” I turned toward her, able to make out the mischievous smile playing at her lips. I knew my woman. I knew her tone and that smile.
Apparently her little catnap had revived her.
“Mmhmm.” Her hand moved lower, and suddenly the strange figure by the cabin was the furthest thing from my mind. “I have some very specific ideas about Christmas morning activities.”
“I like where this is going,” I said, rolling toward her more fully.
“I thought you might,” she said, pulling me down for a kiss that tasted like promise and possibility.