Chapter Three Unseen
Kitty
Morning at SnowDrop Inn never really began so much as it accumulated.
There was no single moment where the building decided to wake up.
Instead, it came alive in layers. The low murmur of voices.
The scrape of chairs. The smell of coffee already brewed by someone who had been up before the rest of us.
By the time I reached the dining room, I was not the first one there.
I refilled the coffee station without being asked.
The menus by the front desk were already stacked neatly, but I straightened them anyway, aligning the edges until they matched.
One of the pens had wandered off again, so I replaced it from the drawer beneath the counter and made a mental note to order more.
We were always running out of pens and napkins, no matter how often I reordered them.
Jane was talking to Lucy about something festive and vaguely romantic, her hands moving as she spoke.
Lucy nodded absently, already thinking several steps ahead, the way she always did.
Lydia paced near the table with her phone in hand, scrolling and narrating her thoughts out loud, clearly unconcerned with whether anyone was following along.
Meri sat at the far end with a book propped open beside her plate, turning pages between bites of toast without looking up.
“Kitty,” Lydia said suddenly, turning toward me with a brightness that made my shoulders tense before I could stop them. “I volunteered us to help with the Maple Ridge talent show.”
I blinked. “Us?”
She grinned, clearly pleased with herself. “Well, me technically. But you’re so good at organizing things, and they really needed help. One of the organizers had a family emergency, and another quit. Can you believe that?”
I could. I could believe it very easily.
Lydia did not pause long enough for me to answer. “It’s good for the town, and it’ll be good for the inn. Visibility and all that. Plus, I thought it would be fun for us to do something together.”
She slid a folder across the table toward me like this part was already settled.
I picked it up automatically, because my hands had learned that reflex long before I had.
The folder was heavier than it looked, thick with papers that already felt like obligations.
I opened it and scanned the contents while Lydia continued talking.
Signup sheets. Vendor lists. A schedule that assumed everything would go exactly according to plan.
A handwritten note in the margin that said sound? ?? with three question marks.
“Kitty?” Lydia prompted, her voice still light.
“I—” I stopped myself. I had agreed before finishing sentences more times than I could count, and something in me resisted doing it again. “This looks like a lot of work.”
Lydia’s smile dimmed slightly, surprise flickering across her face. “Well, yes. But that’s why they need help.”
“I mean it’s a lot for me,” I said carefully. “I’m already doing shifts at the inn, and I’ve been helping with—”
Her expression shifted again, softening into something that made my stomach drop. Hurt, maybe, definitely confusion. “Oh. I just thought… I thought you would like it.”
I hated how quickly I felt defensive, as if liking something meant I was obligated to carry it. I hated that I immediately began revising my own feelings to make hers easier.
“I do like helping,” I said, because it was true. “I just don’t like being volunteered without being asked.”
The silence that followed was brief but dense. Jane glanced up from her plate, then deliberately looked back down. Lucy’s attention sharpened in that quiet way she had when she sensed a problem but didn’t yet know how to step in. Meri turned a page.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Lydia said quietly. “I just thought since you don’t have… I mean, you’re not busy the way the rest of us are.”
There it was.
She hadn’t said it cruelly or to wound me. She had said it casually, like a fact she hadn’t realized the words were sharp and hurtful.
“I am busy,” I said too quickly. “Just not in visible ways.”
Lydia’s eyes widened, guilt flashing across her face. “I didn’t mean… Kitty, I just wanted us to do something together. I thought you might like it.”
And I did like the idea of doing something together. That was the worst part. I liked being included. I liked being wanted. I just didn’t like feeling like the default option.
“I’ll help,” I said, because the words came easier than the alternative. “I just needed to say that.”
Relief rushed back into Lydia’s expression. “Okay. Thank you. I really thought you would be perfect for this.”
I closed the folder and tucked it under my arm, already feeling the familiar weight of responsibility settle into place.
The conversation moved on quickly after that, the way it always did, as if nothing significant had happened.
But it echoed in my head long after everyone else had turned their attention elsewhere.
I told myself Lydia hadn’t meant anything by it. I told myself I was the one keeping score, the one turning an offhand comment into proof of something larger. I told myself I was being unfair.
That didn’t stop the unhappiness from curling tightly in my chest.
I carried the folder with me longer than I needed to, shifting it from one arm to the other as I moved through the rest of the morning. It felt heavier than paper should. That wasn’t new. Responsibilities often did that once they settled into my hands.
No one brought the talent show up again, which felt unfair considering how loud it had become in my own head.
Jane moved on to planning something else.
Lucy disappeared into a meeting with Mom and Dad.
Lydia bounced from conversation to conversation, clearly relieved that the moment of tension had passed.
Meri finished her chapter and started another.
I told myself that was normal. I told myself that was how families worked. One small ripple did not stop the current.
Still, as I ate, I replayed the conversation over and over, mentally editing my tone and timing.
I wondered if I should have said more or less, if I had made it awkward by naming something that usually went unspoken.
Guilt followed every version of the exchange, settling in my chest like it had found a permanent place there.
I quickly cleaned up my dishes then grabbed an apron so I could feed guests. The next hour was taking orders, rushing full dishes out and empty dishes back to the kitchen. I barely had time to be alone with my thoughts.
Once the breakfast rush died down, I spread the paperwork across the kitchen table. I lined up the pages carefully, smoothing bent corners and straightening edges until everything sat evenly. I made lists. I rearranged schedules. I identified the gaps and wondered how we were going to fill them.
By the time I finished, the talent show looked almost manageable but I had been fooled by that before. Recently I had attempted to organize a wedding at the inn and if it had been left to me, I would have failed spectacularly. Thankfully, my sisters had helped.
What was I doing trying to help organize a talent show?
My phone buzzed against the table, startling me slightly. I picked it up and saw the reminder glowing on the screen about the guitar lesson for Thursday at four.
For a moment, my instinct was to dismiss it. I had things to do. I had responsibilities. I had already said yes to enough.
My thumb hovered over the screen, the option to cancel right there, easy and sensible.
I thought about Caleb instead. About the way he had waited for me to finish my sentences without rushing me. How he had accepted my reasons without questioning whether they were valid. The conversation we had about books and how he didn’t judge my choices.
I locked my phone and slid it back into my pocket.
The decision felt small, but it settled something inside me. I didn’t need permission to learn how to play the guitar. I didn’t need to justify it to anyone else. It could exist quietly, just for me.
I pushed the paperwork back into the file just as Lydia entered the room. “Hey, can we talk about this talent show? Who else is on the committee? Who is actually organizing this?”
“Oh, I’m not too sure. I think we are? The lady wasn’t too clear on that,” Lydia vaguely mentioned.
“Do you have her contact info?” I asked, feeling slightly alarmed.
Lydia ignored me, grabbing Meri as she was walking by.
She cleared her throat with an expression that meant she was about to announce something she was very pleased with herself for.
She clasped her hands together, practically vibrating with anticipation.
“I had an idea. Actually, I had a great idea. I signed all of us up for snowboarding lessons at Hale Lodge.”
“You did what?” Lucy asked.
“It’ll be fun,” Lydia said quickly. “Plus, it’s December. We should be doing winter things. We can take one afternoon to have fun together.”
Lydia turned to me last, her smile expectant. “You’re okay with it, right?”
I thought about the folder still sitting on the table. I thought about the guitar lesson I had almost canceled. I thought about how tired I was of doing things simply because they were decided for me.
“I’ve never snowboarded,” I said instead.
Lydia laughed. “That’s the point. It’s new and fun for all of us.”
“I’m not coordinated,” I added, because it felt important to be honest.
“Neither is Lucy,” Lydia said cheerfully.
“I can hear you,” Lucy dryly replied.
I smiled despite myself, but the knot in my chest remained. Snowboarding felt different from the guitar. It was public. It was another group activity where I would likely fade into the background or stand out for the wrong reasons.
And yet saying no felt heavier than saying yes.
“Okay,” I said finally. “I’ll try.”
Lydia squealed and wrapped her arms around me before I could reconsider.
“It’s going to be amazing,” she declared, already talking about helmets and jackets and who would inevitably fall first.
As she bounced away, I stood there for a moment longer, letting the noise of my sisters wash around me.