Chapter Twenty An Invitation
Lydia
Dinner at the inn had a way of starting before anyone officially announced it had begun.
I came down the stairs to the sound of overlapping voices, the clatter of dishes, and the unmistakable smell of something Mom had put too much butter into on purpose.
The dining room lights were already on, casting a warm glow over the long table Dad had extended as far as it would reasonably go, then extended a little farther anyway.
Jane stood at the head of the table with a stack of plates, directing traffic like she was running a small airport. “Careful, this one is hot.”
“It’s always hot,” Kitty replied, already reaching for it. “That’s the risk of dinner.”
Meri sat near the window with her sleeves pushed up, calmly setting out cutlery in neat pairs. She glanced up when she saw me and raised one eyebrow in a silent question that I interpreted as are you braced for this.
“Barely,” I said.
Mom moved between the kitchen and the table, adjusting napkins, straightening chairs, her cheeks flushed and her hair just beginning to slip free of its clip. Dad followed with the serving dishes, steady and methodical, placing each one down like it mattered exactly where it landed.
Dex and Braxton were already there, coats slung over chair backs, deep in conversation about something architectural and probably expensive. Braxton noticed me first.
“There she is,” he said. “The woman who successfully drove a parade float without destroying municipal property.”
“Very funny,” I said, sliding into my seat.
“He rarely is,” Dex replied dryly as he pulled out a chair for Lucy to sit down in.
The table filled quickly. Plates passed. Someone knocked over a glass and someone else caught it before it spilled. Kitty launched into a dramatic retelling of her morning that involved at least one stranger, a coffee mishap, and a firm belief that the universe was testing her.
I listened, smiling, letting the noise wash over me.
This was the part that grounded me. The chaos that wasn’t actually chaos at all. It was familiarity . It was knowing who would interrupt whom , who would argue just for the joy of it, who would quietly observe and then say something devastatingly accurate when no one expected it.
“So,” Kitty said suddenly, pointing her fork at me. “Are you going to admit that the parade was a success?”
“I already admitted it,” I said. “To myself. Quietly.”
Mom smiled at me from across the table, her expression warm in a way that made my chest tighten unexpectedly. “You did wonderfully driving with all those people and floats. You were so calm.”
I laughed. “I was not calm.”
“You looked calm,” she corrected. “I didn’t doubt you for a moment.”
Conversation shifted, as it always did, moving in unpredictable loops. Jane asked Dex about his latest project. Braxton teased William about the truck. Meri made an aside that only Kitty heard, which resulted in Kitty choking on her drink and laughing so hard she had to set it down.
It felt good. Normal. Like we were all exactly where we were supposed to be for the moment.
Braxton’s phone buzzed against the table near his elbow.
He ignored it at first, then frowned when it buzzed again. “Hold on,” he said, picking it up. He scanned the screen, his expression shifting from casual to intrigued.
“What is it?” Dex asked.
Braxton’s mouth twitched. “Well. That’s formal and a little late. Almost like she forgot about us.”
Jane leaned closer. “What is.”
“Carly just sent us an invitation to the Hale Holiday Gala,” he said.
That got everyone’s attention.
“Hale Gala,” Kitty repeated. “As in the Hale Ski Lodge gala.”
“The one with the ridiculous dress code,” Meri added.
“And the donors,” Dad said. “And the press.”
“And the music, decorations, and I have heard the food is amazing,” Mom said, looking faintly delighted. “Not that our Jane couldn’t make better food but I have heard good things.”
Braxton nodded. “Dex and I are invited. Apparently the Bennets are as well.”
Jane’s eyes lit up. “All of us?”
“That’s what it says.”
The table buzzed with immediate reactions. There were questions and Kitty began speculating wildly about attire. Jane started thinking through logistics out loud. Mom clasped her hands together like she had just been handed a Christmas present.
I felt it then. That flicker of anticipation. Sharp and bright.
The gala had been hovering at the edge of things for weeks now. People had mentioned it and now we had an invitation. I hadn’t expected to get an invite.
I stared down at my plate for a moment, pushing my food around without really eating it.
“Lydia,” Jane said gently. “Are you all right?”
“Yes,” I said automatically. “Just thinking.”
The conversation rolled on, already planning, already imagining. And somewhere in the middle of it, without quite meaning to, I thought of Ephram.
Not in a dramatic way. Just… naturally. Like he belonged in the same category of things approaching.
The thought startled me enough that I looked up.
“I could invite him,” I said, before I fully processed the words.
Everyone turned toward me.
“Invite who?” Kitty asked.
“Ephram,” I said. My voice sounded steadier than I felt. “To the gala. As my date.”
Mom’s expression softened immediately. Jane looked thoughtful. Meri tilted her head, assessing. Lucy raised her eyebrows, mildly impressed.
“If you want to. I’m assuming Carly thought that everyone would have a plus one,” Braxton said carefully.
I pictured it too easily. Ephram in a suit. Calm and slightly uncomfortable while standing beside me like it was where he chose to be.
The idea made me happy.
I finished dinner with that warmth still there, humming quietly beneath the conversation.I found myself reaching for my phone without hesitation. I didn’t overthink the text. I simply typed, The Hale Gala invitations went out tonight. Would you like to go with me?
I stared at the screen for a moment before hitting send.
Then I waited.
Around me, people were clearing dirty dishes and Jane was serving dessert. Lucy and Mom were already discussing what could be repurposed for the gala. Kitty was still talking, now to Meri, about something involving chocolate fountains and a personal vendetta against formalwear.
I helped Dad carry dishes into the kitchen, letting my hands stay busy so my mind wouldn’t spiral too far ahead of my courage.
When my phone finally vibrated against my hip the sound felt louder than it should have.
I wiped my hands on a towel before picking it up, suddenly aware of how fast my pulse had picked up. There was a message from Ephram.
I stepped a little farther away from the others before opening it.
Thank you for asking, I really appreciate it, but I can’t.
That was it. No explanation was offered, no apology beyond the politeness already built into the words. Just a clean, careful refusal.
I stared at the screen longer than necessary, my thumb hovering uselessly over the keyboard. There was nothing to reply that wouldn’t feel like pressure, and the last thing I wanted was to make him feel cornered. He had answered honestly.
Still, the disappointment arrived anyway, swift and sharp.
It wasn’t dramatic. It didn’t knock the wind out of me. It was quieter than that. A small collapse inward, like a door closing softly instead of slamming.
I slipped the phone into my pocket and took a steadying breath.
“Everything okay?” Mom asked from across the kitchen.
“Yes,” I said quickly. “Just feeling a little overfull.”
She smiled, satisfied with that answer, and turned back to Jane.
I leaned against the counter for a moment, grounding myself in the familiar sounds of home. The low hum of the refrigerator. Kitty’s laugh from the dining room. Dad’s steady footsteps as he moved between rooms.
Ephram had said no.
That didn’t mean rejection. Not exactly. Maybe he was working, or had a prior engagement that night at a different event. Maybe he was working on his house, getting it livable again so he could adopt Felix.
I told myself not to read into it and not to assume there was more behind it than there was. He had reasons. Professional ones, probably. He was allowed those.
I was allowed to feel disappointed anyway.
Before I could finish sorting through that particular knot of emotion, the kitchen door opened with far more confidence than courtesy.
“Good evening,” Collin announced, as if the inn had been holding its breath waiting for him.
Every head in the room turned at once.
I froze.
Collin stood just inside the doorway, coat draped dramatically over one arm, a box of chocolates tucked under the other. He looked pleased with himself in a way that suggested he had not once considered whether his presence was wanted.
“Oh no,” Kitty said flatly.
Collin’s gaze slid past me without lingering and landed squarely on Kitty.
There it was. The pivot.
“My dear Miss Kitty,” he said, stepping fully into the room. “I was hoping to find you.”
Kitty stared at him like he had just announced he planned to live under the table. “Why?”
Collin smiled indulgently, clearly mistaking her tone for coyness. “I’ve had some time to reflect.”
Meri muttered something under her breath that sounded like this should be illegal and something about harassment.
“I realized,” Collin continued, “that my previous approach may have lacked… flourish.”
Kitty crossed her arms. “You mean consent.”
“I mean romance,” he corrected cheerfully.
Jane glanced at me, eyes wide. Helen looked torn between mortification and the kind of fascination reserved for public disasters.
Collin lifted the box of chocolates like an offering. “I’ve come prepared to do things properly this time.”
Kitty stared at the chocolates, then at him. “Absolutely not.”
“Ah,” he said, nodding as if she had confirmed something important. “Modesty.”
“No,” Kitty said loudly. “Disinterest and rejection.”
Collin waved a hand. “You say that now. But I believe persistence, when guided by sincerity, can be quite persuasive.”
“Can it?” Kitty said. “Or does it just make people want to hide?”
“I’ve also arranged flowers,” he added. “They should be arriving shortly.”
Jane put a hand over her mouth. Meri closed her eyes briefly, as if counting to ten.
I felt a strange mix of relief and secondhand embarrassment. Collin’s attention was no longer aimed at me, but that didn’t mean the chaos had diminished. It had simply shifted targets.
Kitty turned to me. “Make him leave.”
“I don’t think I have that authority,” I said.
Collin leaned closer to Kitty, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “I sense potential here.”
Kitty took a step back. “I sense a restraining order.”
Before the situation could escalate further, the distant sound of music drifted in through the windows. A violin, maybe, warming up somewhere nearby. The faint reminder that the gala was approaching, whether we were ready for it or not.
The room fell just slightly quieter.
Collin straightened, smoothing his coat. “Ah, preparations are underway.”
Kitty groaned as a trio of violinists and a poor beleaguered delivery person staggered under the weight of the biggest bouquet that I had ever seen.
I watched the scene unfold with a strange sense of distance, my earlier disappointment settling into something more manageable. The evening had taken on a familiar shape again. Chaos, laughter, interruptions, and unwanted drama that would eventually resolve itself, one way or another.
Kitty gave Collin a look that could kill while Dad put his arm around Collin’s shoulder, steering him out of the kitchen despite his protests.
Mom put a hand to her mouth, following them out.
“I will take the flowers,” Lucy decided. “They can go in the lobby for the guests.”
“Excuse me, musicians? I think you can go home,” I told them, stepping forward. “Kitty, maybe you should retreat upstairs?”
I stepped in to do my part, wondering if I had misread the signals from Ephram. He had asked me out to coffee, but turned down the gala. I should just ask him, I resolved.
Yet I didn’t.