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.
Drama, funny shenanigans, holiday cheer, and fake dating a small town recluse who used to be celebrity in Hot Cocoa & Heartstrings :