Chapter 3
Mia
As I watch Tyler walk away, the warmth he left behind lingers, curling low in my stomach.
He’s nothing like I would have expected of one of Sarah’s uncles—so easy with his smile and his banter, quick to laugh and even quicker to flirt.
I should not be thinking about his eyes, or how his hand brushed against mine when he handed me back my suitcase.
I should definitely not be thinking about the way he looked at me, like I was the most interesting thing in the room.
He’s older. And not just a little. He’s a whole generation ahead, with a worldliness in his smile that makes me feel both out of my depth and strangely safe.
And he’s Sarah’s uncle. That should be enough to shut down any wild daydreams right there.
But when he catches my eye from across the lobby, something inside me leaps, hot and undeniable.
I shake myself out of it just as the nervous desk clerk comes hustling over, face flushed and apologetic. “Miss—I mean, I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize who you were. Your suite is almost ready. If there’s anything you need, just let us know right away.”
I blink, thrown by the sudden deference. “It’s fine, really. No need to fuss. I just want to check in like everyone else.”
He nods, bobbing up and down, tripping over his own words. “Of course, of course. I’ll make sure the staff knows. I mean, not that everyone needs to know but, um, if you’d like a private entrance or—”
“Honestly, I’m fine,” I say, gentler this time. “But thank you.”
I look around, wondering who spilled the secret. Then I spot a familiar figure near the elevators. Mr. Beattie, the hotel manager, in his perfectly pressed suit, silver hair immaculate, the same loyal presence I remember from summers here as a kid.
He sees me and beams. “Miss Coines. Welcome home.”
The sound of my name on his lips is both comforting and alarming. I hurry over, shushing him softly. “Mr. Beattie, it’s so good to see you. But please—keep it down. I’m trying to keep a low profile this weekend.”
His eyes twinkle with understanding. “Of course, Miss. Your secret is safe with me.”
I relax, letting out a breath. He gives my arm a reassuring squeeze before heading off to handle some quiet crisis behind the scenes.
I stand in the center of the grand lobby, surrounded by the familiar scent of pine and woodsmoke, feeling suddenly at home and a little exposed. For a moment, I allow myself to wonder what this weekend will bring.
Tyler Birch, with that slow, wicked grin, flashes through my mind again.
When I’m finally given my key card, I start to make my way to my room. Despite my insistence that I can manage on my own, Mr. Beattie follows along with quiet determination, carrying my suitcase as if it weighs nothing at all. I give up protesting and let him lead me through the lobby.
The lodge is exactly as I remember: vaulted ceilings with dark wooden beams, massive windows looking out over snow-draped pines, and a stone fireplace that fills the air with the soft, comforting scent of burning wood.
Old photos of winter carnivals and family holidays line the hallways, the walls practically humming with the memories of every Coines who’s ever walked these floors.
As we glide up to the third floor, I watch the snowy world slide past through wide windows.
I remember being twelve, waking at sunrise to race down to the slopes, snowboard in hand, boots clomping through the lobby.
Those were good winters—bundled in so many layers I could hardly move, cheeks numb from wind, laughter echoing through the long halls as I tried to best my own record on the mountain.
Even now, I can almost hear the scrape of my board on fresh powder, the muffled shouts of friends tumbling after me, the rush of speed and freedom and belonging.
Mr. Beattie helps me wheel my suitcase down the plush corridor to a suite that smells faintly of cedar and old memories. “If you need anything, just ring,” he says with a gentle bow.
“Thank you, Mr. Beattie. Really,” I reply, but he’s already gone, his footsteps silent on the thick carpet.
I let myself into the room and drop my bag by the window.
The view is breathtaking: pines bowed under fresh snow, the distant twinkle of the lodge lights, the pale haze of dusk settling on the mountains.
I try to send Sarah a quick text to let her know I’ve arrived, but there’s no signal.
Typical. The walls of this place have always been stubborn about letting the outside world in.
With a huff, I grab my coat and head out, determined to find a spot with enough reception to call her before she starts to worry.
I make it as far as the top of the grand staircase, trying to angle my phone toward a sliver of signal, when I’m suddenly hit from the side by a flying bundle of energy and hair.
Arms wrap around me and I nearly topple, laughing as I realize I’ve been tackled by none other than Sarah herself.
“Mia!” she squeals, voice bright and breathless. She pulls back to look at me, eyes shining with relief.
Sarah is a force of nature: strawberry-blonde curls wild around her face, cheeks pink with excitement, bundled in an oversized cream sweater and leggings with tiny snowflakes stitched up the sides. She’s always looked as if she belongs to the mountain—fresh, bold, impossible to miss.
“God, I missed you!” she says, squeezing me again. “You’re really here. I thought maybe you’d bail and I’d have to hunt you down myself.”
I laugh, hugging her just as tightly. “Not a chance. Who else is going to keep you from making a total fool of yourself on your wedding day?”
She grins, eyes sparkling. “You mean apart from my uncles and the wedding planner with a clipboard the size of a law book? I’m so glad you came, Mia. I mean it. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
It’s always like this with Sarah. No matter how long we’re apart, or how much changes, we fall right back into our old rhythm. We’re two halves of a secret language, one built from midnight talks, childhood pranks, whispered promises, and years of surviving life’s messiest moments together.
We untangle ourselves, still grinning, and Sarah loops her arm through mine, steering us toward a pair of overstuffed chairs in a quiet nook off the landing.
“Speaking of your uncles,” I tease, “I’ve already met two of them. One at the car rental counter in Boston and another just now downstairs.”
Sarah’s eyes widen, her curiosity immediate. “Which one? The serious, handsome one or the one who’s always making jokes?”
I have to laugh. “Both, actually. The first one—tall, dark, and…let’s call him intense—he nearly gave the rental clerk a heart attack.”
Sarah giggles. “Oh, that would be Uncle Alexander. He could probably negotiate world peace if he’d stop intimidating everyone. And the other?”
“Tyler,” I say, unable to keep the smile from my voice. “He carried my bag and let me believe he was hotel staff for a good five minutes before I figured it out.”
Sarah bursts out laughing. “That is such an Uncle Tyler thing to do. He loves messing with people. Don’t let him charm you too much—he’s the fun one, but he never plays fair.
” She leans in conspiratorially. “You’ll meet Marcus soon.
He’s the broody one, always lurking with a cup of black coffee.
But really, they’re all sweethearts, even if Alexander pretends he isn’t. ”
I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear, thinking of Tyler’s easy grin, the heat in his eyes, the way he made me feel seen. “I’ll keep that in mind,” I say, a little too softly.
Sarah studies me, a knowing glint in her eye, but lets it go. Instead, she squeezes my hand. “I’m so glad you’re here, Mia. It wouldn’t feel right without you.”
A comfortable silence settles between us, and I almost believe everything could be easy.
But after a minute, the air shifts. Sarah glances away, fiddling with the silver charm bracelet on her wrist. “So…I know this is weird, and you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but…
are you okay? With Jason being here? I mean, him being… well, my fiancé?”
There it is. The name between us, heavier than anything else in this room.
I swallow, forcing a smile that feels too small for my face. “I’m fine, Sarah. It was a long time ago.” It’s almost true, but not quite. “Besides, this is your weekend. I want you to be happy.”
Sarah bites her lip, looking worried. “I just—” She hesitates, voice gentle. “I want you to know it wasn’t… I mean, it just happened, you know? He showed up, and I fell hard. I never meant—”
I cut her off, pulling her into a hug. “It’s okay. Really.” My voice sounds steadier than I feel. “I’m here for you. That’s all that matters.”
She clings to me, relief in her shoulders. For a moment, I wonder if I’ll ever be able to tell her everything I really feel, the doubts and the ache and the old wounds Jason left behind. But for now, I hold on and let her believe it’s enough.
As I make my way back to my suite, the conversation with Sarah is looping in my head.
The truth is, no matter how many times I tell her—and myself—that I’m fine, it isn’t entirely true.
The idea of spending the whole weekend watching my best friend moon over Jason, the man who shattered me, feels like some kind of cosmic joke.
I imagine sitting through dinners, dances, speeches, every moment just another reminder of what I lost, and what he took.
Jason and I were the kind of couple people called “meant to be”—at least, until they saw us up close. He was attentive, charming, always knew the right thing to say. For a while, I thought I’d won the lottery. Then came the cracks. The little digs at my family. The pressure to “prove” my loyalty.
The games he played were so subtle I didn’t notice until I was standing at the altar alone, humiliated. I’d built my world around someone who had already planned his exit.