Chapter Eleven Aftershocks
Lucy
The morning after Carly’s visit arrived with the faint hiss of the coffee maker sputtering to life.
I lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, replaying that perfect little kiss she had pressed to Dex’s cheek as though she were branding him.
The whole thing had been a performance, perfectly timed and flawlessly staged.
I could almost admire her precision if it hadn't been so grating.
The entire house had gone too quiet after she left, the kind of hush that meant everyone was pretending nothing had happened.
Pretending wasn't something I had ever been good at.
When I came downstairs, the kitchen smelled of toast, furniture polish, and breakfast. Mom stood at the counter in her robe humming a Christmas carol while buttering an unreasonable number of slices of toast. Lydia was perched on a stool with her laptop and coffee, editing one of her videos, mouthing along to her own voice-over.
Meri sat at the table with a stack of to do notes, highlighter poised like a weapon.
Thankfully Jane was at the stove, scooping a spoonful of hashbrowns onto a plate.
Mom turned with a bright smile that could have powered the town. “Good morning, darling. Sleep well?”
“Just fine,” I said, not really wanting to talk about my nearly sleepless night that I spent over analysing every word that Carly had uttered.
“Carly was lovely, wasn’t she? She is so poised and polished,” Mom commented.
“Rude and disrespectful as well,” I muttered, reaching for the coffee pot.
“What was that?”
“I said she certainly was." I poured a cup and added too much sugar. “What are we tackling today?”
Meri looked up from her paperwork. “Dining room restoration, section one. Dad already cleared out the furniture.”
Helen clapped her hands. “Isn’t it exciting? We might have that room ready for Christmas dinner!”
“Or Christmas of next year. Depending on what we find under the paint,” I said dampeningly.
Kitty waved her phone like a baton. “Lydia’s post from last night has over twelve thousand views. Half the comments are asking about bookings.”
“We are not ready for guests beyond the two already booked. There is too much work to be done with refurbishing the guest rooms and checking the plumbing in each room,” I protested.
“But we could be ready,” Lydia said, removing her earbuds. “I am marketing us as a boutique heritage experience. Think curated chaos meets small-town charm.”
“That sounds like a health-code violation,” Meri said dryly.
“It sounds like an opportunity,” Lydia countered. “People want authenticity.”
“Authenticity we have,” I admitted.
“People want to pay to come and help with the restorations. They want to be a part of the project,” Kitty revealed.
“What?” Jane handed me the plate of food. “Paying to stay and work?”
“Exactly. It’s a guest experience,” Kitty answered.
“It’s a violation of labor laws and our insurance would hate it,” I protested.
“Now Lucy, it would save us time and money,” Mom mused.
“If they were any good at the work, but if they aren’t and get injured? We could be sued. The answer is no,” I firmly stated.
“You’re such a downer,” Lydia rolled her eyes.
By nine o’clock, the dining room resembled a renovation show shot by amateurs.
Dust sheets covered the furniture that remained in the room, paint cans lined the walls, and morning light cut through the tall windows in wide gold stripes.
Dad had already pried off a strip of old paint.
Beneath the cracked layers of white paint, dark honey-colored wood gleamed faintly.
He gestured toward it like a proud magician.
“Original wainscoting with a leaf motif trim. Can you believe this was hiding under there?”
Jane crouched beside him, her eyes wide. “It is beautiful.”
“It will be once we strip all this old paint away,” Dad corrected, a wire bristle brush in hand.
Helen stood nearby, duster ready. “Just imagine Christmas dinner here. Candles with music and guests laughing.”
“Let’s imagine not inhaling paint flakes first,” Meri said, handing her a mask.
I knelt to help Dad with the next section.
The paint lifted reluctantly, curling away in thin flakes.
Beneath it, the wood was smooth and solid, the kind of craftsmanship that didn't exist anymore.
A faded strip of wallpaper peeked above the trim.
Beautiful roses on pale gold were delicate and dignified.
We had been so lucky to have original wallpaper and wood, mostly undamaged by time and previous renovations.
Lydia crouched beside me with her phone. She narrated in her best documentary voice, “And here, our fearless innkeeper unearths the long-lost soul of the SnowDrop Inn.”
I shot her a look. “If you post that while I have paint chips on my face, I will haunt you.”
Lydia rolled her eyes. ”You have no sense of fun. You’re almost as bad as Meri.”
“Yet Meri would never do this." I quickly grabbed her phone, holding it above my head.
Lydia squealed, jumping up to try to get the phone from my hand as I held it out of reach. “That’s not fair. Just because I’m short, doesn’t mean you have to be so rude! I hope you realize this is a live video and everyone saw your paint chipped face with the painters mask on!”
“They didn’t,” I breathed, pausing in shock. “Lydia!”
“They did. They also saw your frizzy hair." Lydia grabbed my arm, pulling down as she jumped, managing to grab her phone. She quickly went to the other side of the room, checking the settings and her viewers. “I hope all of you didn’t get motion sickness from my sister.”
A low voice behind me said, “That was interesting.”
I straightened too fast and nearly dropped the paint scraper in my other hand. Dex leaned in the doorway, sleeves rolled up, hair still damp from a shower.
“I thought you were meeting Braxton at the hardware store,” I said dumbly. Really, I had wondered if he would be leaving us to go to the ski lodge to meet with Carly.
“Braxton can manage. I wanted to check the paneling first. I might be able to help,” Dex offered.
“This isn’t your forte of architecture. It’s more like archeology,” I noted.
“One builds forward, the other backward,” Dex mentioned.
“Philosophy before coffee. Ambitious." I had an awkward smile.
He smiled, a small, quiet expression that softened the lines around his eyes. He crouched beside Dad, tapping the wood with his knuckles. “That'sa beautiful leaf motif. I don’t think there are many of the original ones left. It’s worth saving.”
Dad grunted agreement. “That’s what I thought.”
For a while, the only sounds were scraping, hammering, and the occasional sneeze.
The rhythm steadied me. When Dex reached past me for the crowbar, his sleeve brushed mine, and my pulse jumped like it had been waiting for an excuse.
I focused very hard on the wallpaper, pretending it was the most fascinating pattern in the world.
Lydia, of course, caught the moment. “Look at that teamwork. We should start a renovation channel. They are very popular at the moment.”
“Keep filming rather than helping, and I will think of somewhere to hide your phone permanently," I warned.
By midday, the air smelled of sawdust and lemon cleaner.
The walls were stripped of the panelling, the wainscotting was half stripped of paint, wood showing in uneven patches.
Mom declared it “magical,” which she said about anything that looked more promising than hopeless.
Meri vacuumed the debris while muttering about lead paint.
Lydia left to edit her footage. Jane brought sandwiches and lemonade which was a welcome break.
We brought the chairs back in from the hallway so we could sit down and relax for the refreshments.
Dex sat beside me, dust streaking his sleeve.
“You should be proud. Most people would have given up by now,” he said quietly.
“Most people don't have my mother,” I said.
“That’s true. Your mother could rally a small country,” Dex dryly replied.
I glanced at him. He looked different here than at the architect firm.
He was less sharp and more real. There was a streak of pain thinner on his wrist and a smudge of dust on his jaw.
I wondered what Carly would think if she saw him like this, sleeves rolled up, surrounded by chaos and women armed with paint scrapers. He caught me staring. “What?”
“Nothing. I’m just surprised you can handle manual labor,” I said quickly.
“I can adapt,” he responded with a frown.
“Is that your superpower?” I teased.
“That, and refusing to quit when someone tells me to.”
A laugh escaped me before I could stop it. He could just as easily be describing me. I glanced at Dex and he looked startled but pleased.
Mom clapped her hands suddenly. “Everyone, look! Just look!”
We did. The dining room looked entirely different.
The exposed wainscoting glowed gold where the sunlight touched it, and for the first time since we bought the inn, I could see the bones of what it had been.
For a moment I imagined the room finished with tables set for guests, candles reflecting in the wood, the sound of conversation filling the air. Our dream was possible.
“All right,” I said, grounding myself. “If we keep pace, we can finish this section by the end tomorrow perhaps.”
“Ambitious,” Meri said.
“Optimistic,” Dad corrected.
“Necessary. The sooner we get done, the sooner we can have paying guests,” I replied, thinking about all the red numbers on my spreadsheets that indicated the money going out versus the little to no money coming in.
“We can’t continue this afternoon. I have made arrangements for all of us to go to the local winter market. It’s a good chance to talk to the locals and we are expected to be there to introduce ourselves,” Mom told the group.
I looked around at the shambles of the dining room. “We really do need to finish this.”
“The work will be there later. This is an opportunity to network,” Kitty added.
“As much as it pains me to admit it, Kitty is right,” Meri reluctantly agreed.
Kitty stared at her in exaggerated shock. “What did you say? Could you repeat that a little louder? Can I record that for posterity?”
Meri sighed with longsuffering. “Networking with the local community could create cross promotional opportunities which will bring added business to the community and us.”
“Do we all need to go?” I wondered.
“Yes,” Mom firmly replied. “You all have been working too hard. It will be nice to take a little trip to town and visit the event. I insist we all go.”
“What is a winter market?” Dex slowly ventured to ask.