Chapter Fifteen The Unmaking of Perfect
Lucy.
The sun was going behind the clouds when Dex returned.
Inside, the air smelled like cinnamon and lemon polish, and the house buzzed with noise.
Guests were due to arrive before noon, and Mom had us moving in perfect chaos.
Meri checked rooms, Lydia had Kitty rearranged garlands for her latest video, and Jane baked something that filled the inn with sugar and nostalgia.
I think it was an apple crisp from the delicious smell.
I was folding napkins at the counter when the front door opened.
Mom’s voice lifted immediately. “Dex! You’re back!”
I turned just in time to see him standing in the foyer, coat still dusted with snow, eyes scanning the room.
He looked more tired than he had two days ago, like he hadn't slept well. His hair was slightly mussed, his posture too rigid, and there was something in his face I didn’t recognize.
It was impatience, maybe, or discomfort.
Whatever it was, it was directed squarely at me.
Mom greeted him with her usual warmth, fussing over his coat and offering tea before he could respond.
He nodded politely, saying little. When his eyes found mine, I managed a short nod before turning back to the napkins.
He lingered a moment, as if he wanted to speak, but the door opened again and the morning’s first guests stepped inside, shaking snow from their boots.
Everything dissolved into movement. Mom went into hospitality mode, Jane carried a tray of cookies for the guests, and I shifted to the front desk to handle check-ins.
Dex waited by the window, his coat still in his hands, watching me with the kind of intensity that made my pulse skip.
Each time I glanced up, he was still there.
I told myself I didn’t care. I told myself it meant nothing.
The couple checking in wanted a full tour so I guided them through the dining room, describing the recent restoration efforts.
They seemed fully invested in what we were doing and described how they had seen Lydia’s videos online.
I reflected that despite all her chaos, Lydia had helped the inn’s bookings.
We had at least five calls just this morning, asking about availability, some guests even demanding to stay in unfinished rooms.
It was a bit odd but I wasn’t about to turn down bookings when we needed the cashflow. However, I still was not going to let them help with any renovations.
When I returned to the foyer, Dex was still there, now standing near the staircase, out of the way. The guests thanked me and disappeared up to their room. I turned toward the kitchen, but his voice stopped me.
“Lucy, we need to talk.”
I froze, then slowly faced him. “I’m working.”
“Five minutes,” he said. “Please.”
“I don't have five minutes." It was true. We had at least three rooms of guests right now and it fell to me to make sure everything was done right.
Mom’s voice carried from the back hallway. “Lucy, dear, could you bring up the linens when you have a moment?”
“See? I’m busy right now,” I said quietly.
He took a step closer, lowering his voice. “Whenever you are available. I need to speak with you.”
I rolled my eyes. From experience, I knew that Dex wasn’t going to go away. He might even follow me around. “Fine, let’s go outside. You have five minutes then I’m going to get the linens for my guests.”
The moment I opened the door, the cold air cut across my face.
The sky was the color of pewter, clouds heavy with more snow.
I stepped onto the porch, wrapping my arms around myself.
It felt like the temperature was dropping.
Dex followed, closing the door behind him.
The house noise faded into muffled laughter and footsteps. Out here, it was just us and the quiet.
Dex took his coat off. He handed it over to me and I put it on, grateful for the warmth even though the coat was too big for me. He was full of contradictions, one minute closed off and the next, doing me a kindness by making sure I was warm. It made me feel off balance.
He stood by the railing, looking out over the yard where the snow had banked up towards the inn with the wind. “I have been thinking. About everything.”
“That sounds serious,” I murmured.
“It is." He turned toward me, his expression unreadable. “The last few days at the lodge made me realize how much my life has changed. Or rather, how much you have changed it.”
I blinked. “Me?”
“Yes. You and your family. You have made me see things differently. I used to think I understood what mattered. Efficiency, order, and reputation were the most important to me. It’s what I was raised with. It’s what I understood. But the inn and your family… it makes all of that feel small.”
It sounded flattering, but something about his tone was too measured, too deliberate and I didn’t understand what he meant. I folded my arms tighter. “Go on.”
He exhaled. “You frustrate me. You argue with me. You defy logic and reason, and somehow you make chaos look admirable. I should be able to ignore it, but I can’t. I can’t stop thinking about you.”
My heart stuttered. “Dex—”
He kept talking, faster now, as if the words had built up too long to contain.
“You drive me insane. Every sensible part of me knows this would never work.
You and I come from different worlds. You belong here with your family, surrounded by noise and warmth and…
disorder. I was raised in something else entirely.
My parents, if they were alive, would be horrified by what I am saying.
I have always done my best to make their memory proud, to hold their values, but despite that, despite knowing it makes no sense, I care for you.
“Your family is without connections, social status, and I suspect economically at risk. There is a disparity in our situations. Your youngest sisters and mother seem to lack verbal restraint, and your father refuses to restrain them. I can’t accuse you or Jane of the same issue, but it is enough to make a man pause in attaching himself to your family.
It is certainly something I had never thought that I might entertain the idea . ”
The silence after that was sharp enough to hurt. My breath caught in my throat. “I see,” I said carefully. “So you care for me in spite of everything that disgusts you about my family.”
He frowned. “That’s not what I said.”
“That's exactly what you said!” I whisper shouted at him. The last thing I wanted was for anyone to overhear us.
“Lucy, listen." His voice softened as he stepped closer. “You are extraordinary. You are nothing like anyone I have ever met. But you must see how difficult this would be. We are not equals in the way that matters to the world. I am not saying that as an insult—”
“You are doing a fine job of it anyway,” I hissed.
He ran a hand through his hair, visibly frustrated. “I am trying to be honest as you deserve honesty. I am not a man who falls easily, but I have fallen for you. And it terrifies me because it shouldn't have happened, because I can’t see how it would work.”
My pulse thudded in my ears. “You can’t possibly think that's romantic."
“I think it is real. I think it is the truth,” Dex told me, confusion clouding his eyes.
I laughed, the sound brittle in the frosty air. “You are telling me you love me but that my life, my family, my entire world embarrasses you? That we are so beneath you that loving me is a form of humiliation?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?”
He opened his mouth, then closed it again. The wind picked up, carrying snowflakes across the porch. For the first time, he looked uncertain. “I only meant that I could make it work. For both of us. I could take care of—”
I stepped back so fast the boards creaked. “Stop.”
“Lucy—”
“No." My voice shook, but I found strength in the anger that burned beneath it.
“Do you even hear yourself? You could make it work?
You could take care of me? What I hear is a man who thinks love is an inconvenience he is willing to tolerate if it fits neatly into his plans. I don't need that kind of love.”
He flinched as though I had struck him. “That’s not fair.”
“It is fair,” I said, my eyes stinging. “You came here to tell me you care for me, but every word out of your mouth has been about how I am wrong for you, how my family would horrify yours, how my life is something you would have to overcome. I would rather be alone than pitied.”
“Lucy—”
"Don't say my name. You’ve said enough." My throat felt raw. I shrugged out of his coat, shoving it at him so he had to take it or it would fall to the ground.
He took a slow breath, his posture stiffening, the warmth draining from his expression. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?” I repeated. “For what? For insulting me or for meaning it?”
His jaw tightened. “Both.”
He looked away then, toward the yard and the gray sky beyond it. “I won’t speak about it again.”
I nodded once. There was nothing else to say.
He opened the door and stepped inside the inn.
The sound of laughter and footsteps spilled out briefly before the door closed behind him, sealing me in the cold.
I stood there, arms wrapped around myself, trying to steady the tremor in my hands.
Snowflakes began to fall from the sky. My reflection in the window looked pale and brittle.
I told myself I wouldn’t cry. I told myself I was stronger than that.
Inside, life went on. I could hear Mom giving a tour of the reception room to the new guests, her voice bright and unshaken. Someone laughed, probably Kitty. The clatter of dishes followed, familiar and safe. The world kept turning while I stood still.
Eventually I forced myself to move. I went back inside and even smiled when Mom asked if everything was all right.
“I’m fine. Just a little cold. I think I’ll get a tea from the kitchen,” I replied.
She nodded, already moving on to another conversation.
The noise of the inn filled the air again.
Lydia and Kitty were laughing as they tried to hand a garland over the fireplace mantle in the reception room.
I went upstairs to check the guest room and make sure there were extra towels and the linens had managed to get where they needed to be.
My steps were steady, but my pulse wasn’t.
That night, when the house finally quieted, I found myself by the window of my room.
The snow had started to thicken, falling under the porch light.
I could still see the spot where Dex had stood, where the air between us had turned from warmth to distance in the span of a sentence.
I wanted to hate him. I wanted to stop replaying the words.
But what I wanted most was the one thing I couldn't have, which was an apology that would make me believe he understood what he had done.
He may have just broken my heart.