Chapter 4 Under Northern Skies #2
“Yes,” Claire said. “Then move the armchairs to the windows to create a reading nook.”
Julia frowned thoughtfully. “That could work. It would also open the walkway to the dining room.”
“And eliminate the sideboard hazard,” Claire added.
“That thing tried to murder me last week,” Julia muttered.
Walker stepped toward one of the sofas and placed his hands on the back. “Ready when you are.”
Claire moved to the opposite end. The sofa was heavy, its wooden frame groaning in a familiar way that suggested it had survived three decades of Hastings children launching themselves onto it. They lifted together and shuffled sideways, angling it toward the fireplace.
“Turn it just a little more,” Claire said. “Five degrees.”
Walker gave her a mock look of suffering. “Five degrees. Very precise.”
“It matters.”
“It’s a sofa,” he teased, but adjusted it anyway.
Emma arrived carrying a plate of freshly rescued cookies. “You all look like you need fuel. Also, this is very exciting. It’s like when Mamma used to ask us to help rearrange the Christmas decorations.”
Julia accepted a cookie with a sigh. “Back then, the stakes were lower.”
“Back then, the cookies weren’t edible glitter explosions,” Walker added dryly.
Emma gasped in offense. “These are improved.”
Claire took one to keep the peace. It tasted surprisingly good—soft, warm, and only mildly sparkly.
They moved the second sofa into place, this time with Julia anchoring one end while Walker adjusted the angle.
Once both sofas faced each other, Claire took a step back to assess the effect.
The room felt instantly more grounded. Centered.
Like someone had finally given it permission to have a purpose.
“All right,” she said. “Next, the armchairs.”
Emma grabbed one by the back and tugged dramatically, panting like a cartoon character. “Why are these so heavy?”
“Real furniture,” Julia said. “Not the flat-pack kind you assemble with an Allen wrench.”
“Flat-pack is an art form,” Emma protested.
Walker stepped in and lifted one of the chairs with ease. “Where do you want it?”
“By the windows,” Claire said. “Angled toward the bay. That way, people can read or stargaze.”
He carried it across the room and set it down gently. Claire adjusted the angle, stepping back to compare it with the window line.
“Perfect,” she said.
Emma pushed the second armchair beside it, mirroring the placement. The two chairs framed the large bay windows beautifully, giving the room a sense of calm and invitation.
“This is starting to look like a real inn,” Julia admitted reluctantly.
Claire nodded. “It’s getting there.”
Walker moved to the old sideboard and tested its stability. “This thing’s definitely a hazard.”
Julia folded her arms triumphantly. “Thank you.”
“It’s not going far,” Claire said. “Just into storage until we decide if we want to refurbish it.”
Emma gasped again. “We’re not throwing it out?”
“Of course not,” Claire said. “We’re just giving it a time-out.”
“Like a misbehaving toddler,” Julia muttered.
Walker lifted one end, and Claire lifted the other. Together, they carried the sideboard into the hallway and heaved it carefully into a storage nook beside the linen closet. When they returned to the living room, the space felt noticeably more open.
Claire walked slowly around, envisioning where guests would sit, where conversations might start, and how the light would fall during sunset, when the bay turned gold and copper.
She adjusted a lamp, smoothed the edge of a sofa cushion, and made a few notes about future improvements: lighter curtains, a new rug, maybe a reading lamp with a dimmer.
“This room breathes now,” she said quietly.
Emma settled onto one of the window chairs and looked out at the rain-softened landscape. “It feels like a place people could fall in love with.”
“Or fall in love in,” Julia corrected.
Emma wiggled her eyebrows. “Exactly.”
Claire ignored both comments and continued making notes. But a warm flush crept across her cheeks, because her sisters weren’t wrong—this kind of room, with its soft light and gentle quiet, was the kind where people came to feel something.
Walker set his hands on his hips, taking in the view. “Looks better already. Once you bring in that Starfall Chest, it’ll feel even more complete.”
Claire smiled. “That’s the idea.”
They spent the next fifteen minutes clearing stray clutter, restacking books, and adjusting a few decorative shelves. Nothing drastic yet—no new paint, no new furniture—but everything felt more intentional, cocooned in cozy simplicity.
Just as Claire finished reshelving a stack of travel memoirs, a cheerful voice called from the doorway. “Well now, would you look at this?”
They turned to see Elena Marston—the travel photographer who had checked in earlier—camera in hand, eyes wide with appreciation.
“I love this,” Elena said warmly. “The light, the arrangement, the feeling of it. Do you mind if I take a few pictures?”
Claire felt a spark of pride. “Not at all.”
Elena snapped a few shots near the fireplace, then near the bay windows where the light softened beautifully against the chairs. Each click of the camera felt like a quiet affirmation that they were doing something right.
“This room tells a story now,” Elena said after reviewing her shots. “A story people want to step into.”
Claire exchanged a look with her sisters. Emma beamed. Julia nodded. Walker gave Claire an approving glance.
It was little progress—but real progress. Clarity. Direction.
“We’ll keep working,” Claire said.
“And I’ll keep photographing,” Elena replied. “This place deserves to be seen.”
As she disappeared down the hall, the room felt warmer than before—not just from the fire but from possibility. Claire closed her notebook and turned toward her sisters.
“Okay,” she said. “Let’s keep going.”
And together, they moved deeper into the afternoon’s work, the rain whispering steadily against the windows while the inn slowly, quietly, began to come back to life.
The afternoon settled into the kind of quiet, steady busyness that made time slip past faster than it seemed. With the living room rearranged and tidied, the inn felt a little less like a museum of Mamma’s instincts and a little more like something the sisters were shaping together.
By the time they finished, the rain had softened into a fine mist, beading along the big front windows in delicate trails.
Claire stood near the bay of glass, rubbing a faint smudge from the pane with the cuff of her sweater and watching the water.
The bay wore the weather well, its surface a smooth pewter, its edges blurred into the low clouds.
Behind her, Emma stacked board games neatly into a basket, humming. Julia sat on the sofa, laptop open, scrolling through an intimidating spreadsheet. Walker checked the fireplace grate and tested the latch.
Julia broke the comfortable silence first. “Okay,” she said, tapping the screen. “I’ve gone through the numbers again. If we don’t take on any major new debt and the festival brings in what it usually does, we’ll have a little breathing room—emphasis on little.”
“How little?” Claire asked.
“Tiny-house little,” Julia replied. “We’ll need to be strategic. No grand remodel this year. Just targeted changes that make a big visual impact.”
“Like the living room,” Claire said, glancing around.
“Exactly.” Julia looked up. “Cosmetic upgrades in key areas, safety fixes behind the scenes, and a few signature touches that make people talk about us.”
Emma perked up. “Speaking of signature touches, I had an idea for the check-in desk.”
Julia groaned. “If it involves glitter—”
“It doesn’t,” Emma said. “Well, not directly. I was thinking about welcome cards. Simple ones. A little note in each room that says something like, ‘Under these northern skies, you are invited to wish again.’ Then, a basket of notecards and pens in the lobby for the Starfall Chest.”
Claire liked that more than she wanted to admit. “I can design a simple card template. Clean font, small star motif. We can print them on good paper.”
“And,” Emma continued, “we put a line on the website about it. ‘Write your wish under the meteor shower at the Bayview Inn.’ That’s the kind of thing people remember.”
Julia’s expression softened. “That’s actually… good.”
“Wow,” Emma said, hand to chest. “Say it slower next time.”
“Don’t push your luck,” Julia warned, but her smile lingered.
A soft knock sounded on the open living room doorway. Elena stood there again, camera strap across her chest, expression bright.
“Sorry to interrupt,” she said. “I just wanted to say the photos are coming out beautifully. This place has so much character.”
“Thank you,” Claire said. “We’re still in the middle of making sense of it all.”
“That’s what makes it interesting,” Elena replied. “Readers love places that feel like they’re in the middle of a story, not polished and finished. The ‘becoming’ is what draws people in.”
Claire tucked that phrase away. The becoming. It sounded like the title of something important.
“Do you need anything?” she asked. “Extra blankets? A better pillow?”
“I’m all set,” Elena said. “But I did have a question. Is the Starfall Festival definitely happening here this year?”
The sisters exchanged a quick look—one of those wordless sibling conversations that covered worry, decision, and resolve in a heartbeat.
“Yes,” Claire said. “The inn will be one of the main hubs. We’re working with the committee.”
Elena’s eyes lit. “Fantastic. I’m sending my editor a note tonight. This might become more than a simple travel piece.”
Emma clasped her hands together in delight. Julia tried, unsuccessfully, to hide her own satisfaction.
“I’ll stay out of your way,” Elena said. “But if you ever want someone to document the transformation… I’m happy to shoot more. It’s kind of my thing.”
“We might take you up on that,” Claire said.
After she left, a hopeful buzz settled over the group. Emma flopped backward into one of the window chairs, her legs dangling over the arm.