Page 15 of Make-Believe Match

“It’s notthatfar,” she argued.

“I don’t want someone who will always be leaving, Win. I need to meet someone who can be happyhere, because this is where my heart is.” I stopped moving for a moment and glanced at the Alpine-style inn my great-grandparents had built, at the mountain beyond it where I’d learned to ski, at the woods where I’d played in the summertime. Somewhere beyond the mountain was the inland lake where I’d learned to swim. In the winter, when it froze over, my mom would take me ice skating on it. I took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of freshly cut grass and cedar trees, and felt a surge of something akin to homesickness, although home was all around me. “I can’t let it go.”

“So what’s next?” she asked as I let myself into the building. “Can you prevent the sale?”

“I don’t think so.” I walked past the administrative offices toward the front desk. The faint scent of my grandfather’s pipe tobacco still lingered in the hallway. “And if I can’t inherit without a husband, my only choice is to fight for a deal that doesn’t involve demolition, starting tomorrow at lunch with the rep from Black Diamond Resorts. I need to be a total badass at that table.”

“You can do it,” she said. “What are you going to wear?”

“No clue. My wardrobe leans more toward athleisure than badass businesswoman. You don’t happen to have a suit I could borrow, do you? Something that says, ‘Don’t mess with me?’” Winnie and I were built similarly, although I was taller.

“Absolutely,” she said. “Can you make the drive down tonight after work? We’ll turn you into Badass Business Barbie. That corporate clown won’t stand a chance.”

I laughed. “Perfect. I’m off at five, so I’ll be there around seven.”

“See you then.”

* * *

My eight to five shift was quiet. It mostly involved checking guests out after the long weekend and despairing at the paltry reservations in the books for the winter months. I had a fair amount of downtime, the first couple hours of which I spent sifting through hot, sweaty memories of last night. I wondered when Devlin was leaving town. I wondered if he was with his family today. I wondered if I’d ever see him again andreallyhoped I would. Maybe he’d pop into The Broken Spoke next time he was home. Would that be at Thanksgiving?

Winnie was right—I should have gotten his number.

Shoving thoughts of Devlin aside, I pulled out the notebook where I’d written down all the reasons Gran should let me inherit instead of sell. With a frown, I wrote a big X across the page and flipped to a new one. Time for plan B—convince Black Diamond Resorts to invest instead of demolish.

I began writing down all the things I’d do if I could get the money to do them. As I worked my way down the page, hope sprouted somewhere deep inside me. This could work!

My first priority would be renovating the main lodge itself—the lobby, the guest rooms, the bar and restaurant. Then I thought about what we could add. A gift shop. A ski shop. Maybe even a cute coffee and pastry shop.

Next on my list was upgrading the lifts and snowmaking technologies. What we had now was adequate but not great. In order to attract more skiers, we needed to offer the best possible conditions and experience. While we couldn’t compete with Colorado or Utah or any of the mountain resorts out west, we could become the top-tier small midwestern ski destination. Then once we made the changes, we needed to invest money in marketing. People had forgotten about Snowberry Lodge. We had to show them why they should come back.

Finally, we had to improve our summer operations—we needed events and attractions that would bring people here during the off-season so we didn’t die during the warmer months. Concerts. Festivals. Wellness retreats. Romantic getaway specials. Family vacation packages. Maybe we could partner with a nearby golf course or winery and offer some discounts. When I was little, my mom would arrange music performances on the back lawn, and I had lovely memories of stretching out on a picnic blanket and looking at the stars while a string quartet played nearby, the katydids chirping along. I loved those summer nights.

Energized, I looked around at the family photographs on the walls in the lobby—generations of McIntyres who’d given their all to this place. I wouldn’t let them down.

At three o’clock, Tabitha strolled in, an hour late for her shift, dressed in a hot pink velour track suit. “Hey,” she said without lifting her eyes from her phone.

I closed my notebook and dropped it into my bag under the desk. “Where were you?”

“I was doing a photo shoot a couple hours away. The light was great, so I didn’t want to cut it short.” She continued to study her screen, probably looking at pictures of herself. It was one of her favorite activities. Although, truth be told, if I looked like Tabitha, I’d probably enjoy it too. While her personality could be tart, she had the sweet, ethereal beauty of a Renaissance Madonna—the long golden hair, the high smooth forehead, the flawless ivory skin.

“Photo shoot for what?”

“Just something for my blog,” she said briskly, setting her phone aside and looking at me for the first time. “You look a little rough.”

“I’m tired. Didn’t get much sleep.”

She smirked, folding her arms over her chest. “Late night with Dr. Smalley?”

“No. Just a late night.”

“With who?”

“With nobody.”

She rolled her eyes. “You never have late nights. You must have been with someone.”

“It’s no one you know,” I said casually, turning my attention to the computer screen, like I was hunting for a reservation.