“House?” I ask Will once I’ve pointed her in the right direction.
“Actually,” he says, “I have a better idea.”
* * *
—
I walk down the hill to the water. Will had a few calls to make after our appointment with Mira, but now here he is, standing next to the outfitting hut in swim trunks and T-shirt, a paddle in each hand. My stomach dips as soon as I see him, which is funny because it’s been at my ankles ever since he asked me to meet him at the docks. He didn’t give a reason, but I changed into a bathing suit and shorts. I had a feeling.
“I was wondering if the offer still stands,” Will says as I walk toward him. There’s already a canoe in the water.
I don’t know whether to laugh or push him in the lake. First the coveralls comment and now this.
“What do you think?” he says.
“I think you’re nine years late for your lesson.”
“I know,” he says, wincing. “I’m sorry.” He nods his head at the canoe. “I was hoping you’d teach me anyway. You said you’d make sure I don’t embarrass myself.”
“You remember that?”
Will’s eyes search my face. Out here, the espresso brown is more like a glass of Coke held up to the light. “I remember everything.” He says it slowly, holding my gaze, and my stomach dives into the water.
I take the short paddle, willing my hands to remain steady. “Fine.” I square my shoulders. “Get in the boat.”
It’s overcast, and for a July afternoon, there’s hardly anyone out on the water. I like gloomy days for this very reason. We paddle for a while, not talking, just gliding across the water, past the cottages that dot the banks—classic log cabins with red-painted window frames, ostentatious summer homes with oversized boathouses. Will sits in the front, and I watch the muscles move across his back. I lose minutes staring at the evergreen tattooed on his arm.
It’s surreal, being out here with him, a moment I thought about for an entire year after we met. While I walked to work, as I fixed lattes, before I went to bed, I’d imagine giving Will Baxter the world’s greatest tour of Smoke Lake.
“So,” Will says, glancing over his shoulder, “how do I look?” He flashes me an Old Will smile, and suddenly I’m confused about what’s happening. He’s different today.
“Too tall for a canoe,” I tell him.
I point out a sandy ribbon of crown land and we pull the boat up on the shore. We sit on the small strip of beach, our toes in the water, just like I thought we would nine years ago.
“We haven’t gone into detail about what a sale might involve yet, and at this point it’s all speculative,” Will says, pulling me back to the present. “But essentially, there’s a limited pool of buyers for an operation this large. And while the business isn’t as strong as we’d like, the price for the property and buildings alone will be hefty.”
“Mira said I’d need to keep it competitive.”
“Right. To do that, a lot of businesses in similar situations would make sure they’re running things as lean as possible.” He pauses. “It usually involves doing an audit of the entire staff and . . . laying people off.”
My stomach roils. “How many?” I whisper after a minute.
“I’m not sure,” Will says. “It could be a few roles here and there, or we might want to look at a more substantial cut. I can figure that out with more time.”
Will studies my face. “We’ll get another agent’s opinion, but here’s the thing: If you decide to sell, you can do it without switching so much as a light bulb, but no buyer is going to come in without making changes, significant ones, likely including cuts. Chains will do things their own way. They’ll standardize everything, bring in their own people to fill some of the senior roles.”
I think of Jamie and how chuffed he is with our locally made shampoos and soaps, and the comment Peter made recently about how few hotels employ on-site bakers anymore. Everything comes in premade and frozen.
“I don’t want to alarm you, but I don’t want to sugarcoat it, either,” Will says.
I stare out over the water, trying to quell my nausea.
Mom is going to be heartbroken. The thought comes and goes in one brief, painful second, and I have to shut my eyes.
“Fern?”
“I started reading my mom’s diary, the one from the summer before I was born.” My voice wavers, and I pause. I don’t know why I’m telling him this. Will’s arm comes around my shoulder. It’s nothing more than a comforting embrace, but being touched by him is such a relief, like opening a pressure valve in my heart. He smells so good, and it takes every particle of restraint I possess not to rest my head on his shoulder and curl into him.
“She always knew,” I say when I can speak steadily. “She always knew she wanted to run the resort. Selling would have killed her.”
“Can I make an observation?” Will asks after a minute.
“Sure.” I twist so I can look at him. His arm falls and his hand comes to rest on the sand between us.
“You light up when you talk about the resort and the possibilities for the future. You’re passionate about this place and your ideas are solid. And, I hope you don’t mind, but I sat in on one of your staff meetings.”
“You what?”
After Jamie told me that my presence was “freaking people out,” I held two meetings to introduce myself properly, applaud everyone for holding things together following Mom’s death, and take questions—many of which I couldn’t answer, including whether or not I was selling the business. I wanted to puke the entire time. Mom loved being the center of attention, but I’m still uncomfortable when eyes are on me. I’m terrified people will be able to tell that I’m making half of it up as I go along.
“I wanted to see you in action.” He leans toward me. “You were awesome. Confident, as transparent as possible, strong but empathetic. It’s hard to get in front of a large group and tell them you don’t have all the answers—a lot of leaders won’t do that.”
I’m surprised by his praise. I was sure everyone could see my hands tremble, hear the wobble in my voice. I could sense their skepticism. The executive chef glowered at me the whole time, arms folded in front of his chest. “I don’t think I won them over.”
“Would you have been won over if you were in their position? You grew up at the resort, but to most of them, you’ve swooped in from nowhere.”
“I just didn’t ever picture myself here,” I murmur. Even to my own ears, the argument is starting to sound thin, a favorite shirt worn till it’s threadbare—comfortable but probably ready for the trash. “I’m actually starting to enjoy being back. Parts of it feel right.” It’s scary to admit it, but it’s true. Outside of staff meetings, I mostly like the work. I love being near Whitney. I hardly miss the city. “Shocking, right?”
Given everything Will knows about me, I expect him to agree. “I wouldn’t say that. Sometimes plans change.”
The statement feels loaded. We watch a boat putter by, a man casting a fishing line off the end. After a moment, Will adds, “We’re not the same people we were at twenty-two. It’s okay to want different things.”
I look down at our fingers, inches away from each other in the sand, worried that I want some of the same things I did then.
“So tell me about this man hiatus of yours,” Will says, and my gaze flicks up to his. Apparently my thoughts are being broadcast on a frequency only Will can hear.
“There’s not much to tell,” I say with caution. Love lives are firmly in the category of things we don’t talk about. “Bad breakup, vow of celibacy, et cetera.”
“Vow of celibacy, huh? How’s that going?”
“I lasted five months.” I don’t get the laugh I crave. Instead, Will goes still.
“So you are seeing someone. Jamie?”
I dig my toes into the sand and press my chin to my knees. “He and I broke up a long, long time ago.”
“He’s still in love with you.”
My eyes snap to Will’s. “No, he’s not.”