Page 11 of New Year in Kentbury
But I think it could be more. We could be more.
I have so many ideas to make the business better, ways to grow it into something bigger, something lasting. But every time I bring it up, they shrug it off, saying it’s fine as it is. I need to find a way to make them listen. Maybe tonight, at our family dinner, I’ll bring it up again.
Family dinners have always been a tradition for us, a way to stay close no matter how busy life gets. After Mom died, Dad leaned into them even more and having us all together seems to bring him a kind of peace he can’t find anywhere else.
I leave my office and start my daily check-ins around the resort, making sure everything is running smoothly. The staff nods and smiles, and I force myself to return the gestures. But underneath it, my thoughts drift to Paul, as they always do.
His laugh, low and warm, still echoes in my mind. His touch, the way he looked at me like I was worth the fight—worth everything—it lingers. He’s everywhere, in every quiet moment, every breath I take when I’m not bracing myself to pretend.
I know I shouldn’t think about him. It’s over. He made that clear. But . . .
I shake the thought away, my jaw tightening as I head to Dad’s house. I don’t have time for this right now. By the time I reach his house, my jaw aches from clenching it so tightly. I can’t afford to lose focus now. Not with my family, not with the resort. Not with the life I’ve built here.
But the truth is, no matter how hard I try to convince myself otherwise, I’m still chasing a ghost—Paul’s ghost. And I don’t know if I’ll ever stop.
I walk into the house and hear the joyful chatter of my siblings in the kitchen. I walk to the doorway and stand there watching them as they cook and talk.
“Hey. There he is, glad you finally made it. It’s about time you show up to help prepare the meal you eat,” Knightly teases me.
I give her a smile as I walk inside the kitchen and grab an apron from the hook on the wall. I tie it around me and get to work cutting vegetables. Dad’s minestrone soup is a family favorite and I’m excited that we’re making it for dinner.
“I would have been here sooner, but business is booming at the resort. I stayed around a little longer than normal to make sure everything was going smoothly. It was one of the biggest crowds we’ve had in recent years. Which reminds me, I want to talk to you guys about something,” I say as I continue to chop the vegetables on the cutting board.
“What is it that you want to talk to us about? Do you want to talk about expanding the resort again?” Knightly asks me as she looks over at me from the stove.
“Yeah, it is, actually. I know I’ve talked to you guys about this a lot, and you’re not really open to the idea, but I think it would be really good for business if we made some improvements and offered more attractions . . .”
I can tell by the looks on their faces that I’m not going to win this argument. I don’t understand why they’re so content to keep things the way they are, but it bothers me. The resort has somuch potential to be more than just skiing, and I can’t wrap my head around why they don’t want to tap into that potential and create something spectacular for our family.
“Son, the resort has been in our family for a lot of years, and it’s worked just fine the way it is. We don’t need a lot of glitz and glamour to book rooms and ski packages. If it isn’t broken, we don’t need to fix it,” my dad says, his tone firm but calm.
I want to remind him that if I hadn’t updated things, brought the resort into this century, we would’ve lost it years ago. If we don’t start adding new features, we’ll fall right back into the same precarious pattern. But my hands are tied. If only I could buy Miller out of the resort. I was too desperate when I asked him for a loan, and I signed a predatory contract. Now he owns more of it than I do.
If I want to make any changes, I have to convince Dad and my little sister. Without their agreement, Miller won’t budge.
“I understand that things have worked so far,” I say, keeping my voice steady, “but I also know things could be better. I don’t get why you’re all so against trying something new, making the business stronger. Bringing in more profit would help the family in the long run. Our children and grandchildren wouldn’t have to worry about a thing unless they decided they didn’t want to be part of the family business. Why are you so afraid of doing something new?”
I finish chopping the vegetables and dump them into the pot on the stove, the sound of the simmering broth filling the silence that follows.
The streetsof Kentbury are silent, draped in the kind of stillness that wraps itself around you, pressing in with an almostsuffocating intensity. The faint glow of streetlights stretches long shadows across the snow, and the crunch beneath my boots grates against the restless thoughts swirling in my mind.
I don’t even know where I’m going. It’s not like there’s a place that will fix this, this ache that’s settled deep in my chest. The world feels muted, drained of its usual vibrancy, as though every color has been dimmed. Getting out of the house was supposed to help clear my head, but instead, it only left me feeling more lost.
I stop in front of the bookstore, its dark windows reflecting my outline, a distorted version of myself staring back. And then I hear it—his voice, familiar and cutting through the silence like a thread pulling me taut.
“Are you okay?”
I turn slowly, and there he is. Paul. He’s standing there, hands in his pockets, his shoulders slightly hunched against the cold. For a moment, all I can do is take him in, every nerve buzzing with the sound of him. The words I want to say churn inside me, but I can’t find the right ones. Everything feels too raw, too exposed.
“Peachy,” I almost bite out, the sarcasm close to spilling, but instead, I force a smile—a hollow, brittle thing that feels as fake as it looks. “Sure. You okay? Family good?”
Paul narrows his gaze, his expression sharpening as he studies me. He’s always been able to see more than I want him to, and right now, I hate him for it. “Damian, what’s wrong?” he asks, his voice quieter now, softer but no less direct. “You look upset.”
Upset doesn’t even begin to cover it. Empty, maybe. Drained. But why should he care? He made it clear where I stood—nowhere unless I accept his love. And yet here he is, looking at me like I still matter.
“I’m fine,” I reply, waving him off like his concern is an annoyance instead of the lifeline I secretly crave. “Hope all’s well with you.”
I turn away, hoping he’ll let it go, but Paul doesn’t let things go. He never has.
