I blinked, still caught mid-sip. “Yeah.”
“I’m Sienna.” She slid into the seat across from me without waiting for an invitation. “Fifi’s sister.”
Of course. Now I had a name for the face. I remembered the mom telling me two of her daughters, Violet and Sienna, helped her in the kitchen that one night.
That explained the resemblance. And the energy.
And the complete disregard for personal space or conversational warm-up.
“She’s told menothingabout you,” Sienna said, pouring herself a glass of orange juice like this was her table. “Which means you must be interesting. She only clams up when she likes someone.”
I nearly choked on my coffee.
“I—what?”
She waved a hand. “Kidding. Mostly.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You always ambush the guests like this?”
“Only the ones who look like they’re trying not to be seen. Which, let’s be honest, makes you more suspicious.” She leaned her elbows on the table and peered at me like I was some kindof complicated wood puzzle. “So, what are you doing today? Hiking? Reading? Brooding at the lake with your flannel open just so?”
I raised an eyebrow. “That last one’s oddly specific.”
Sienna just grinned wider. “That’s because I’ve already created your character arc. You start off sulky and distant, then slowly learn to open up to joy and local honey.”
“Let me guess. Fifi’s the joy?”
“Sheisthe best part of this place,” she said without hesitation. “Well, aside from the biscuits. And maybe the goats. Have you tried our goat yoga yet?”
“Can’t say that I have.”
“You’re missing something.”
“Right,” I muttered, suddenly very aware that this family had a shared skill for disarming people before they could finish a sentence.
Sienna popped a piece of fruit into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “Anyway, if you’re looking for something to do today, there’s a great trail that circles all around Buttercup Lake. The terrain is quite mild, but the views are stunning. You can pick wildflowers, listen to the loons, pretend you’re in a nature documentary.”
“Sounds... peaceful.”
She leaned in. “Or romantic. Depending on who you bring.”
I sighed. “I’m not looking for a—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. You’re just here to escape something and not think about feelings and blah blah—don’t worry, it’s a lodge. We attract your type all the time. But! The trail ends rightback in town, which means you can finish your personal journey of rugged self-discovery with espresso and window shopping. There’s a place with handmade leather journals. Very moody.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “You memorized the town’s emotional itinerary?”
“Only because I’ve emotionally needed it a few times.” She stood up and stretched like she’d been doing squats instead of aggressively socializing. “And if youdowant a guide, my sister’s the best there is.”
I opened my mouth to respond, probably with something dry and dismissive, but just then, the dining room door creaked open behind her.
Fifi stumbled in.
Tripped, more accurately, over something at the threshold with a garbled “ohmygodwholeftthat—”
She caught herself on the edge of a chair with one hand and pushed her hair out of her face with the other, cheeks flushed pink and eyes wide with surprise, until they landed squarely on me.
“Oh,” she said breathlessly. “Hi.”
