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He has no idea how deep my feelings went back then, and I have no intention of telling him now. Maybe I can stop being so dramatic and pretend he didn’t break my heart.

“I got the idea about a year-and-a-half ago. I love my job, love planning events and working with brides. Their mothers, not so much.” I scrunch my nose, and it earns me a smile.

It’s a nice smile. It used to come so easy. These days, I get the sense it’s a little harder to coax out of him.

“I also have a hard time with other people telling me what to do,” I say.

“You? Really?” He feigns shock. “No . . .”

“Yeah, who knew?” I laugh a bit to myself and shrug. “I guess I started to want something of my own.”

“Who’d you pitch it to first?” He walks further into the room, taking it all in.

“Quent,” I say. “I knew if I got him on board, I was in.”

“Smart.”

I tap my temple twice with my finger. “Little sister, big brain, right?”

“Don’t downplay it,” he says. “You’re the only reason I graduated high school.”

“And if you tell anyone I wrote all your essays for you, I’ll deny it till the cows come home.”

He pulls his pinched fingers over his lips like he’s zipping them up, and smiles.

Just like old times.

“Once Quent bought in, he did the heavy lifting with the boys. Rowe was easy to convince. She’s always up for a new adventure, and she hates to be left out. Plus, she’d do anything for any of us. She’s such a people person. She’s going to handle all the meals for our guests. She’s a great cook, but her baking—” I shake my head, thinking about her apple crisp— “next level.”

I motion for him to follow me into the kitchen.

“Whoa.”

I smile. “Isn’t it amazing?” The wide-planked wood floors and rustic vibe throughout the whole space, even the bedrooms, were very intentional, but the kitchen turned out even better than I could’ve imagined.

Noble runs a hand over the dark brown butcher block counters. “Black cabinets,” he says. “Solid choice.”

“I call it ‘rustic luxury.’” A phrase I’ve used many times over the last few months.

The wood-planked ceiling, open shelving, and vintage range hood were also very specific choices, and I realize only now that Noble is one of the first people outside my family to see it all finished.

I turn a slow circle, taking it all in. “I really wanted the kitchen to feel like a space where guests could come and hang out, not like an off-limits room just for staff. Heart of the home, right? It’ll function like a bed and breakfast, only, you know, it’s a big lodge.” I smile. “I said that exact sentence to my dad during my pitch.”

“It works,” he says. “I see it.”

“If someone gets hungry in the middle of the night, I want there to be a whole section of the fridge they can raid. And in here—” I open the door to the walk-in pantry and step inside— “all the snacks you can imagine.” I look at him, but all I see is the mental list that just popped up in my brain. “Shoot. I still have to go shopping for those.”

“That I can help with. I’m a great snacker.” He follows me in, looking at the shelving my dad built and installed. He runs a hand over one of the drawer pulls and looks at me. “This is incredible, Hattie,” he says. “Really.”

I’m maybe a little too pleased with the compliment and a little too flustered to say so. Because “walk-in pantry” implies a large space, and it’s a very deceptive term. In reality, we’re only inches apart. So close I can feel the warmth of his body.

The closeness is doing things to my insides.

I drag my memory for reasons to hate him, but all I find is a stupid girl, inhaling his scent and writing Mrs. Hattie Kane in pink puffy paint.

“Uh, we can just . . .” I nod toward the door.

“Right.” He backs out of the space, and looks around. “What else?”