“You can envision it,” Trish says, breaking my thoughts. “That’s good.” She hesitates. “Because I have more ideas.” She comes back inside, knocking the snow off of her boots on the rug, grabs my renderings along with my hand and drags me outside. We head toward the back of the cottage, away from the kitchen, trudging through ice-packed snow. “So, the downstairs is essentially broken into two primary areas. You have the entryway, living room and kitchen on one side separated by a long hallway dividing the dining room and laundry room from a first-floor bedroom and bath your parents planned to use when they got much older.” Trish stops and looks at me. “I’m so sorry about your parents, Adie Lou. I know you thought they’d live forever.”

I nod, and I can still see them here. This was their sacred ground before cancer and heartbreak.

“They’re still here,” Trish says, and I believe her because I can feel them beside me, every day. She squeezes my hand, then squats and lays out a rendering on the ground. “This is going to serve as your owner’s suite, right?”

I continue to nod.

“That makes perfect sense,” she says. “You’re separated from guests so you can have your privacy. You’re on the first floor so you can start breakfast service early without disrupting anyone. But...” Trish stands. “You forgot about guests. Where will Evan stay when he visits in the summer? You don’t want to sacrifice a room rental, do you?”

My eyes widen. “Oh, my God,” I say. “I never even considered that.”

“My suggestion is to enlarge the space back here—blow out the back of the cottage—add another bedroom for Evan...and me!” Trish laughs and turns toward the woods—dense with pines and sugar maples—and says, “I’d add a sunroom back here that is purely your space, a retreat that allows you to regroup, maybe doubles as an office.”

“Cha-ching!” I say, acting as if I’m operating a cash register. “Do I look like a Kardashian?”

“Better,” Trish says. “Your face moves.”

I laugh. “Seriously, how much will all of this cost?”

“A lot,” she says. “But, Adie Lou, I’d rather see you spend the money and get it right than have to retrofit everything later on. How expensive would that be, if you had to shut down your inn for a few months to renovate yet again?”

Her words hit me hard. “I never considered that either,” I say. “I’ll ask Frank. I like your ideas.”

“Good!” she says, picking the rendering off the ground and again grabbing my hand. “I’ve got more!”

She nearly skips as she pulls me around to the front of the cottage, the wind off the lake growing stronger. “Cold air is sobering me up and clearing my head,” she says. “Bad news for you!”