Targeted by My Childhood Friend's Crush

I had rehearsed the confession in the walk-in pantry, between the boxes of tea and the spare jars of honey, but I still managed to say it in the laundry room with a basket of damp towels between us. "Noah, I'm in love with you." He stopped folding a sheet. The Harborlight Inn hummed around us: pipes knocking in the walls, the kitchen fan rattling downstairs, rain ticking against the laundry-room window. I'd spent twelve years learning every sound the old place made. I knew the squeak of the front stairs and the exact cough of the boiler. I knew Noah's silence, too. He set the sheet down. "Mae." "I know." My hands tightened on the basket. "I know this could make things weird. I just didn't want to keep pretending it was something else." He rubbed the back of his neck. His hair was still wet from the rain, curling at his temples. He'd been doing that since we were fourteen, when he got caught lying about breaking his father's fishing rod. Seeing it now almost made me laugh. Almost. "I love you," he said. "You know that." "Not the way I mean." He reached for my head, stopped for half a second, then gave my hair the familiar, absent-minded ruffle I'd been trying to outgrow since high school. "I see you as family," he said. "Like a sister." The word landed with a dull, precise weight. I held his gaze. "Okay." "I'm sorry." "You don't have to be sorry for not wanting me." "I do want you in my life." He took a breath. "There's someone else. Sloane Mercer." I knew the name. Everyone in Alder Cove knew the name. Sloane had been hired to advise on the inn's finances, and her proposal to modernize the Harborlight had already filled three folders in Noah's office. "I've been seeing her for a few months," he said. "I should've told you." "Yes. You should have." His face tightened. I wasn't going to punish him for honesty. I was also not going to help him feel better about delivering it. He glanced toward the open door. "She's coming in tomorrow. I'd like you two to meet." "Tomorrow?" "She wants to review the winter schedule. It's business." "Then we'll meet at work." He nodded, grateful for the boundary. I hated that I noticed. When he left, I stayed in the laundry room until the dryers stopped turning. Then I finished the sheets and carried them upstairs, one stack at a time. The Harborlight Inn stood on the north bluff above Alder Cove, a weather-beaten shingle building with a blue door and a view guests described as "unreal" when the fog lifted. My mother had worked there for twenty-six years. I'd started with summer shifts at sixteen and had been managing daily operations for the last four. Noah owned the inn through a family trust. I knew which rooms needed new radiators and which guests wanted extra blankets without asking. I knew where my mother had hidden the spare key to the old linen closet. I had thought knowing a place that well made it mine in some way. At breakfast, I checked in a couple from Bellwether, Ohio, replaced a broken coffee urn, and answered a call from a wedding planner who needed to move a rehearsal dinner from the terrace to the ballroom. By ten, I was back in the office, trying to make the winter payroll numbers stretch. The front bell rang. I looked up as Sloane walked in. She wore a camel coat, clean white sneakers, and the kind of calm smile that made every room feel like a meeting she'd already prepared for. She was about my age, maybe a little older, with dark blonde hair tucked behind one ear and a leather portfolio under her arm. Noah came down the stairs behind her. "Mae," he said, "this is Sloane." "I know," I said. "We've emailed." Sloane offered her hand. "I've heard a lot about you." "Mostly good, I hope." "Mostly essential." Noah glanced at me, as if checking whether I'd taken the compliment as intended. I didn't give him an answer. We met in the small conference room off the office. Sloane laid out winter occupancy projections and asked me about the heating costs, the staff schedule, and the condition of the rooms in the west wing. Her questions were good. She had done her homework. Then she asked for the staff roster. I pulled it up. "Could you separate permanent employees from seasonal staff?" she asked. "And include salary, hours, and benefits." "Why?" "So we can see where the operation can be made more efficient." "Those people are the operation." "I understand." She tapped her pen against her portfolio. "But the numbers have to work." Noah sat at the end of the table, listening. I looked at him. "We agreed not to cut the winter staff." "We agreed to review the budget," he said. "Last week, you said we'd keep all six." "I said I'd try." Sloane's smile stayed in place. "I'm not here to push anyone out, Mae. I'm here to help Noah make a plan." She said it gently enough that I could have pretended it was harmless. I couldn't. "Then make a plan that includes the people who kept this place open all winter." "Of course." Sloane closed her portfolio. "We'll need the roster by Friday." After the meeting, Noah walked me to the office door. "You didn't have to challenge her like that." "I asked a question." "She's trying to help." "She asked for everyone's wages and hours." "That's what consultants do." "She's not a consultant to me. She's your girlfriend." His eyes flickered at the word. "Keep those things separate," he said. "I'm trying." For the rest of the day, I kept busy enough not to think about the rejection. At closing, I went to the office to print the winter roster. My login had been locked out. A notice flashed across the screen: ACCOUNT ACCESS SUSPENDED. I called the support number. The service rep told me the administrator had requested a password reset. I looked through the glass wall at Noah's office. He was talking to Sloane. Her portfolio was open on his desk. I didn't know yet what she wanted from me. But I had the feeling she'd already decided I was standing in her way.