Claire - Christmas Inn

I spent years in glass towers where power suits were armor and deadlines were gospel. Then a blizzard, a broken GPS, and a long-neglected inn brought me back to the one place I forgot to run from. My grandmother's hands still know the rhythm of this place — rolling dough, lighting fires, remembering names. I’m learning. The locals don’t care about my MBA, but they’ll tell me their stories over cider if I ask. And I’m starting to see that the heart can have a balance sheet too — just not one you can spreadsheet.