I catch Bastian watching me, his expression thoughtful. Something passes between us. This is exactly the kind of challenge his plans were designed to address, though neither of us could have predicted it would come so soon or so dramatically.
“The timing couldn’t be worse,” Finn adds, finally giving up the pretense of eating. “Four weeks before Christmas, and suddenly half our holiday traditions are impossible.”
“What about the high school football field?” Henry suggests. “It’s big enough, and it’s already set up for crowds.”
Finn shakes his head. “The power grid out there can’t handle holiday lighting. We’d need generators, which means permits, which means time we don’t have.”
Tyler leans forward, looking at Mik and then turning to Finn. “How about splitting the events between different venues? We have similar challenges in Stillwater with space allocation forlarge events. Last year, we ran a fundraiser at the community center, a concert in the park, and a small market in the town square. All on the same weekend.”
“That would create a traffic nightmare,” Finn points out gently. “Most people out here don’t live in town. Everyone drives in.”
Each idea dies a quick death, torn apart by logistics and practicality. I find myself watching Fox instead of contributing. He hasn’t said a word since Finn’s announcement, his focus entirely on his plate as he methodically separates his food into neat sections.
Finn keeps glancing in Fox’s direction between shooting down suggestions, like he’s hoping Fox will come up with the solution no one’s thought of yet.
The evening has transformed from celebration to crisis management, and we’re no closer to a solution than when he first burst through the door.
Fox continues his silent contemplation of his plate, though I notice his methodical eating has slowed to almost nothing. Whatever’s going on in his head, he’s not sharing it yet, which isn’t surprising. Fox has always been the quiet one in the band.
Finn’s fork hits his plate with enough force to make me jump. His eyes lock onto mine with an intensity that makes me want to check my shirt for stains, then shift to Bastian with growing excitement.
“Wait,” he says, his voice carrying that particular tone that usually precedes either brilliance or disaster. “Maybe you two can help.”
Everyone’s attention swings toward us like a spotlight. Bastian shifts in his chair beside me.
Understanding dawns slowly, then all at once. The land on the south side of our properties shares a border where both of us have fallow fields lying empty for the winter. I picture the spotwhere our fence line runs, that wide expanse where Bastian’s land and mine back onto each other. The access roads from both properties could easily accommodate traffic flow.
I turn to find Bastian watching me. “We could,” I say slowly. “The infrastructure’s already there, and with both properties combined…”
His lack of an immediate answer tells me we’re not on the same page with this.
Anger suddenly builds in my chest, and it takes everything in me not to shout at him or storm out.
For all the plans Bastian has to help the community, when things get tough, he’s not actually willing to help.
It hits me. He doesn’t need to.
Unlike everyone else in Winterberry, Sebastian Hall is a multimillionaire. He needs our community a lot less than we need him.
I realize then that I was wrong about him all along. This was never about Bastian Hall staying in Winterberry. This is about whether Bastian Hall belongs in Winterberry.
11
BASTIAN
What the fuckis wrong with me?
One moment, my brain is thinkinghell noto Finn’s ridiculous plan to host the town’s Christmas celebrations here, and the next, it’s like someone pulled the power cable attached to my brain. I’m no longer able to put together words in an order that makes sense.
Because I’m remembering all over again how blue Taylen’s eyes are. And how the short stubble on his face makes him look older. Or how the shape of his nose is just like Jackson’s, as is the curly brown hair.
Because when he looked at me and I didn’t see the usual hate, I saw something else.
But the longer I stare into Taylen’s beautiful blue eyes, the more his expression changes into something I recognize more. He’s pissed off.
“It’s a ridiculous idea,” I blurt out, finally finding my voice.
But Finn is already on his feet, his excitement practically vibrating through the air as he gestures toward invisible maps only he can see. “Think about it. The access road from our property connects directly to Route 7, and Taylen’s serviceroad could handle overflow parking. We remove the fence temporarily, set up the market stalls on the flat area by the orchard…”
