Marcus nods his agreement, his clipboard full of measurements and calculations that will become permits and requisitions. “We’ll need to start immediately on the power installation,” he says, “but the infrastructure requirements are manageable.”
Finn’s excitement practically vibrates through the cold air as the officials complete their assessment. When they leave, he goes over to his car, returning with some paperwork. He hands us each a copy of what looks like a task list.
“The town’s maintenance crew can handle most of the heavy lifting,” Finn explains, his finger tracking down the list. “But we’ll need you two to coordinate on-site logistics, power routing, and vendor placement.” He looks between Bastian and me asthough he’s waiting for one of us to combust at the mere suggestion of collaboration.
“This is going to change everything,” Bastian says quietly. His eyes scan the field, like he sees something beyond frozen grass and bare trees. “Once word gets out that Hall of Fame is hosting this…”
“We can keep it quiet,” Finn offers, but Bastian’s already shaking his head.
“No.” The word carries weight and resignation, but they’re mixed with something that might be determination. “We can’t. And honestly?” He looks up, meeting first Finn’s eyes, then mine. “If we’re doing this, if we’re really opening up the farms for the festival, then we should do it right.”
Stone perks up at that, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Oh, I like where this is going.”
“If Hall of Fame is known for anything, it’s for putting on a hell of a show,” Bastian continues, his voice gaining strength. “If Winterberry needs a Christmas festival, then let’s give them the best damned one they’ve ever seen.” He turns to Finn. “Add proper lighting design to that list. Professional sound systems. The works.”
I stare at him, trying to reconcile this declaration with the man who’d been so resistant just yesterday.
“You’re serious,” I say, the words coming out more like an accusation than a question.
His eyes find mine, holding steady despite the chaos I know this decision will bring. “The farm’s always been about community, about the land supporting the people who work it. Maybe it’s time we remembered that includes more than just agriculture.”
Nikko’s already on his phone, no doubt pulling up contacts. “I can reach out to the lighting crew from our last tour. See who’s available.”
“And I know a dozen sound engineers who’d kill for a chance to work on something like this,” Stone adds.
“One rule,” Bastian says. “Hall of Fame is not performing. I don't want this to be about us.”
The guys all nod their agreement.
The energy shifts around us, transforming from a simple site inspection into something bigger. Finn’s fingers fly across his tablet, updating lists and timelines to accommodate this new scope.
I stand there with papers growing damp in my hands, watching Bastian commit fully to the very thing he fought against. His shoulders are set with that particular determination I recognize from our arguments, but directed now toward making this work rather than preventing it.
“This is insane,” I mutter, but there’s no heat in it. Just growing realization that my careful plans to avoid him are thinning like a whisper in the wind.
Bastian’s eyes find mine again, and something passes between us. “Probably,” he agrees. “But if we’re going to do this, let’s do it right.”
Behind me, I hear Gouta’s approving bleat, as though even she understands the significance of this moment. The distance to my truck suddenly feels less like salvation and more like cowardice. Whatever complications this brings, whatever chaos follows, I realize I want to be here for it.
“Okay if I review these and call you later?” I ask Finn, already turning toward my truck. “Need to check on the morning harvest crew.” The excuse sounds weak even to my ears.
“Taylen.” Bastian’s voice follows me. “Can we talk? Please?”
I stop and turn around. “Later.” Because I need to work out a plan to be around Bastian without losing my mind.
15
BASTIAN
The barn smells like winter.Hay dust and frost-tinged air mixing with the earthy warmth of sleeping animals. Most people would shy away from this, but for me, this is home. On stage, when I’m singing, I feel like I’m flying, but this place, the animals, they ground me.
Years ago, the band accepted the offer for a documentary to be made about us and our rise to being one of the most successful bands in the country. I had only one condition: there would be no filming on the farm. Winterberry was and still is our sanctuary.
We rented a farm in Pine Ridge, Colorado, and thankfully, the owner wanted to keep his anonymity. The NDA we had to sign was more ironclad than the one we had him sign.
In addition, he joined us when we donated the proceeds from the making of the documentary to a charity that helps young people gain the skills and knowledge to not only find employment in farming but also thrive by using sustainable farming methods.
Every day that I wake up before sunrise and walk to the farmhouse to share an early cup of coffee with my parents, I know I made the right decision.
