“I’m not asking you to come out to him before you’re ready. I just want to see you.”
Wes closed his eyes. “I want to see you too.”
They said goodnight, and Wes lay in the dark, heart pounding. He was terrified and exhilarated.
But for the first time in years, he didn’t feel like he was drowning.
Monday brought the vineyard visit—a young couple in their late twenties who’d bought ten acres of struggling land and were trying to turn it into something viable. Jake had restructured their loan last week, but today was about long-term planning.
He pulled up to the property around ten, parking near a modest house with a new roof and fresh paint. The vineyard stretched behind it, rows of bare vines staked and dormant for winter.
The couple met him on the porch—Sarah and Keith Whitlock, both wearing flannel and work boots, both grinning.
“Jake!” Sarah pulled him into an unexpected hug. “Come in, come in. We just made coffee.”
Their kitchen was small but bright, with windows overlooking the vineyard. They’d clearly been working: plans and sketches covered the table, along with soil samples and a stack of books on viticulture.
“We’ve been doing research,” Keith said, pouring coffee. “Talking to other winemakers in the region, figuring out what they do.”
“And we’ve got help,” Sarah added. “Keith’s brother is a contractor. My parents are investing. The community’s been incredible—people stopping by, offering advice, loaning us equipment.”
Jake watched them talk over each other, finishing each other’s sentences, completely in sync. It reminded him of Chuck and Brody—their easy partnership, the way two people could build something together that neither could manage alone.
“You’re doing everything right,” he said.
“It doesn’t always feel that way.” Sarah laughed. “Some days, I wake up and think,What the hell were we thinking?”
“Same,” Keith agreed. “But then we walk out there and see the vines, and we remember why we’re doing this.”
“Why are you doing this?” Jake asked.
They grinned at each other. Sarah spoke. “Because neither of us wanted to spend our lives in cubicles wonderingwhat if.We figured we’d rather fail at something we loved than succeed at something that makes us miserable.”
“Plus, I like getting dirt under my fingernails,” Keith added. “I’d take the outdoors over indoors any day. And, most of all, we get to be?—”
“—together,” Sarah chimed in with him. They bumped shoulders, beaming like kids in love.
Jake thought of Wes, working himself to death alone. Thought of Diane, nearly losing everything because she wouldn’t ask for help. Thought of himself, thirty-one years old and still chasing something he couldn’t name.
Maybe it wasn’t about finding home. Maybe it was about building it.
He spent the rest of the morning going over their business plan, offering suggestions, connecting them with additional resources. When he finally left, Sarah hugged him again.
“Thank you,” she said. “For believing in us.”
“You’re easy to believe in.”
Driving back to Spoon, Jake’s phone buzzed.Still good for tomorrow?
Absolutely. What time?
Afternoon? After lunch rush?
Perfect. I can’t wait.
The response came a minute later:Me neither.
Jake pulled into a gas station on the edge of town, filling up the rental car and grabbing a coffee from inside. The clerk—a kid who couldn’t have been older than twenty—gave him a knowing look.
