“Teamwork,” Titus corrected, squeezing Pedro’s shoulder. “That’s how you build a legacy. Isn’t that right, P?”
“Si,” Pedro smiled at Jake. “Sometimes the best roots are the ones transplanted from a distance. They fight harder to grow.”
Jake beamed. “Thanks, Pedro. That means a lot.”
Over at the makeshift bar, Tucker was laughing loudly with Barb and Cassie, while Evan leaned against the back counter, watching him with a look of pure adoration.
Wes and Jake drifted over.
“She’s walking home!” Tucker laughed. “Or Cass is carrying her. One of the two.” He slid a beer to Jake and poured a whiskey for Wes. “To the hosts with the most.”
Evan toasted them. “Seriously, guys. The acoustics in here? Phenomenal. I’m already planning a summer production of Oklahoma! in this very spot.”
“Don’t you dare,” Jake jested. “I’m not cleaning any more hay bales out of the loft.”
“You say that,” Evan smirked. “But you love it here. I told you, didn’t I?”
Jake looked around the room—at the lights, the laughter, the life filling the space that had once been dark and empty. “Yeah, Ev. You were right.Totalupgrade.”
Wes scanned the room for the music source. In the corner, Cal Turner was standing behind a table stacked with equipment, wearing a flannel shirt and a Santa hat.
“I need to check on the DJ,” Wes said. “If he plays Mariah Carey, I’m kicking him out.”
“Go,” Jake said. “I’ll help Chuck with the food.”
Wes walked over to the booth. “Hi, Cal. Thanks for bringing the sound system.”
Cal adjusted a knob on his mixer, looking solemn. “It’s a big night, Dalton. You need a good mix.”
“Please tell me you kept it tasteful.”
Cal looked offended. “Have I ever steered you wrong? The playlist is curated. It’s a narrative arc, Wes. All 90s. All vibes.” He tapped his iPad. “I’ve got a special request queued up for later. The closer.”
“Oh God,” Wes groaned. “Is itClosing Time?”
Cal just winked. “Trust.”
An hour later, the party was in full swing.
Jake appeared at Wes’s elbow, holding two flutes of champagne, and giving one to Wes. “Mayor Titus just asked if we do weddings. Apparently, he knows someone looking for a venue.”
“Weddings?” Wes raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know if I’m ready to deal with bridezillas.”
“Think of the margins, Wes.The margins.” Jake grinned, clinking his glass with Wes’s. “Besides, we have to test the venue out for ourselves eventually, right?”
Wes froze. He looked at Jake.
Jake’s smile dipped, turning into something softer, more vulnerable. He reached into his jacket pocket. “I was going to wait until we were alone. Maybe down by the grove. But...” He looked around the barn, at the lights, the people, the love filling the space. “This is us. This is what we built. It feels right to do it here.”
Jake pulled out a small black velvet box.
The noise of the party seemed to fall away. Wes’s heart hammered a rhythm against his ribs—not panic this time. Pure anticipation.
“Wesley Dalton,” Jake said, his voice steady. “A year ago, I drove through a storm and into a ditch trying to get to you. I love you. I love this farm. I love your stubborn father. I want to build a life here. A long one.”
Jake opened the box. Inside sat a simple band—brushed tungsten with a thin inlay of cherry wood.
“Will you marry me?”
