An idea sparks, and then it’s burning.
Heritage and Eco Tourism.
Not the glossy, “trash the trails” kind. The real thing. Guided hikes, history walks, local farms. Teaching people why this place matters, and making sure it stays that way long after I’m gone.
And damn, it feels good.
Something slides into place in my chest, a gear finally catching. Next thing I know, I’m halfway to Dad’s place before I can talk myself out of it. Because if I sit on this, I’ll chicken out, and then it’ll just rot in the back of my skull like every other thing I wanted and never said out loud.
And despite everything, I still want him to know.
The Whitlock house looms. Big, square, judgmental. Porch boards creak under my boots, and for a second, I’m twelve again, dragging mud in after baseball and catching hell for it.
Dad’s in his chair when I step in, the same damn chair he’s been parked in my whole life. Beer in one hand, paper in theother, boots planted like he owns the earth under them. Which, technically, he kinda does. Or used to.
He looks up, one brow ticking up. “You’re supposed to be with that girl.”
Not a question. A statement.
Classic Dad.
“I know.” I shove my hands in my jacket pockets before they can start fidgeting. “But I want to talk to you about something. About my future.”
That gets his attention. He folds the paper, sets it down slow. A man about to deliver a verdict. “Go on.”
My pulse is stupid loud. But I just say it. Rip the bandage off clean.
“I want to start a business. Heritage and Eco Tourism. Guided hikes, history tours, local producers, all of it done right. Sustainable and honest. Something that shows people why Honeysuckle Grove matters.”
The silence after could swallow me whole. Dad just stares, and I swear the clock on the mantel mocks me with every tick.
Finally, he leans back, rubs his jaw. “Huh.”
I blink. “Huh?” That’s all I get?
“Yeah. Huh.” He eyes me like I grew a second head, then shrugs. “About damn time you thought for yourself.”
I blink. “You… you like it?”
“I didn’t say I liked it.” His mouth twitches. Close to a smile, but not quite. “But it beats you sitting around waiting for somebody else to tell you what to do. And it’s smart. Uses what you know. What we’ve built.”
I just stand there, dumb as a post, because I’d geared up for a fight. For lectures about responsibility and staying in line.
Not this.
Not my father… agreeing with me.
Dad tips his beer toward me. “You figure out the details, we’ll talk. But don’t half-ass it, Hayes. If you’re gonna do this, do it all the way.”
And just like that, the floor feels solid again.
I didnotexpect that.
I leave Dad’s place breathing much easier. For once, I’m not just a guy holding the town together with duct tape and late nights. I’ve got a plan. A damn good one. So, yeah, I’m grinning like an idiot as I cut across Main Street, phone out, already opening the group text thread.
Big news. Meet at the diner. My treat.
By the time I get to the diner, the plan’s practically bursting out of me. I’ve already picked the perfect opener in my head. Something smooth, confident, like “Hope you’re all hungry, because I’m about to serve a big idea with your fries.”
