I leaned forward, half-hopeful, half-terrified. “So… I don’t have to sign anything. I don’t have to lose the store.”
“No, you don’t,” Callum said, his tone softening even though the steel stayed beneath it. “You hand this over to me and focus on keeping your business running. From this point on, I’m your lawyer. Everything goes through me. I’ll draft a formal letter making it clear your trust is no longer in their control. Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
“I’ll call in a few favors—get some colleagues to cross-check the paperwork so you’ll know everything’s being handled properly.”
“I trust you, Callum.” I hesitated, self-pity and anger at myself twisting in my gut. “Why didn’t I do this sooner? Why did I just… ignore it?”
Callum tilted his head. “Because your heart was broken, Wes. That money—your family—it all represented a life you had no choice but to leave behind. You didn’t want to look at it, didn’t want to deal with it, because every reminder hurt.” He gave a small shrug. “You buried it, the same way people bury pain. You weren’t stupid—you were just trying to survive.”
My throat tightened, words catching somewhere behind the ache, but Callum offered a reassuring smile.
“Still,” he added gently, “always get a second opinion when it comes to legal matters, yeah?”
“I will.”
He handed me a card. “My professional links so you can find someone else, and don’t forget their costs can be covered by the trust.”
“They can?”
“Yes.”
“So, I can pay you?”
He seemed affronted. “I don’t need payment. This is my opinion as a friend, so contact someone from the professional registry and follow up. Okay?”
“Callum—”
“Brooke loves you, I love Brooke, and any advice I give you is free of charge because you’re family, Wes.” He pushed the papers back into a neat stack, capped his pen, and stood. “Get me the financials.Income, expenses, and your best guess at projections. Hell, even scribbles on a napkin. I’ll turn it into a plan we can draw against the trust. Within a week, we’ll have funds released—enough to stabilize The Story Lantern for the next year. Then, when you’re ready, I can advise you on who you can trust with the charity idea.”
“Couldn’tyoudo it? For money I mean. I don’t expect you to do it for free, but…” I ran out of words.
“I’m not that kind of lawyer, but believe me, I know plenty who are.”
I stood too, and when he held out his hand, I shook it—firm, professional. But then something in me cracked, and instead of letting go, I tugged him into a hug. “Thank you,” I whispered, my throat tight.
His arm came around me, solid and steady. “You don’t have to thank me. Just let me help.”
When we pulled apart, I scrubbed a hand over my face. “You won’t tell anyone about this, right? I mean, you can tell Brooke, she’s your wife, and I should have told her myself. But please, no one else for now, not my name, not the trust. I don’t want… anyone to know.”
Callum’s gaze sharpened. “Not even Hunter? You seemed so happy at Thanksgiving. Serious.”
I swallowed, heat pricking at my eyes. “It is. On my side. But Hunter’s restless. Unhappy. He’ll move on sooner or later. And that’s okay.”
Callum was silent for a beat too long, and when henodded, the motion was deliberate. Careful. His eyes gave him away, though. He didn’t believe a word of what I’d just said. Not about Hunter leaving. Not about me being okay with it. But he didn’t call me out, only said quietly, “All right. It stays between us. But you don’t have to keep carrying this alone.”
I gave a shaky smile, clutching the papers he’d handed back. Alone was exactly how I’d carried it all these years—but for the first time, maybe I didn’t have to.
Chapter 16
Wesley
The morningof the parade dawned crisp and clear, the snow easing after a night of falling relentlessly. It had left Wishing Tree sparkling like something from a Christmas card—every roof thick with frosting, every lamppost haloed in white, every tree branch glittering with frost. The square had been transformed into a wonderland, and at its heart, the Wishing Tree stood open for the season, ribbons already fluttering in the cold breeze, first wishes tied with cold hands.
Our float—if you could call a giant straw-covered bicycle with a wooden goat head bolted to the front a float—was nearly ready. The four teens from the high school’s history club had done me proud. Connor was checking the sleigh wheels, Megan fussed with the fairy-light garlands, Luis was fixing a loose bit of cardboard horn, and Jamie—sweet,earnest Jamie—was tightening straps like he’d been born with a toolkit in hand.
“Looking amazing, team,” I called, clapping my gloved hands together. My breath puffed in the cold, but my chest warmed just watching them. “Honestly, I’m bursting with pride. If yule goats were a competitive sport, we’d take gold.”
