Chapter One
Noah
“No.”
“Please?”
“Absolutely not.”
“But—”
I hold up my hand, interrupting my younger sister’s begging before it actually works. I’ve told her yes countless times in her twenty-six years on this earth, but I’m putting my foot down this time. For the sake of my sanity, I have to. “No, Izzy. My decision is final.”
She narrows her eyes and crosses her arms over her chest. “But I don’t understandwhyit’s final.”
“Because last I checked, Stick Taps is a cidery, not a wedding venue.”
“It can be both!” She tosses her hands into the air. “Especially formywedding. I’m your little sister, Noah. Don’t you want to see me married somewhere beautiful, like all this gorgeous land you have, and not at the community center like literally everyone else in this town?”
“Not literally. The Middletons were married down by the pier last month, and it was a fine ceremony. Why not get married there?”
She turns her nose up. “Because it’ll look like I copied them.”
She can’t be serious. There are only so many places to get married in a town of roughly twelve thousand people. It’s not like whatever place she chooses will be wholly unique.
“Big whoop. There aren’t that many venues in Port Harbor. Bound to be some repeats.”
“Exactly! That’s my point. But here you are, sitting on a gold mine ...” I level her with a look, and she holds her hands up innocently. “I’m just saying. You could make a killing by renting this space. Why not use my wedding as an advertisement?”
“Which is it, Iz? Do you want to be unique by having your wedding here, or do you want everyone to copy you?”
“Whichever gets you to say yes.” She blinks up at me with those damn brown eyes—the same ones my father and I have—that I’ve never been able to say no to and a grin that nearly has me saying yes.
Somehow I resist, shaking my head. “No. It’s not happening.”
She groans, tossing her head back dramatically as I reach for a rag and start wiping down the bar that isn’t even remotely dirty.
While Stick Taps is usually packed, we’re having a lull today, and I suspect it has to do with the 5k happening near the harbor. Izzy has been my only customer in hours, so I’ve cleaned this bar top at least fifty times since then.
Still, it keeps me occupied while my sister continues her attempt to get me to rent out my cidery to her.
If I’m being honest, I can see her point. There’s a lot of space with the five acres of land, and being in Washington State, we have no shortage of beautiful scenery, especially not with the mountains in the backdrop.
The biggest issue would bewhere. Does she want a tent wedding? Or something in the open air? Would I have to construct something for her to get married under? Does she want the reception here too?
My mind drifts to the big barn we have sitting on the property. We haven’t done anything with it since we bought the land except use it for extra storage and to house all our cardboard boxes. There’s a gianttractor sitting in the middle that doesn’t run, and the roof has more holes than it does good wood. I keep saying I’ll refurbish it, but I haven’t had the time. I’ve been too busy building the cidery to worry about the aesthetics of the farm.
This could finally be my chance, though. I could—No.
I shake away that thought, not wanting to go down that road.
A good excuse to finally do something with the barn aside, I don’t want Stick Taps to be a wedding venue. I bought the farm to run a cidery, not host weddings. Besides, it would be a bit hypocritical of me to do so. After my marriage ended in a heated divorce, I don’t exactly advocate for tying yourself to one person for a lifetime anymore.
It’s not that I don’t believe in love—I’m not entirely coldhearted—but legally binding yourself to someone? Been there, done that, got the receipts from lawyer fees to prove what a massive mistake it is.
“You don’t understand, Noah,” Izzy says, reaching over the bar and grabbing a bowl of mixed nuts. She sets them in front of her, then picks through them for the cashews I know she loves.
I want to yell at her for it, but it’s clear she’s having a rough day. Instead, I move to our small pantry, grab a can of fresh ones, pour them into a bowl, and swap that for the nut mixture she plundered.
