prologue
CHLOE
MARCH
TEN YEARS AGO
Whispering Pines TreeFarm is a special place during the winter months, especially during Christmas. Warm lights strung between trees and along the immediate outbuildings make it feel like fairies are floating in the air.
But it still holds a special magic now, with the scents of tree sap and thawing earth tangling in the air.
Winter is slowly loosening its grip.
Back home in Enchanted Hollow, Texas, the grass would already be a vibrant green, with a chill that holds the humidity at bay for a few hours every morning.
Part of me wishes we were back there.
Not because I don’t love it here, but there’s a heaviness to Aiden that doesn’t exist in Texas. He’s not functioning with the weight of impossible standards—ones either set by his father or himself. It’s hard to know the difference sometimes.
As soon as Aiden told me that he couldn’t make the trek to Texas for Spring Break, I found a way to get here. Ever since he graduated last spring, my world has been quieter. I don’t have my best friend to meet over lunch and laugh about something that happened in class, or to steal my cookies.
It seems like such a small thing, but he’s quietly integrated himself into my everyday so seamlessly that his absence is impossible to ignore.
Which is precisely why I’ve been plotting with his sister to kidnap him for a little bit and remind him of what he’s missing out on.
“He might try to argue that he’s got things to do, but just ignore him,” Evelyn says, helping me pack food into a bag.
Her auburn colored ponytail swings as she rearranges things to make room for more.
“I don’t want to throw his day off—” I start.
Evelyn stops and narrows her eyes at me. “Heneedsyou here. I don’t know what’s going on with him lately, but he’s taking all of this way too seriously.”
I pick up the container full of cookies I baked, and grip it tightly.
“Is everything okay?”
“He’s not talking to you about it?” Evelyn asks, her face softening.
I shrug. “He talks, but it’s all surface-level stuff. Plans for the planting season, then everything y’all need to do before next season.”
She blows out a breath. “The only one who can get through to him is you. I think Dad puts too much emphasis on the legacy rather than the gift of running this place. But what do I know?”
I think she knows a lot more than she’s willing to give herself credit for, but I can understand why. There’s a massivedifference between doing something because you love it and doing something because you feel obligated to.
I come from a line of educators and impossible standards, and while I love some aspects of the job, it’s not what I want to do forever. And I don’t feel like I have the freedom to admit that out loud.
That feels like a common thread here.
“How do I help him, Evelyn?” I sigh.
She pulls the cookies from my hand and shoves them into the bag. Then focuses her sharp blue eyes on mine.
“Remind him there’s more to life than this farm. I know he loves you.” She chews on her lip, like there’s more she wants to say. “Just…do whatever it is you do that turns him into a better version of himself.”
The tightness in my chest lightens when she says that.
“You think I turn him into a better version of himself?”
