We both laugh, and the rest of the tension between us finally goes lax.
The only life our house has shown over the last couple of years is the steady stream of dishes that cycle through the sink, the dishwasher, and the piles of laundry that grow and then disappear.
She waits, like I might offer more. But I don’t know what to say.
Uncomfortable with the silence, I scan for a basket to drop the toys in. She heads to a rope bin by the window, and I follow.
Without warning, she turns. “In all seriousness. Can we please talk about the whole‘marry me’thing?” Her head tilts, and my brain scrambles.
“Not exactly my proudest moment.” I rub my eyebrow with my thumb. “That’s definitely not how I’d planned to propose.”
Too late, I realize how that sounds, and how much truth I just let slip out. But based on the amount of flush creeping up her neck, we’re even for her earlier comment.
Maybe.
Wordlessly, we put some distance between us and sit on opposite ends of the couch.
“Stage is yours,” she says, palm open, a wry smile ghosting her lips.
“Short version or long?”
She props her chin on her hand like she’s considering. “Short first. I’ll ask for long if I need it.”
Here we go.
“When my parents passed away, we figured out pretty fast that my inheritance wasn’t simple. As the oldest, I got the farm, the house, everything tied to them. But the majority of the money is in a trust.” I brace my elbows on my knees, clasping my hands together. “I get a monthly payout—enough to live on. But thereststays locked until I’m married.”
She toys with her necklace, staring off into space. The quiet sits between us, calming and nerve-racking.
“You have a monthly trust disbursement, but there’s a mysterious looming deadline,” she murmurs, her gaze sliding to meet mine. “What happened, Aiden?”
I’ve been dreading this question, but somehow it doesn’t land with the same punch I expected. She’s not judging me; she wants to know how I landed here. But this is the past I don’t even want to bring up to my siblings. Because then I have to admit—out loud—how much I’ve screwed up and how desperate I am to fix it.
Somehow, I think Chloe understands.
I rake a hand through my hair. “I lost my ag status for the farm, and now I owe a pretty sizable sum to the state of Colorado in tax money.”
She chews her lips. “Aiden, I don’t understand what that means.”
Relief further loosens my chest. She really isn’t judging. She wants an explanation. Facts.
I can give her those.
“It means when I took a break from selling trees after losing my parents, the income from the land stopped. Selling what the land produces is how I keep the agricultural exemption—the tax break.”
“So when you stopped selling, you couldn’t hold it.” She nods, a far-off look in her eyes again as she processes.
“Right. The state noticed I haven’t made a profit in a while, pulled the exemption, and now I owe more in taxes than I have on all that land. If I miss the Dec 15th payment, penalties kick in. Then, on Jan 2nd, they’ll start the lien. Once that clock starts, the farm basically falls apart. I lose everything my family built, one piece at a time.”
I drop my head, fingers laced behind my neck, swallowing the shame of admitting how badly I messed up. I let grief run the business.
I knew better—and Ihaveto fix it.
I can’t lose the only thing I have left of them.
The couch shifts as she scoots closer. Her spicy orange scent drifts in before her hand lands between my shoulders.
“You took a break because you lost your parents,” she says gently.
