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Jocelyn Reames:I don’t see why everyone is so obsessed with that Drummond girl. I’ve seen the show and she’s not that impressive…
Anonymous3548: @Jocelynreames OMG I’m so glad someone’s said it. She acts like she’s some princess people should bow down too!
Julia Adams:@Jocelynreames Go ahead and say her name. We all know you know what it is…it’s all you can talk about.
Greer Emerson, Abby Pierce, Levi Welles, Lydia Riggsby, Nate Drummond, Heath Pierce,Saylor Riggsby, and more loved Julia Adams comment
Greer Emerson: @Jocelynreames Girl, you need to get a life and @Anonymous3548 Ew, how gross to hide behind an anonymous name…
Heath Pierce:@Jocelynreames Jealousy looks bad on you. It always has…
Jocelyn Reames:@Heathpierce: I am NOT jealous of Wren Drummond.
Heath Pierce:@Jocelynreames No, you’ve just been jealous she’s had Jett’s eyes and not yours.
Jocelyn Reames:@Heathpierce Whatever. She’s a disaster, not a princess. She had to come running home with her tail between her legs. Some reality star she is…
Heath Pierce:@Jocelynreames At least she doesn’t try to jump around from one unavailable guy to the next… Desperate looks trashy
Jocelyn Reames:@Heathpierce Get a life and stop commenting on my posts!!!!
Chapter 16
Wren
Tosaythelastfew days have been weird is an understatement. I’ve done my best to avoid the main house when Dad would be around, but today, I’m not so lucky.
After my morning matcha run, I spent a few hours in Mom’s office, working on Hannah’s Haven. While digging through her files, I found a loose piece of paper torn from one of her journals. It was a list of manifestations she had for her business. The one she underlined and highlighted was about turning one of the old barns into a party barn—a place to host wedding receptions, showers, and any other events someone wanted to rent it out for. On the back side of the paper were steps on how she would accomplish this goal. As I read over her words, I fell in love with her idea, which brought me to the main house, where I’ve been working for the past hour.
The smell of spring filters in through the half-open windows—fresh-cut grass, lilacs from the flowerbeds, and the sweet tang of the strawberries Grams cut up for her pie. The late-May air hums with the promise of hot summer days right around the corner. With Memorial Day passing, it feels like the unofficial start of summer. It won’t be long before the air will be too thick with humidity to have the windows open.
My laptop is open to Pinterest as I sit hunched over my sketchpad. The outside of my hand is covered in lead from scratching the pencil across the page. I’ve been redrawing the barn for what feels like hours, even though it’s barely been one.Mom wanted to see the old barn come to life, the one tucked behind her apple orchard. It’s one of the original barns on the property, but we haven’t used it in years. The barn might be weathered, but the bones are good. When I think of its transformation, I can almost picture what Mom would do. Add a fresh coat of stain to the wood beams before stringing Edison lights from the rafters. Instead of plastic tables, she’d want the space to be filled with custom farmhouse tables. She’d add Mason jars and vintage milk glass filled with flowers cut from her garden everywhere she could.
I tap the pencil against the page, my brain swirling. It feels too big and ambitious, but it also feels right. My lawyer has everything handled in LA, the farmhands have started work on the Haven’s planting, and I’ve managed to get the emails and calendars in order. This seems like the perfect time to take on this project.
“Did you have any idea she wanted to host events?” I ask Grams, who's rolling out the pie dough.
She hums along to the radio before answering. “She always talked about making this farm feel like hers, too. I guess I thought she scratched that itch when she opened the Haven.”
“Her plans are so detailed.” I skim the pages before reading off her list. “Stain the wooden beams with a dark walnut color. Sand and stain the floors to a lighter color. Create a dance floor in the middle. Reach out to local vendors to see if they’d like to partner. Offer three free weddings as trials. She thought of everything.”
“Of course she did. Your mom was one of a kind.” Her voice is somber, and it breaks my heart to know she’s hurting.
“She was,” I say softly. The ache of missing her hasn’t dwindled in the few months since losing her. There’s a black cloud hanging over the farm, and it’s because she’s no longer here. No one could’ve imagined she’d pass from a heart attack at fifty-four.
I turn back to the sketch, refusing to trudge up the guilt I’ve been carrying since Nate called me to tell me about Mom in January.
The screen door creaks open, and nerves swirl in my stomach when heavy boot steps echo from the breezeway. Glancing up, our eyes connect, and I watch the same brown eyes I have widen in surprise.
Dad’s in the doorway separating the kitchen from the breezeway. He looks like a caged animal ready to make a break for it, and I feel the same. Dad scratches the nape of his neck, his signature nervous tic. His gaze flicks from me at the table to Grams behind the island, who’s observing the interaction with a quirked eyebrow.
His throat works as he clears his throat. “Hi, Wren.”
“Hi, Dad,” I squeak out, my voice is too high.
