“Me too.” Her voice comes out soft. “I didn’t realize how much I missed this place until I came back.”
“It wasn’t the same without you.”
She nods, glancing away. And before I can stop myself, the words tumble out.
“I wish my dad could see the farm now.”
Wren shifts closer, not touching me, but the space between us is gone.
“He’d be proud of you.”
I release a breath and let the thoughts pour from me. That’s the thing between me and Wren; I could never keep my thoughts inside my head. Being in her presence, it’s comforting. She never judged me for sharing whatever was bothering me. Instead, she’d listen and only chime in with advice when she could tell I needed it. Otherwise, she’d let me vent while being a listening ear.
“I used to be so pissed at him. For making the deal with the judge and sending me away. For not letting me say goodbye to you properly. And”— I clear my throat, swallowing the lump forming — “for dying before I could come home and tell him how much I loved him and how much I appreciated everything he did for me, even when I didn’t understand it at the time.”
I rub my hands together, trying to rid the feeling in my chest.
“I’ve got a lot of stuff I never said to him, and now I never will.”
Reaching over, she grabs my hand, pulling it away from my chest. She intertwines our fingers.
“I think we always assume we have more time.” I hate how quiet her voice is and how she knows exactly what I mean. Bothof us have lost a parent unexpectedly when we weren’t ready to face them.
“I wasn’t very nice to my mom the last few years I lived in LA,” she admits, staring at our joined hands. “I didn’t call enough, never visited, and always said I was too busy. I built a whole life out there, and I kept telling myself I’d come home more, I’d call more, I’d fly them out more. But more never happened. She’s gone, and all I have left are her journals.”
“Journals?”
“She used to write everything down. Ideas, plans, holiday menus, dreams, everything. She wrote a lot about wanting to turn the old barn into an event venue for weddings, parties, reunions, stuff like that.”
I sit up a little straighter and take in the slight curve to her lips.
“She had sketches and plans drawn up, but she never pulled the trigger.” She takes a breath. “So I’m going to do it. I’m going to renovate the barn and build the business. I’m going to finish what she started.”
Before I can think, I’m wrapping her into a hug. “That’s great, Wren.”
She squeezes me back before we shift to our seats, but she never pulls her hand from mine.
“If you need help with anything, I’m pretty handy. I could help build stuff, or whatever.”
She hesitates before giving me a soft smile. “Thank you, I really appreciate the offer, but”—she takes a breath—“I think this needs to be mine.”
I don’t say anything, hoping she’ll elaborate.
“In case things don’t work out between us... I don’t want the venue tied to anything…anyone.”
Her admission stings, but I get it.
“That’s fair.”
Her shoulders relax, as if she’s relieved I didn’t push back. I’m just hanging on to the hope there could be anussomeday.
“Sounds like you’ve got it figured out,” I tell her. “Life’s too damn short not to chase what makes you feel alive. You and I both know how fleeting it can be.”
She studies me for a moment, something unreadable flickering behind her eyes.
“And you?” she asks. “Running the farm—do you still want that?”
I think about it for a long minute.
