I shoot Luke a grateful glance.
Dad rolls his shoulders back, unimpressed. “Whether or not he’s nice is irrelevant,” he says, his cold gaze locking onto mine. “We’re a family-owned farm in a small town, Ash. You need to think about what doing business with people like that does to our reputation.”
“Myreputation,” I correct, keeping my voice steady. “The orchard belongs to me now, Dad.”
His jaw tightens. “It’s our family name.”
“And it’s my name too.” Sharpness creeps into my tone despite my effort to stay calm. “I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize it. Troy knows what he’s doing. He’s smart. The community likes him, and his taproom brings in tourists year-round. This partnership will be good for the orchard, especially during the off-season.”
I meet his stare and don’t look away. I’ve spent my entire life bending to his will, doing whatever he said in a fruitless attempt to earn his approval, and it’s never been enough. Nothing I do is ever enough.
Dad huffs and shakes his head. “Isn’t he a criminal? I heard he’s got a record.”
My molars grind. “His past isn’t anyone else’s business. You know this town loves to gossip. Whatever happened, I’m sure it was blown out of proportion.”
He makes a low, disapproving sound in the back of his throat. “You’re gambling with everything your great-grandfather built.”
Mom stiffens beside me. “Honey—”
“No,” Dad snaps, lifting a hand without looking at her. His eyes remain locked on mine. “Maybe this was a mistake from the start.Maybe the orchard should’ve gone to someone who understands tradition.” His eyes flick briefly to Luke. “I didn’t think you’d be so quick to risk everything, Ashton.”
The words land like a slap.
My hands curl into fists beneath the table. “I’ve been here every day since I was a kid,” I remind him. “I gave up college. I gave up everything so this place wouldn’t fall apart.”
He lets out a short, humorless laugh. “You call this holding it together?”
“You don’t respect it because it isn’t what you would’ve done.”
His jaw flexes. For a split second, I think he might back down. Instead, his attention drifts past me to the window, toward the rows of trees cresting the hill beyond the yard.
“I thought you were capable,” he mutters. “I thought you’d grow up.”
Mom’s hand brushes my arm, tentative, but I barely feel it. My chest aches, something raw cracking open beneath my ribs.
“You know,” Dad continues, quieter now, “sometimes I wonder if I made the wrong choice.” He looks back at me, eyes sharp with disappointment. “Maybe giving you the orchard was a mistake.”
There it is. The thing I’ve always feared he’d say out loud.
Mom pushes her chair back slightly, alarmed. “Alright—enough,” she says firmly. “This is a family dinner. We’re not doing this tonight.”
But it’s too late. The knot in my chest has already tangled into something sharp and unbearable.
“You’re wrong,” I say, my throat tight, my voice steady only through sheer force of will. “You’re stuck in the past, but I love this orchard enough to let it change. I’m trying to make our legacy even bigger by expanding our reach instead of sticking to the way things have always been.”
Dad’s tongue drags across his teeth, fingers tightening around his fork. “Son—”
“No.” I stand so abruptly my chair scrapes loudly against the floor. “I was telling you about the partnership out of courtesy, but I’m done having this conversation.”
Every eye at the table is on me now, my siblings staring with a mix of shock and sympathy. I don’t think any of them have ever talked back to Dad like this before, but I can’t stop myself. I won’t let him question my commitment to the orchard—not after everything I’ve sacrificed to keep it alive.
“Ashton,” Mom says firmly. “Enough. Respect your father and sit down.”
I shake my head, already backing away. “I need some air.”
No one stops me as I leave the dining room. I grab my jacket from the back of the chair and step out into the cool night, the door shutting with a final, hollow click behind me.
Troy leans against the brick wall of the brewhouse, arms folded over his chest, watching me with an expression that’s equal parts amusement and appraisal. He hasn’t said much since handing me the bucket. He doesn’t have to. The smirk tugging at his mouth says enough.
