Chapter Thirty-Six
Nate
I hadn’t expected the barn roof to become a metaphor for my entire life, but there I was, on a ladder with a strand of Christmas lights clenched between my teeth, staring at a slow, rhythmic drip just inside the north wall.
Melted snow, slipping through a seam in the shingles.
Nothing catastrophic yet—but give it a little time and it would rot straight through the beam Silas had reinforced twenty years ago.
I climbed down, boots crunching through the thin crust of snow, and stepped into the barn to inspect the damage. The place smelled like cedar and hay horses despite their absence. There it was again: drip . . . drip . . . drip.
Silas had built something beautiful here.
But even beautiful things couldn’t survive neglect.
That realization lodged in my chest like a truth I should’ve known years ago. Buildings, land, relationships—they all required tending. If you didn’t pay attention, if you didn’t keep showing up, eventually they fell apart . . . even if you loved them.
Especially if you loved them.
A soft vibration buzzed in my pocket.
Aunt Claire.
I wiped snow from my gloves and answered.
“Nathan John,” she said—always a bad sign when she middle named me. “Are you alive? Your father and I haven’t heard from you in days.”
“I’m fine,” I said, because for the first time in a long time, I actually was.
“Your father said you canceled three meetings this week. Delegated the Q4 acquisition. Do you have a fever? A head injury?”
I rubbed the bridge of my nose. “I’m just taking some space.”
“You took space,” she said crisply. “Now you’ve entered full ‘missing person’ territory. What is going on? You were supposed to visit not stay.”
I looked around the barn. The twinkling lights I’d hung down the rafters. The stacked hay bales. The carved initials Silas had etched into one of the support beams. The whole damn place humming with a life that had nothing to do with the one I’d temporarily left behind.
Or my new priorities.
How did I explain that without sharing too much?
“It’s . . . different here,” I said finally. “Better. There’s this sense of community. And the town traditions—there’s something grounding about it. Hell, we have this thing called Cutting Day coming up.”
“Cutting Day?” she echoed.
“Yeah. I’m hosting it. Might even wear plaid.”
There was a beat of stunned silence.
Then, suspiciously soft: “Oh, Nate.”
I could picture her pinching the bridge of her own nose, trying to reconcile the man she helped raise with the one describing small-town festivals and flannel with a straight face.
“You should invite your father,” she said.
That jolted me. “What? No. Absolutely not. He’d hate it here.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do. He’ll take one look at this place and write it off as a waste of time.”
“Maybe,” she allowed. “Or maybe he’d see the same thing you’re seeing.”
I shook my head. “It’s not the right time. Things are complicated.”
“Nate,” she said sharply, “you sound exactly like your father. And look how far that’s gotten the two of you.”
I went quiet.
Her voice gentled. “Don’t make the same mistake your uncle did. Silas didn’t believe you two could find your way back to each other. Don’t repeat that. Invite him.”
She hung up before I could answer.
I slipped the phone into my pocket and looked up at the rafters again. The beam Silas had repaired was still holding strong, even after all these years. But the leak above it was new. It was subtle. Easy to ignore today. Easy to say I’d get to it tomorrow.
But tomorrow had a way of turning into never.
If you waited for life to calm down before fixing the things that mattered you’d lose them.
I didn’t want to lose this place.
I didn’t want to lose Jo.
And—I unlocked a new concern—I didn’t want to lose my father either.
Even if our relationship was messy.
Even if he didn’t understand me.
Even if the timing was terrible.
At least he’d know I tried.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I pulled up his number and hit call.
It rang once.
Twice.
Three times.
Then, “Nate?”
His voice sounded tired. Older than I remembered.
“Hey,” I said, clearing my throat. “Listen . . . Cutting Day is this weekend. It’s . . . it’s kind of a big deal around here. And I thought you should see it. If you’re free.”
A long pause stretched between us.
“You want me to come up there?” he asked, like it was the last thing he expected to hear.
“Yeah,” I said. “I do.”
More silence.
Then, quietly, “All right. I’ll come.”
I let out a slow breath. Felt something in my chest loosen, just a little.
“Okay,” I said. “See you then.”
When I hung up, the barn felt warmer. Brighter.