Chapter 5
Five
Wednesday morning.
The Divine Dough smelled like heaven—yeast and sugar and something cinnamon that made Wes’s mouth water the second he walked through the door.
It was early, just past nine, and the morning rush had tapered off. A few locals sat scattered at small tables, nursing coffee and pastries. Brody was behind the counter, arranging a fresh tray of croissants in the display case.
He looked up when the bell chimed. “Wes! Don’t usually see you in here this time of year. Thought you’d be chained to that farm till New Year’s.”
“I’m meeting someone,” Wes said.
“Pedro’s in the back corner.” Brody pointed. “Got him set up with coffee and a bear claw. You want the same?”
“Make it a cinnamon roll.”
“You got it.”
Wes made his way to the back, weaving between tables. Pedro was at a corner booth, laptop open, reading glasses perched on his nose. He looked up when Wes approached, offering a warm smile.
“Wes, good to see you.”
“You too.” Wes slid into the booth across from him. “Thanks for meeting me.”
“Of course. Barb said you wanted to talk shop.”
Brody appeared with a mug of black coffee and a cinnamon roll. He set them in front of Wes with a gentle pat on the back. “Holler if you need anything else.”
Pedro closed his laptop. “So. What’s on your mind?”
Wes wrapped his hands around the mug, gathering his thoughts. He’d been rehearsing this conversation since yesterday, but now that he was here, the words felt stuck.
“I’m in trouble,” he said finally. “The farm. Financially.”
“Yeah. I heard.” Pedro’s gaze was warm and sympathetic.
Wes sipped his coffee. “The bank’s been working with me. Sent someone down from Atlanta to help me restructure. He thinks I need to diversify—generate income year-round instead of just seasonally.”
“Smart advice.”
“The problem is… I don’t know how. I’m a tree farmer. It’s all I’ve ever done.”
Pedro leaned back, considering. “You’ve got land, though, right?”
“Yeah. Forty acres. Using about half for the farm.”
“What’s the other half?”
“It’s just sitting there. Used to be pasture for livestock, but we haven’t used it in years.”
“You’ve got options, then. The question is, what fits your skills and your market?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”
Pedro set down his coffee cup, studying Wes with gentle intensity. “Can I say something that might sound a little personal?”
Wes tensed slightly. “Sure.”
“You have a gift, Wes. I’ve seen your carvings—the nativity at First Methodist, the pieces at the craft fair. They’re extraordinary.” Pedro leaned forward. “But you hide it. You treat it like a hobby instead of the talent it is.”
“It is a hobby. The farm is the business.”
“Why can’t it be both?” Pedro smiled. “I started with just landscaping. Mowing lawns, trimming hedges. But Titus told me I was an artist, that I shouldn’t hide my light under a bushel just because I was afraid.”
“I’m not afraid.”
Pedro’s eyebrow rose, inquiring but knowing. “No?”
Wes looked away, jaw tight. “It’s not that simple.”
“It never is. But the world needs beauty, Wes. Especially now. And you create beauty—not just Christmas trees people will throw away in January, but art that lasts. Art that means something.” Pedro’s voice softened.
“Don’t let fear or debt or obligation make you forget that part of yourself. Don’t hide your light.”
Wes swallowed hard, not trusting himself to speak.
“Just think about it,” Pedro said. He picked up his coffee again. “Now, tell me about your customers. Who buys from you?”
Wes gave it some thought. “Families mostly. People cutting their own trees, hot cocoa, hayrides. Most come back every year. It’s tradition for them.”
“So you’re not only selling trees. You’re selling an experience.”
“I guess.”
“That’s good. That’s valuable.” Pedro took a bite of his bear claw, chewed thoughtfully. “What if you expanded that? Offered experiences year-round?”
“Like what?”
“Weddings. Retreats. Fall festivals with pumpkins and corn mazes. Spring events—Easter egg hunts, maybe. You’ve got the land. You’ve got the infrastructure. You’d just need to market it differently.”
Wes frowned. “I don’t know the first thing about event planning.”
“You don’t have to. Partner with someone who does. Cassie, maybe? She does theatre. She understands staging and logistics. Or hire a part-timer during peak seasons.” Pedro paused. “The point is, you’re already good at creating atmosphere. Christmas proves that. You need to think bigger.”
It made sense. More sense than Wes wanted to admit.
“What about you?” Wes asked. “How’d you do it? I understand you had seasonal issues, too.”
“I did. Landscaping slows down in winter—people don’t care about their yards when everything’s dead.
So I pivoted. Added hardscaping, which doesn’t depend on warm weather.
Started doing maintenance contracts for businesses—year-round income.
Added holiday lighting installation in November and December.
” He smiled. “Turns out people will pay good money to not climb a ladder in the cold.”
Wes huffed a small laugh. “Yeah, I bet.”
“It wasn’t easy. Took some time, trial and error.
But diversifying saved my business. Gave me stability I didn’t have before.
Well–” Pedro paused, smiling. “Other than Titus. Don’t get me wrong, I love him more than words can express, and he would give me the world on a platter if I asked.
But I like having a little something that’s my own. You get me?”
“I do.”
They sat in silence for a moment. Wes picked at his cinnamon roll.
“The banker,” Pedro said. “Barb said he’s staying with her. He’s helping you with this?”
“Yeah.”
“What’s he like?”
Wes hesitated, unsure how to answer. Competent. Kind. The kind of guy who listens when you talk and looks at you like you matter.
“He’s good at his job,” Wes said finally. “Knows what he’s doing. Doesn’t talk down to me like some bankers do.”
Pedro studied him. “That’s good. It’s important to have someone in your corner who respects you.”
“Yeah.”
“Do you trust him?”
Wes thought about Jake’s hands tracing the carved Santa, the softness in his voice when he’d said You’re an artist. The way he’d looked at Wes, like he saw something worth saving.
“I think so,” Wes said. “I’m trying to.”
“Trust is hard. Especially when you’ve been carrying everything alone for so long. But sometimes letting someone help—really help—is the bravest thing you can do.”
Wes looked up, meeting Pedro’s steady gaze.
“I’m not just talking about the farm,” Pedro added gently.
Wes’s throat tightened. He looked down, back at his coffee.
Pedro didn’t push. He just waited.
“It’s complicated,” Wes said finally.
“It usually is.”
“I don’t—” Wes stopped, frustrated. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“With the farm... or with him?”
Wes huffed a breath that might’ve been a laugh. “Both.”
Pedro smiled. “You don’t remember this because you were little, but I’ve been in a similar situation–personally, as well. Titus was my employer when we became... involved.”
Wes’s eyes widened with realization. “Oh, I see.”
“I think Barb saw something with this banker—”
“Jake.”
“Jake,” Pedro reaffirmed. “I think Barb saw something that reminded her of me and Titus roughly thirty years ago.”
“How did you manage... things?” Wes asked, intrigued.
“Trust. Trust your feelings. Trust your gut, as Titus would say. And while we’re on the subject, Titus never wanted to buy you out.
He loves this town like no other. If Holiday Pines closed, it would break his heart.
And it’s an enormous heart, I assure you.
He only suggested a partnership to keep you here. ”
“How can you be so certain?”
“Because he did the same thing with me. Of course, there may have been some ulterior motives, too.” Pedro concluded with a wink.
“You’ve given me a lot to think about.”
“You’ll figure it out. You’re smarter than you give yourself credit for, Wes. And for what it’s worth, I think you deserve good things. The farm, yes. But also... everything else.”
Wes didn’t trust himself to speak. He nodded.
“Anyway,” Pedro said, shifting gears smoothly, “if you want to talk specifics—suppliers, equipment, that kind of thing—I’m happy to help. No strings. One businessman to another.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
“Good. And if Jake needs a local perspective on anything, tell him to call me. Titus and I are happy to help however we can.”
“Thanks, Pedro,” Jake said, then added, “Really.”
They finished their coffee, talked through a few more practical ideas—pumpkin patches, maybe a small petting zoo for kids, and partnering with local schools for field trips. By the time Wes left, he had a notebook full of scribbled ideas and something that felt dangerously close to hope.
He sat in his truck in the parking lot, staring at his notes. Pedro’s words echoed in his head.
Trust your feelings.
Trust your gut.
You deserve good things.
Wes thought about Jake—the way he’d looked at him in the workshop, the tension that crackled between them like electricity, that brief touch.
Trust.
It was such a small word for such a big thing.
Wes started the truck and pulled out of the parking lot. He had customers waiting, trees to load, and a farm to run.
But for the first time in a long time, he felt like maybe—just maybe—things were going to be okay.
More than okay, even.
Trust.