Chapter 9 #2
Wes reached across the table, taking Jake’s hand. “I’m trying.”
“I know.”
“It’s just with Henry—”
“I know that too.” Jake squeezed his fingers. “I’m not asking you to do anything you’re not ready for. I’m just asking you to think about what you actually want. Not what you think you should do, or what’s safe, or what’s expected. What do you want?”
Wes didn’t have an answer for that. Not yet.
The Whitlock vineyard was smaller than Wes had expected—ten acres of neat rows, dormant for winter. Sarah and Keith met them at the house, both in work clothes, coats, and gloves.
“Jake!” Sarah hugged him like an old friend. “And you must be Wes. We’ve heard so much about you.”
“All good,” Keith added with a grin. “Come see what we’re building.”
They spent the next hour touring the property. Keith and Sarah talked over each other, finishing sentences, laughing at inside jokes. They explained they had bought the land two years ago with their entire savings, plus loans from both families.
“Everyone thought we were crazy,” Sarah said. “Leaving secure jobs in Nashville to grow grapes in Georgia.”
“Are you?” Wes asked.
“Probably,” Keith laughed. “But it’s the good kind of crazy. The kind where you wake up excited about the day.”
They showed off the new irrigation system Keith’s brother had helped install, the processing equipment bought secondhand from a vineyard that had upgraded, and the plans for a tasting room once they had product to sell.
“We won’t see a profit for at least three more years,” Sarah admitted. “Maybe five.”
“Doesn’t that terrify you?”
“Every day.” She looked at Keith, grinning. “But we’re terrified together.”
“That’s the key,” Keith said. “Neither of us could do this alone. I handle the agriculture. Sarah handles the business. When one of us is ready to give up, the other one takes over.”
“Like last month,” Sarah said. “When the irrigation system broke, and Keith had a complete meltdown.”
“Or two weeks ago, when all the paperwork made you cry.”
“Exactly.” Sarah bumped his shoulder affectionately. “That’s what partnership is. Taking turns being strong.”
Wes thought about all the times he’d needed to be weak, to break down, to rest—and hadn’t let himself. There was no one to take over, no one to share the burden.
“The community’s been incredible too,” Keith added. “Chuck and Brody have been giving us business advice. Tucker connected us with suppliers. Even Cassie’s been tooting the horn about our future tasting room.”
“Everyone wants us to succeed,” Sarah said. “It’s like the whole town adopted us.”
Wes knew that feeling. Spoon had always been good at taking care of its own. He’d just been too proud—or too scared—to accept it.
As they were leaving, Sarah pulled Wes aside. “Can I say something?”
“Sure.”
“Jake talks about you—the tree farm, the carvings, and how hard you work. He lights up when he mentions you.”
Wes looked over at Jake, who was chatting and laughing with Keith.
“Whatever it is you’re struggling with,” she said. “He’s worth it.”
The final stop was the McCoy soybean farm, forty minutes in the opposite direction. The large, red SOLD sign at the entrance made Wes’s stomach twist.
Alvin met them in what had been the equipment barn, now mostly empty. He was older than Wes had expected, mid-seventies at least, with stooped shoulders and tired eyes.
“Jake. Nice to meet you in person, despite the circumstances.”
“Hi, Alvin. This is Wes Dalton. He runs Holiday Pines.”
“The Christmas tree farm?” Alvin nodded slowly. “I remember your father. Bought a tree from him years ago.”
“Yes, sir,” Wes answered, not really knowing what to say.
“Twenty years, maybe more.” Alvin gestured at the boxes stacked along the wall. “Amazing how fast time goes. One day, you’re thirty and building something. The next you’re seventy and watching it all fade away.”
“You didn’t have to sell,” Jake said gently.
“Didn’t I?” Alvin laughed hollowly. “I’m old, Jake. My kids live in California and don’t want anything to do with farming. My wife’s been begging me to retire and downsize for a decade. And I’m tired. Bone-deep—soul-deep tired.”
He led them through the barn, pointing out where equipment used to be, where his father had built additional storage, where his grandfather had started the whole operation.
“Four generations,” he said. “Ninety years of soybeans. Gone.”
“What happened?” Wes asked.
“Pride, mostly.” Alvin leaned against a post. “After my youngest son made it clear he wasn’t coming back, I should have started planning.
I could have brought in a partner, could have transitioned slowly, could have done a dozen things differently.
But I was stubborn. Thought I could do it all myself forever. ”
He looked directly at Wes. “You know what the worst part is? It wasn’t sudden. It was slow. Each year got a little harder, I got a little more tired, and the debt got a little deeper. Like drowning slowly.”
“But Jake could have helped—”
“By the time I called Jake, it was too late. I’d already given up in my heart.” Alvin’s eyes were wet. “The developer’s paying good money. My wife and I will be comfortable. But the land...”
He trailed off, looking out at the fields.
“If I could do it over,” he said finally, “I would have asked for help at fifty instead of seventy. I’d have considered options at sixty instead of refusing until I was seventy-three. I would have admitted what I know now—that needing help has nothing to do with pride.”
He turned to Wes. “You’re young. You’ve got time. Don’t be me, son. Don’t wake up at seventy with nothing but regret and a sold sign.”
The drive back to Spoon was quiet. The sun was setting, painting the sky orange and pink.
The radio played softly—more news, more weather, but Wes wasn’t really listening.
His mind was churning through everything he’d seen, everything he’d heard.
Diane nearly killing herself with self-imposed obligation.
Sarah and Keith building something together. Alvin giving up.
Three visions—past, present, and future.
“You did that on purpose,” he said finally.
“Yes, I did.”
“The three farms. Like A Christmas Carol. And your last name is Marley. Did your parents really name you Jacob?”
“I never knew them. Seems like a joke, though, doesn’t it?”
“Or fate.”
They drove in silence for another mile, then Wes said, “Pull over.”
“What?”
“Pull over. Please.”
Jake found a spot on the shoulder, a little pull-off near a creek. He put the car in park and turned to Wes. “You okay?”
“I’m going to tell him.”
Jake went very still.
“Henry. About me. About us.” Wes’s voice wavered slightly. “I don’t know when exactly. Maybe after Christmas, when things calm down a bit. Or maybe before. Whenever it feels right. But I’m going to tell him.”
“Wes—”
“I can’t be Alvin. I can’t wake up at seventy wondering what would have happened if I’d been brave enough to let people in. Let you in.” He turned in his seat to face Jake fully. “And I can’t keep pretending that the most important thing in my life right now doesn’t exist.”
Jake’s eyes filled. “You don’t—”
“Yes, I do. For me, not just for you. I need to stop hiding.” Wes reached for Jake’s hand. “I need to stop being afraid.”
“What if Henry—”
“Then we’ll deal with it. Together.” The word felt foreign in his mouth, but right. “If you want. I mean, if you’re still—”
Jake leaned across the console and kissed him, soft and sure. “I want. Yes, Wes. I want.”
When they broke apart, Wes rested his forehead against Jake’s. “I can’t promise it’ll be tomorrow, or the next day. Or that it’ll go smoothly. But I can promise it’ll happen. Soon.”
“That’s all I need to hear.” Jake cupped his face, thumb brushing over Wes’s cheekbone. “Whenever you’re ready. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Your job—”
“I’ll figure it out. Maybe I can get a regional position, or remote work, something. But I’m not leaving Spoon.” His voice was firm, certain. “I’m not leaving you.”
Wes pulled him in for another kiss, deeper this time, trying to pour everything he couldn’t yet say into the contact. When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, the sky had darkened to deep purple.
“We should get back,” Jake said quietly. “The guys are probably wondering if I kidnapped you.”
“Let ‘em wonder a little longer.”
But Jake started the car anyway, pulling back onto the road. The temperature had dropped while they’d been parked, and the first stars were appearing overhead. On the radio, the mention of a winter weather system still developing, possible ice by early next week.
Wes listened more carefully this time. Ice storms were nothing to take lightly. Not after 2019.
“You worried?” Jake asked, noticing his attention.
“I always worry about ice. Comes with the territory.”
“We’ll keep an eye on it.”
We, Wes thought. Not you.
We.
It was a small word, but it meant everything.
As they pulled into the farm drive, Wes could see lights on in the barn—the guys were still there, probably waiting to give him grief. Through the farmhouse window, he could make out Henry’s silhouette in his recliner.
“You want to come in?” Wes asked.
“Better not. If Tucker starts teasing, I might say something we’re not ready to announce yet.”
“Soon,” Wes promised. “When the time’s right.”
“I believe you.”
Wes leaned over for one more kiss, brief and sweet. “Thank you. For today. For showing me–”
“That you don’t have to do everything alone?”
“Yeah. That.”
He climbed out of the car, turned back to wave, and watched Jake’s taillights disappear down the drive. The night air was cold and sharp, carrying the scent of pine and wood smoke. Above, the stars were brilliant against the black sky.
Change was coming. In more ways than one.
Inside the barn, Tucker’s laughter rang out, followed by Chuck’s deeper voice. Wes smiled and headed toward the light, toward the warmth, toward the people who’d shown up for him without him even having to ask.