Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
John held a glass of champagne and watched Zoe laugh with a small circle of friends. He knew Brynn and Daisy, but tonight Zoe had introduced him to Lia and Lolo, both warm, engaging and clearly important to her.
He’d learned Lolo and her boyfriend had flown in from Kentucky earlier that day just for the party.
KT, her boyfriend, was a well-known artist with a calm, observant energy. Earlier, he and John had struck up a conversation about New York, where KT had a home in Brooklyn and John had spent a couple of years in his twenties. It had surprised him, in the best way, how easily they’d clicked.
Zoe had a great group of friends. They were interesting, accomplished, generous in the way people were when they’d weathered enough life to know what really mattered. They felt like the kind of people you could build a life around.
John wandered toward the edge of the barn, where the music softened and the voices blurred into a warm hum behind him. He stepped out beneath the overhang, the late dusk stretching across the field in shades of plum and deepening blue.
Footsteps approached behind him, light and familiar.
“There you are,” Zoe said softly.
He turned, and there she was, a shawl now wrapped around her shoulders, her dress catching the last of the light.
“I needed a minute,” he said. “It’s beautiful out here.”
She moved beside him, shoulder brushing his. “I used to come out to this barn as a kid. For bonfires in the fall, apple cider and doughnuts, hayrides…and now we’re here for an engagement party.”
He glanced down at her. “Full circle?”
Her lips curved. “Something like that.”
For a while, neither of them spoke. The breeze picked up just enough to rustle the tall grass at the edge of the field. In the barn behind them, someone had begun to play a quiet acoustic cover of a love song. The moment felt suspended, like time had slowed just for them.
John pressed a kiss to her hair, a quiet promise sealed in the hush between them.
Under the darkening sky, surrounded by laughter, music and the subtle magic of beginnings, it felt like something had quietly, irrevocably clicked into place.
Zoe stayed tucked against him, her cheek pressed to his shoulder, the two of them wrapped in a quiet that didn’t need filling.
“I love this,” she said softly. “Not just the party, but this—being out here with you. No stage, no speeches, no expectations.”
John smiled against her hair. “No karaoke.”
She laughed, the sound vibrating gently between them. “Definitely no karaoke.”
After a moment, she pulled back just enough to see his face. “Want to take a walk? Just a little way, down past the orchard?”
He hesitated for half a second, then nodded. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
They followed a narrow path that curved behind the barn, the chatter and music fading into the background. Lanterns hung from shepherd’s hooks lining the walk, their golden glow casting soft pools of light. Rows of apple trees stood like sentinels, their branches heavy with early fruit.
John reached up and plucked one, an ambitious red Cortland, crisp in the fading light.
“Stealing from the farm now?” Zoe teased.
“Borrowing. For the full fall experience,” he said, polishing it against his jacket.
He handed it to her, and she took a bite, the juice sweet and tart.
“You know,” she said, tucking a windblown strand of hair behind her ear, “this wasn’t how I imagined my life looking a year ago.”
John nodded. “Me either. But I can’t imagine it any other way now.”
She slowed to a stop, the apple still between them. “You mean that.”
“I do,” he said. “You’ve changed what home means for me.”
Zoe blinked, the words sinking in like warmth through skin. Her fingers curled around his, still holding the apple between them. “Then maybe we’re writing something better than what we imagined.”
She wasn’t sure when it had shifted—somewhere between spy missions to Sturgeon Bay and endless cups of coffee over spreadsheets in the back room of the Grind—but hearing him say it aloud made her believe it, too.
Behind them, the barn lights shimmered like fireflies in the dusk.
Ahead, the orchard stretched on, quiet, steady, waiting.
And hand in hand, they walked into it.
They’d gone only a few more steps when a voice called from the edge of the path.
“There you are!” It was Daisy, breathless but smiling as she jogged toward them, heels in one hand. “I figured I’d find you two hiding out somewhere romantic.”
Zoe lifted a brow. “Was it the orchard that gave us away?”
“That, and the very dreamy disappearing act.” Daisy grinned, then glanced at John. “Hate to interrupt your fall fairy tale, but the slideshow’s about to start, and Brynn wants you both there.”
“Omigosh, is it that time already?” Zoe handed the apple to John with a playful little bow. “Duty calls.”
Daisy gave them a wink. “Come on, lovebirds.”
As they walked back toward the barn, laughter and music rising to meet them, John brushed Zoe’s hand with his thumb.
“Brynn is probably going to cry. Callum will pretend he’s not.” Zoe smiled, then added more quietly, “It’s going to be perfect.”
But as they neared the barn, her steps slowed just a little.
She wasn’t thinking about the slideshow itself, though she hoped it would land the way she intended, a love letter in images. She was thinking about what it represented.
All the pieces stitched together—childhood memories, teenage inside jokes, dogs and dances, shared books and snowball fights. The slow, steady build of two people finding their way to each other.
A different kind of love story than the one she’d once imagined for herself. But maybe that was the point.
Real love wasn’t all grand gestures and glittering ballrooms. Sometimes it was shared glances across a crowded room. Or feeling like you could breathe easier with someone beside you. Or knowing that you could trust the quiet between you just as much as the words.
She tightened her grip on John’s hand.
Perfect didn’t mean flawless. It meant true. And tonight, this—the barn, the friends, the history, the future—it all felt true.
Inside the barn, the crowd began to shift toward the center of the space where a screen had been set up and rows of chairs had been arranged. The lights dimmed slightly, casting everything in a warm, golden glow.
Zoe spotted Brynn and Callum near the front, their heads bent together in quiet conversation. Parker stood between them, his hand tucked into Brynn’s as he pointed excitedly toward the screen.
“Hey,” Zoe said softly as she and John approached. “Just wanted to check in before the show starts.”
“We saved you two seats,” Brynn said, motioning to the chairs beside her. “You know I’m going to cry.”
Callum chuckled. “She’s been misty since they dimmed the lights.”
“It’s because I know what’s coming,” Brynn said with a shaky laugh. She turned and hugged Zoe tightly. “Thank you.”
Callum nodded, his hand resting on Brynn’s back. “You doing this for us… It means so much.”
Zoe smiled, her throat thick. “You guys built something beautiful. I just tried to capture it.”
Zoe’s eyes found John’s for a split second, something tender sparking there, before Parker tugged on Brynn’s dress and declared loudly, “It’s starting!”
Everyone began to settle. As Zoe and John found their spots next to the couple, the barn hushed in anticipation, the glow of the laptop warming the darkened wood ahead.
It was almost time.
The lights dimmed fully, and a hush fell over the barn. The only sound was the soft rustle of clothing and the occasional whisper as people settled into their seats. Then it was show time.
The first image filled the screen—two grinning boys, nearly indistinguishable from each other, standing knee-deep in Lake Michigan, their soaked T-shirts clinging to bony shoulders.
Callum and Connor.
A soft murmur of recognition rippled through the guests. Then came the next photo—Brynn, maybe eight, cross-legged in the library, a massive hardcover propped on her knees, her dog sprawled at her side like a sentry.
Laughter bubbled up as a photo of teenage Callum attempting to build a treehouse, with Connor giving a thumbs-up and Callum midway through falling off the ladder, flashed across the screen.
Zoe felt the emotion tighten in her chest. Every image was a stitch in the fabric of their history—sledding down the big hill near the school, class field trips, bonfires on the beach, Brynn at sixteen beaming in a homecoming dress with a corsage that clearly came from the grocery store floral section.
Then came the ones that hit harder, subtler.
Callum and Brynn, in their twenties, on opposite ends of the same table at a family barbecue.
A stolen glance between them captured unknowingly, framed by fairy lights strung in the trees.
A black-and-white photo from the winter market in front of the Rakes Farm barn, their breath fogging in the air as they sipped cider side by side.
John’s fingers slipped into Zoe’s, grounding her in the moment. She turned slightly, catching the shimmer of pride on his face.
The final few photos faded in, a more recent timeline. Brynn and Callum, Parker tucked between them, walking away from the camera, hand in hand. Then one last image—the two of them beneath the barn’s archway, a moment from earlier this summer. Unposed. Natural. At ease.
In love.
A gentle guitar melody played as the screen faded to black.
For a beat, the barn stayed hushed. Then the applause started—quiet at first, then louder, fuller. Parker clapped the hardest, his face lit with pure joy.
Callum cleared his throat and pulled Brynn close, whispering something in her ear that made her eyes shine even brighter.
Zoe let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.
“That was beautiful,” John murmured beside her.
“Thanks,” she whispered back. “It felt like telling their story.”
And somehow, while telling theirs, she realized she’d started to believe more deeply in her own.
As the lights brightened and conversation bubbled up around them, Brynn leaned over and murmured, “Walk with me?”
Zoe nodded, squeezing John’s hand before slipping away from the crowd and following her friend out a side door into the cooling evening air. The barn’s wooden siding still held the day’s warmth, but the breeze off the nearby orchard hinted that fall was here.
They stopped near the edge of the field, just beyond the glow of the string lights. Crickets chirped in the grass. For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Brynn turned, her eyes shining. “You made me cry. In front of everyone.”
Zoe laughed softly. “I’m pretty sure Callum beat you to it. I saw him swiping his eyes behind Connor’s shoulder.”
“I’d seen the slides, but with the music and Callum beside me…” She trailed off, emotion catching in her throat. “You didn’t just show our story, Zoe. You reminded me of who we were before we knew we were meant to be.”
Zoe swallowed hard. “I wanted it to feel like you. Both of you. All the messy, wonderful, simple, good pieces that built this love.”
Brynn’s expression softened. “You gave us a gift I didn’t even know I wanted. Thank you for that and for being such a good friend to me all these years.”
Zoe blinked fast. “Don’t make me cry. I can’t go back inside with raccoon eyes.”
They both laughed.
Then Brynn reached out, curling her fingers around Zoe’s hand. “I love you. You’ve always been the strongest person I know. It’s good to see you happy again.”
Zoe felt a lump rise in her throat, unexpected and sweet. “It feels like I’m finally where I was meant to be, doing what I was meant to do, surrounded by people I love.”
She didn’t want to question it. Didn’t want to second-guess. But for just a breath, she felt the old fear stir at how quickly everything could change when you started to believe it was safe to hope.
Brynn leaned her head against Zoe’s shoulder for a moment. “I’m just glad I get to be part of it.”
The barn had begun to hum again, laughter rising, kids darting between tables, music shifting into something slow and golden. But Zoe and John had slipped out the side door, hand in hand, into the quiet.
The sky overhead was dark now, scattered with stars, the faint scent of apples and sweet hay drifting in from the fields.
They wandered a few steps beyond the string-lit patio until the party sounds dulled to a low, contented murmur behind them.
Zoe tilted her face to the sky. “That slideshow wrecked me a little.”
John glanced over, a soft smile tugging at his mouth. “You were amazing. And that story you told with those pictures? It wasn’t just for them, you know.”
She looked at him, brows raised.
“It was about friendship,” he said, stepping closer. “About choosing each other again and again, even before you realize it’s love.”
The truth of it settled in Zoe’s chest, heavy and warm. “That’s what I wanted. I wanted people to feel what it means to know someone—really know them—and still be all in.”
Emotion caught in her throat. She pressed a hand against his chest, ground herself. “The thing about stories is,” she whispered, “the best ones don’t feel like endings or beginnings. They just keep unfolding.”
He leaned down, his kiss soft but certain, full of everything they hadn’t said yet but already knew.
Behind them, the barn pulsed with celebration. But here, in this quiet stretch of night, it was just them.
Two people finding their way, step by step, side by side.