Chapter Thirty
Taylor
I was a little nervous about riding in a helicopter, but the flight is like a dream.
As the town gives way to forest and fields, my nerves fall away with them, replaced with the high of anticipation and wonder that I felt as a young girl when I dreamed about traveling.
A hint of discomfort creeps in as I’m reminded of my mother, but this isn’t about her, and I’m not going to let her ruin this magical moment.
I gaze out the window at the Hudson River snaking gracefully through the land.
Then it’s all mountain peaks, dotted with pockets of farmland, rolling hills, and countryside.
The views are stunning, but none of them compare to Seth.
He’s a sight to behold, supremely focused, hands steady on the controls, headset snug on his ears.
The sun catches his profile, and my heart squeezes.
He looks so natural, my commander in the sky.
How can one man be so in control and at ease in everything he does? Above- or belowground?
That’s when it hits me. He made all his childhood dreams come true, mastered everything he could, built an empire, and still managed to stay true to himself and loyal to his family.
The helicopter banks in a turn, following a narrow valley where the trees shimmer in the afternoon light.
A meadow appears, and we begin our descent, whipping the tall grasses and dried wildflowers into motion, sunlight scattering through the blades.
I hold on, expecting a jolt, but he lands with a small bump, the helicopter settling on the ground.
Seth powers down the helicopter, and as the thunderous rhythm of the blades fades, we take off our headphones. He turns to me, the corners of his mouth lifting, and he reaches for my hand. “How’d you like your first helicopter ride?”
“It was incredible. You’re incredible. I can’t believe you can fly this thing.”
“Want to take lessons?” he asks coaxingly.
“Yes, but no. I’m perfectly happy being your passenger.”
“I’m happy to be at your service.” He leans in for a kiss. Then he reaches into the back of the helicopter and holds up a leather backpack. “Can’t leave my flight bag. Wouldn’t want anyone to steal my bird.”
“Afraid the field mice might take off with it?”
“You never know,” he says, and climbs out.
As he comes around to help me out, I pinch myself to make sure this isn’t a dream.
He opens the door and reaches for my hand. “Come on, beautiful. I want to show you where hope hides.”
Where hope hides? My heart squeezes. “Okay, Mr. Mysterious,” I say as I climb out.
The air is cooler here, crisper. The grass brushes our legs as he guides me away from the helicopter. His hand finds mine, a gentle anchor for my racing heart. We make our way up a slight incline, and as we near the top, I catch fragments of lights through a band of pine trees.
When we crest the hill, sunlight catches on a small cluster of trees on a hillside.
Beneath their crooked, bare branches, colors flicker and dance in the light.
My knees buckle, and the breath rushes from my lungs.
It can’t be. It’s exactly as I envisioned it.
I blink rapidly, overcome with emotion, and then I hear the faint sound of glass against glass, like a thousand tiny wind chimes singing in the wind, and my throat thickens.
“You found it” comes out full of awe and disbelief. “It’s real.”
Seth’s fingers tighten around mine. “The way you’ve kept it alive, I knew it had to be.”
I look at him then, this incredible man who heard my story once and set out to find the impossible. “How did you find it? I’ve searched for it, and I’ve never found anything online about it.”
“I hired a private detective. Reggie Steele, one of Sutton’s relatives.”
“A detective?” I laugh, but my heart is overflowing for him. “You hired a detective to find an orchard that may or may not have existed?”
“Yes, but only after I tried to find it myself and came up empty.”
“You really are crazy!” I throw my arms around him. IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou! “I can’t believe you found it. Unless…” I step back, eyeing him skeptically. “You didn’t create this for me, did you?”
“No.” His lips quirk. “But I might’ve considered it when I couldn’t find it.” He hooks an arm around my shoulder, pulling me closer. “Let’s go see it.”
“I can’t believe you found it,” I say as we cross the field.
“Turns out this is private land. It was owned by the couple who told you that story.”
“Was? Did they pass away?”
“Carl, the man you met, has passed, but his wife, Margaret, is still alive. She lives in an elder-care facility in Connecticut, and her daughter will eventually inherit the property. I went to see Margaret a couple of weeks ago. She’s a doll.
She said they told a few people each year about the orchard.
Their hope was that they’d seed enough curiosity that those people would never stop hoping and dreaming and looking for the magic that’s all around them. She remembered you, El.”
“She did?”
“Yeah. She called you the brave little girl from the campsite who didn’t want to be bothered with an old couple but put up with them anyway.”
“Oh no. They could tell? That’s horrible.” The sounds of the glass baubles grows louder as we near the orchard.
“She said it was typical for a girl your age. She said you were tough at first but so curious you couldn’t stop yourself from asking if wishes ever really came true.”
“I can’t believe she remembered that.”
“Mm-hm.” He holds me tighter as we come to the trees and says, “And I thought you should know they do.”
“Seth” comes out shaky. “Nobody has ever tried to make my wishes come true before, and here you gave me something I didn’t even know I was wishing for. Thank you.” I go up on my toes, and he meets me halfway in a tender kiss.
The orchard is even more magnificent up close, every bauble unique.
Some are perfectly round ornaments. Others are oddly shaped, hand-blown glass that catch the light like jewels.
The colors themselves feel like magic, shimmering in blues, ambers, greens, and golds.
Sunlight filters through them as they sway in the breeze, casting ribbons of color across the ground, and just as the couple had said, there are handwritten notes on every one of them.
“Is it me, or does the air feel different? Like the orchard radiates hope?” The thought takes me by surprise, but it feels as real as the ground we’re standing on.
“It’s not only you. I feel it, too,” he says, running his hand along my back.
“There are so many messages.” I start to read them. A promise of love, a hope for a better life, and a message from a grief-stricken widow, all bravely inked onto glass. “I shouldn’t read these. They’re too private.”
I turn to Seth and find him taking pictures of me. My cheeks heat. “You caught me eavesdropping on people’s lives.”
“No, sweetheart. I caught you living your own.” He shrugs off the backpack and unzips it. “I brought you something.”
He withdraws a pink glass bottle. “I thought you might want to leave your own message.”
“A bottle?”
He pulls a notepad and a pen out of the backpack and waves them. “Ink wears off glass. You’ve had enough disappear from your life. A message left inside the glass will last forever.”
My insides tremble. He has no idea what he’s given me.
How this simple gesture feels like a hand closing around all my broken pieces.
My chest aches with everything I want to say, but all I can do is stand there, because anything I say will fall short.
What do you say to the man who sees more of you than anyone else ever has?
“I love that idea,” I finally manage. “Will you write a message, too? We can both put them in the bottle.”
He gives me a boyish grin and reaches into his leather jacket, pulling out a tiny scroll tied with a pink ribbon. “I already did.”
I cover my mouth to stifle a laugh.
“You think that’s funny, Nunnally?”
“I think it’s adorable. You’re always so prepared.”
“It’s a good thing. It took me three days to decide what to write.”
I love that more than anything. “What did you write?”
“I can’t tell you that,” he says with a serious expression. “Rumor has it, if you tell your wishes, they won’t come true.” He hands me the notebook and pen. “Take your time.”
“Do I get three days?”
“Sweetheart, you get all the time you want.”
“Well, Mr. Braden, I don’t think I need that much time.” I sit down and barely have to think as the words flow onto the page directly from my heart.
To the little girl who stopped believing in wishes, it turns out even the ones you swore you’d never make can come true.
To the man who cared enough to help me believe again, you don’t know it yet, but you’re the answer to the wish I swore I’d never make. The one about finding someone who’d see me with all my faults and insecurities and love me enough to stay.
To the woman I’m becoming, be brave enough to hope and dream and do all the hard things, even when they’re scary.
And to Margaret and Carl, thank you for giving me something to hold on to.
I roll up the piece of paper, and Seth ties a pink ribbon around it before putting both of our notes into the bottle.
He pulls a black bottle top from the backpack and screws it firmly into place.
Then he withdraws a coil of thin climbing cord—the kind he trusts with real weight—and winds it around the neck of the bottle, knotting and tucking with the same care he used to rig our climb.
When he finishes, he tests it with a tug. “It’s not going anywhere,” he says with a hint of pride. “You could hang off this thing.”
I smile. “Let’s not test that theory.”
He ties the rope to a branch, the pink glass catching the light as he steps back. “There you go. Secure as a promise.”
He slides an arm around me as a breeze drifts up the hill, and our bottle sways, joining the baubles in their glass symphony, making it feel like a promise, too.