Chapter 23 Reed
Reed
Eliza’s rain check text flashes on my phone screen, worry nagging at me. Family emergency could mean anything, but combined with her frantic messages yesterday, my gut tells me something’s wrong.
I should respect her boundaries, give her space to handle whatever’s happening. That’s what a mature, emotionally intelligent boyfriend would do.
But I also sort of bailed after asking her to dinner, and we had a barn-chat about both of us needing therapy for our emotional wounds, so I pull into her driveway with two thermoses of cocoa and a growing certainty she needs backup.
Through Eliza’s front window, I can see two figures having an intense conversation. When I knock, Eliza opens the door, looking harried and trapped.
“Reed? I told you—”
“Who’s this handsome young man?” interrupts a voice from behind her.
The woman who appears is clearly related to Eliza—same stature, similar facial features—but everything else is different. Where Eliza is practical and authentic, this woman is coiffed and artificial, an avatar of what a successful person should look like.
“Reed Nicholas,” I say, extending my hand. “You must be Eliza’s mother.”
“Emma Storm.” Her grip is firm, assessing. “And yes, I’m Eliza’s mother, though she’s been keeping you quite the secret.” Her smile sharpens. “She said your father is Charles Nicholas?”
“Reed’s not—” Eliza starts, but Emma steamrolls right over her.
“I was just telling Eliza about an incredible business opportunity, and this is perfect timing. Would you like to hear about Diamond Elite Wellness Journey?”
I glance at Eliza, who’s gone pale and looks like she wants to disappear into the floorboards. There’s something familiar about her expression—the same trapped, diminished look I get when my father starts one of his lectures about my life choices.
“I’d be happy to listen,” I say carefully, not wanting anything to do with a woman who immediately associates me with my father.
Emma’s face lights up. “Wonderful! Let me get my materials.”
She bustles toward the coffee table, which is covered in glossy brochures and product samples. Eliza catches my arm.
“You don’t have to…”
“It’s fine,” I murmur. “I’ve got this.” Eliza’s eyes are wet, like she’s near tears, and I squeeze her arm, trying to convey that I’m here for her, that I’m on to her mother’s act. Only when I smile and tug her hand does she agree to join me on the sofa.
For the next ten minutes, Emma delivers what I recognize as a scripted presentation about supplements, financial freedom, and “being your own boss.” She uses terms like “ground floor opportunity” and “exponential growth potential” while showing me income charts that would make any scientist cringe.
I take frantic mental notes on what not to do in my pitch in a few days, though something tells me I could appear more genuine than this without much effort.
“So,” Emma concludes with a dazzling smile, “are you ready to join the Diamond Elite family?”
“It sounds interesting,” I say diplomatically. “But I’d need to see some additional information first.”
“Of course! What would you like to know?”
“Could you provide documentation of the company’s compensation structure? Specifically, what percentage of distributors achieve the income levels shown in these charts?”
Emma’s smile falters. “Well, individual results vary, but the potential is unlimited for people willing to work hard.”
“I understand, but I need actual data. Success rates, average earnings, that sort of thing.” I keep my tone pleasant but persistent, thinking of the specific data points I’m being asked to present on Friday.
“I actually have a PhD in biochemistry, so I’m curious about the scientific evidence supporting your product claims as well. ”
“Evidence?” Emma looks like I’ve asked her to perform surgery.
“Yes. Clinical trials, peer-reviewed studies, FDA approvals… The usual documentation for health products.”
Eliza is staring at me with amazement, and I realize this might be the first time anyone has pushed against her mother’s whims.
“I… I’d have to get back to you on the specifics,” Emma says, her confidence shaken.
“Take your time.” I smile. “I never make business decisions without thorough research.”
Emma forces a laugh. “You sound just like your father in his speeches.”
The comment hits its intended mark, but not in the way she expects. Instead of feeling insulted, I feel a surge of protectiveness for Eliza, who’s been dealing with this manipulation her entire life.
“Actually, my father and I disagree on most things,” I say. “Including what constitutes sound business practices.”
Emma stares at me for a moment, recalibrating. “Well. I should make some phone calls about those… documents you requested.” She gathers her materials with slightly less confidence. “Excuse me.”
She disappears upstairs, leaving Eliza and me alone in the suddenly quiet living room.
“Jesus,” Eliza breathes. “That was…”
“Familiar?”
She nods, sinking onto the couch. “She’s been here since this morning, taking over everything.”
I sit beside her, noting the tension in her shoulders. “You looked the way I feel when my father talks.”
“Helpless?”
“Smaller than I actually am.”
Eliza meets my eyes. “Yeah. Exactly that.”
I reach for her hands, which are cold despite the warm house. “We’re both bigger than our parents, you know. We don’t have to shrink just because they expect us to.”
“Easy to say. Harder to remember when they’re right there, pushing all the buttons they installed.”
“Then we remind each other.” I squeeze her hands. “That’s what partners do, right?”
Something in her expression shifts, softens. “Partners?”
“Yeah, remember? Working toward love… everything we said the other night?” I glance up the stairs and, seeing nobody, squeeze Eliza’s thigh. “I know this is all new and complicated, but…” I take a breath. “I want to be on your team, Eliza. Whatever that looks like.”
Before she can respond, I remember the thermoses I left by the door. “I brought apology cocoa. As promised.”
Her smile is the first genuine one I’ve seen since I arrived. “You did?”
I retrieve the thermoses and hand her one, watching as she takes a careful sip. A small dot of whipped cream clings to her upper lip, and I brush it away with my thumb.
“Better?” I ask.
“Much better.”
I lean in to kiss her, soft and brief, tasting chocolate and relief on her lips.
“I don’t see any mistletoe,” she says when we part.
“Don’t need it.”
She grins, and for a moment we’re just us again—not the children of difficult parents, not business owners facing uncertain futures, just two people who’ve found something good together.
“I have news,” I say. “Good news, I think.”
“Please tell me it involves your trees and not my mother.”
“Definitely trees. I got an email from an investor who wants to meet at the Yule Gala. It’s not guaranteed, but it’s hope.”
“That’s amazing.”
“It is… but it’s also terrifying.” I run a hand through my hair. “This is my last shot. If it doesn’t work out…”
“Then you figure out plan C.”
“We’re probably up to plan F at this point.”
Eliza looks at me seriously, then seems to make some kind of decision. “You could set up shop here.”
“What?”
“I’ve got that old shed, plus a couple of other buildings. You could convert one into a greenhouse, grow your trees alongside my goats.” The words come out in a rush, like she’s afraid she’ll lose courage if she slows down. “It wouldn’t be fancy, but it would be spacious.”
I stare at her, stunned by the generosity of the offer. “Eliza…”
“I’m serious. You and your tiny trees would be welcome here.”
The image forms in my mind—my hydroponic setup on her land, surrounded by the chaos of her animals and the warmth of her presence. It’s so far from what I originally envisioned for my business, and yet somehow, perfect anyway.
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” I say, but I’m smiling.
“But if it does…” She shrugs. “You’ve got options.”
“We’d be arguing with each other a lot if that happens.” I run a finger along the seam of her jeans.
Eliza tilts her head and raises a brow. “And some other things, too.” She leans toward me, and I feel my blood surge in my veins.
A soft bleating from outside draws our attention to the window, where Maleficent is pressed against the glass, watching us with unblinking goat eyes.
“She’s judging us,” Eliza says.
“Your animals have very strong opinions.”
“Well, Chiron likes you, which means you pass the test.”
“What about you? Do I pass your test?”
Eliza looks at me for a long moment, taking in my rumpled clothes and anxious expression and the fact that I showed up here despite her rain check.
“You pass,” she says. “A plus.”
From upstairs comes the sound of Emma’s voice, sharp and demanding as she talks to someone on the phone. Eliza’s expression tightens again.
“We’re going to get through this,” I tell her. “Both of our family situations. We’ll support each other.”
“Promise?”
“Promise. You’ll be at my side for the gala; I’ll help you handle your mother. We’re a team.”
“A team,” she repeats, testing the word.
“Partners.”
“I like that better than what my mother’s trying to turn us into.”
Outside, Maleficent has been joined by two other goats, all of them staring through the window watching us like we’re an interesting TV show. One of them actually seems to have mistletoe clinging to its horns.
“Our audience is growing,” I observe.
“They probably want dinner. Or they’re planning something. Not sure how they got out of the barn, to be honest.”
I stand and offer her my hand. “Come on. Let’s herd your goats and pretend your mother isn’t upstairs plotting to turn me into a before photo.”
Eliza takes my hand, letting me pull her to her feet. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For not running when you met her. For not taking her bullshit. For reminding me I’m bigger than I feel right now.”
“Thank you for offering me sanctuary if I need it.”
“Always,” she says, and I choose to believe she means it.