Chapter 30 Rowan
Rowan
CARRY ON MY WAYWARD SON BY KANSAS
Christmas time, two months later…
Snow falls in slow, lazy spirals, drifting through the air like feathers. The Bennett Tree Farm looks like something straight out of a postcard with rows of Christmas trees dusted in white, wreaths on every fence post, the smell of wood smoke curling through the cold.
It’s the kind of perfect snowy day that makes people believe in magic.
And for the first time in a long time, I’m not sprinting between yoga classes and inventory spreadsheets and working in my shop.
Thankfully Marilyn, Vanessa, and Jessica have laid off of me and I haven’t heard from them. I do my thing, and I guess they’re doing theirs. I don’t really know because I’m too busy with my own world to pay attention to what anyone else is doing.
My life… feels steadier now.
The shop is thriving and the holiday rush hit early this year, and thanks to my new herbal apprentice, Grace, the shelves actually stay stocked. The customers keep coming, curious and loyal, filling the place with chatter and warm air and the smell of tea and cinnamon.
The yoga studio is gentler these days. I’m not teaching every class anymore.
Leslie, one of my long-time students, stepped in to run the early-morning sessions, and she’s somehow even more Zen than I am.
I still teach my candlelit evening class and now that I’m pregnant, my new “Mama Flow” class once a week.
It’s small, cozy, supportive. A circle of women who move slowly, breathe deeply, and whisper little hopes into the universe.
I’ve never felt so much support.
But standing here, surrounded by snow and trees and the sound of Junie giggling somewhere behind us, I can admit… maybe I do glow a little.
Or maybe it’s just happiness.
Maybe this is what it feels like to build a life that isn’t held together by fear and survival, but by love, help, and actual breathing room.
I rest a hand on my belly without thinking, the tiny flutter inside reminding me that everything in my world is shifting—my business, my body, my future—and somehow, I finally feel ready for it.
Finn’s hand is warm against the small of my back as we walk between the trees. He keeps close, like he’s afraid I might slip on the snow, even though I’ve told him three times now that I’m fine.
“You’re walking in boots that have less traction than a baby deer,” he says, tightening his arm around me, anyway.
“I’m pregnant, not fragile,” I mutter, even though I secretly love it when he gets all protective over me and our baby.
He grins. “You’re both.”
I bump him with my hip. “Keep it up, and when this baby comes, you’ll be on diaper duty for the next decade.”
His laugh fogs the cold air. “Deal.”
The farm feels even busier this year. Still full of families bundled in scarves, kids tugging sleds, Ivy and Junie handing out cocoa from the farm stand near the barn, but underneath it all, there’s a softness. A missing heartbeat.
Pete’s not here, and when I'm reminded of that. It still hits me with a punch to the heart.
He passed in early October, just as the leaves turned.
Peacefully in his bed, Donna said. And reminded up until the last day how much he meant to each and every one of us, Remy said.
But I still feel him every time I walk into Donna's house and at every family function we've had ever since.
Our missing heartbeat. I still half expect to hear him say, “Hey, sweetheart,” when I walk through the door.
And when he doesn't, my heart feels so sad.
Finn squeezes my hand gently, like he can feel where my mind’s gone.
“Hey,” he murmurs. “What are you thinking about?”
I nod, but my throat feels tight. “Just thinking about him.”
Finn looks out over the rows of trees. “He’d tell us to stop moping and pick the damn tree already.”
I laugh softly. “That sounds about right. And he'd call you a lunatic for wanting to put a tree in every room of the new house.”
“Hey. I can't help it that I'm excited for Christmas.” He grins. And he is excited. Finn is over-the-top with holidays. He wants to go big on every decoration, dinner, and tradition. And I love it. Life with Finn is never boring and always full.
We finally find the most beautiful tree. A tall, full pine with just the right mix of wild symmetry and the perfect evergreen smell.
Finn circles it, inspecting it like he’s choosing lumber for the perfect project. “You sure this one’s not too big?”
I tilt my head. “You can handle it, big guy.”
He smirks. “You're saying that because you know I’ll try to prove you right?”
“Obviously.”
He shakes his head, laughing, and hoists the saw from his shoulder. Junie runs over from where she’s been helping Tate and Remy tag trees, her cheeks red from the cold.
“Uncle Finn, can I help?” she asks.
“Absolutely,” he says. “You’re my number-one helper.”
She beams and together they cut the tree down, both of them cheering when it tips over into the snow.
I watch from the sidelines, heart full. Finn scoops Junie up and spins her around, her laughter echoing through the cold air.
For a moment, the grief softens. The world feels whole again.
By the time we haul the tree back to the truck, the sky’s gone that soft pink-gray that means more snow’s coming.
Ivy waves from the cocoa stand, calling, “You picked a good one! I can't wait to see it later!”
“Thanks!” I call back. “I've got the soups in the slow cookers and everything will be ready.”
Finn loads the tree with his usual efficiency, brushing snow off his jacket.
“I can't wait to get home and decorate our first tree.”
He grins, a little proud, a little nervous. “And our first dinner party in the house.”
I look up at him, at the red in his cheeks, the snow in his hair. “It’s perfect, Finn.”
He leans down and kisses me, soft and slow, right there in the cold.
“Yeah,” he says quietly against my lips. “It really is.”
By six o’clock, the house is glowing with a new Christmas candle lit, the fireplace crackling, the smell of comfort food filling the cozy kitchen.
Our kitchen table looks ridiculous in the best way. Everyone brought a themed board.
Remy and Ivy made a “Pizza Board,” complete with mini calzones and garlic knots shaped like snowflakes.
Willa and Tate showed up with a “Fondue Board,” which is really just melted cheese and a borderline sinful number of different types of bread.
Donna, Mom, and Junie made a “Dessert Board” that looks like Willy Wonka and Santa had a sugar-fueled fever dream.
Finn and I made a fruit, nuts, and cheese “charcuterie board,” but it’s really Finn showing off his woodworking because he built the board out of walnut and branded Bennett into the corner.
The rest of them don't know it yet, but he made them all one too, customized for them and wrapped under our new tree and ready for them to open.
This was such a hit, we might do board nights more often.
Everyone’s laughing and talking over each other.
The fire pops. There’s music playing, Donna’s holiday playlist, the same she made for the party.
She's struggled a lot the past few weeks, but she is keeping busy.
We all know that we got much more time with Pete than we thought we'd have and for that we're grateful.
Junie’s sitting cross-legged on the rug with Lola, sneaking her bites of cheese. Allen is perched on the back of the couch, glaring at everyone, but secretly, he likes the company, I can tell.
I can feel Pete here. In every laugh, every spark of warmth. He’s in this family still, tucked between all the love he helped grow.
Finn sits beside me on the couch, his arm draped over the back, thumb rubbing slow circles on my shoulder. He’s been doing that a lot lately—little touches, quiet reassurances. Protective and reassuring, and sometimes I think just for him.
I’m showing now. Not a lot, but enough that my sweater doesn’t hide it anymore. Every so often, I catch him looking at my belly like it’s the most sacred thing on Earth.
I rest my hand over his and whisper, “Stop staring at me like that, weirdo.”
He smirks. “Can’t. That’s my kid in there.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Yeah,” he says, kissing my temple, “and completely in love with you.”
I look around at the people we love—our family, our friends, our town—and feel something settle deep in my chest.
This is it. The life we built, the one we fought for.
When dinner slows down and everyone’s on their second round of hot cocoa, Finn stands and clears his throat.
“Alright, listen up,” he says. “We have an announcement.”
Donna gasps dramatically. “You’re eloping!”
“No,” I say with a laugh. “Although that would be less stressful than dealing with planning a future wedding.”
“Hey,” Tate says, “speak for yourself. I’m officiating when you do it, whether you want me to or not.”
Finn squeezes my hand and looks down at me, eyes soft. “You wanna tell them?”
I nod, heart racing a little.
“It’s a boy,” I say.
The room explodes. Cheers, squeals, laughter.
Donna bursts into tears immediately and covers her mouth. Mom hugs Ivy, who’s already crying into Remy’s shirt. Willa throws an arm around Tate and yells, “Another Bennett boy, look out world!”
Junie jumps up and down. “I called it! I said it was a boy!”
I laugh through the noise, wiping tears from my eyes. “You did, Junie.”
Finn raises his voice over the chaos. “We’ve officially picked his name.”
He nods, his voice softening. “His name will be Peter. But we’ll call him Chip. It’s what Pete wanted.”
The room goes quiet. Donna covers her mouth. Mom’s eyes well with tears.
Remy blinks hard, then nods slowly. “Chip,” he says quietly. “That’s perfect.”
Willa sniffles. “I love that so much.”
Junie runs over and wraps her arms around Finn’s legs. “Chip’s a good name. Like a cookie. Or a superhero.”
Finn laughs, his voice catching just a little. “Yeah. Exactly like that.”
Donna steps forward, tears streaking her cheeks. “He’d be so proud of you two.”
Finn nods, pulling her into a hug. “We hope so.”
“He is,” she says firmly, pressing her hand to her heart. “I can feel it.”
After dinner, we all gather around by the tree Finn cut earlier today for pictures.
Finn wraps his arms around me from behind, his hands resting on my belly. The lights twinkle across the branches, soft and golden.
Willa’s setting up her phone on a tripod, trying to get everyone in the shot. “Okay, smile! No one blink! Finn, stop whispering in her ear, you’re making her blush!”
“I’m not doing anything,” he says, voice full of mischief.
“Liar,” I mutter, elbowing him.
He laughs, kissing my cheek just as the flash goes off.
Junie’s giggling. Tate's holding Lola like a baby. Remy’s pretending to look annoyed while secretly smiling.
The picture ends up perfect, a little crooked, but completely real life.
Later, after everyone’s gone home and the snow’s still falling, Finn and I sit on the couch in front of the fire. The house smells like pine and cinnamon. The tree glows in the corner, bright and beautiful. I can't stop looking at it as I rub my belly.
He stretches his arm along the back of the couch, pulling me against him. “So, Mrs. Almost Bennett,” he says, voice low. “How do you feel about our first Christmas in this house?”
I tilt my head toward him. “Happy and hopeful.”
He smiles softly. “Yeah. Me too.”
The fire crackles. Outside, the world is quiet and white.
I look down at our joined hands over my belly. “He’s gonna know love, Finn. So much of it.”
Finn presses a kiss to my forehead. “He already does.”
We sit there for a long time, just listening to the crackle of the fireplace, the faint whirl of the furnace, the heartbeat of a house finally alive.
I think about everything it took to get here. The heartbreak, fear, and rebuilding.
The girl who once doubted she was meant for love now has a home, a partner, a baby on the way, and a family who refuses to let her fall. And the man who believed in it all before any of it ever even existed. Or maybe it did exist and he just felt it before I did. Either, way, I'm so grateful.
Hope feels different now. It carries more weight and it makes me feel full.
Finn’s fingers brush the back of my neck. “What are you thinking about?”
I smile, leaning into him. “Just… how lucky I am.”
He laughs softly. “Pretty sure I’m the lucky one.”
“Wrong,” I whisper. “It’s me.”
He kisses me, slow and sweet, like he’s sealing a promise.