Chapter 29 #2
“I can. It’s mine,” she insists, her features firming in an all-business expression I’ve never seen on her. “That money is there to help me live a better life. Well, helping to save your farm will make my life better.”
I stare at her and then I shake my head again because she can’t be serious.
This is crazy.
“This i-is too much. It’s too big. Isn’t this exactly what your parents were worried about?” I’m still shaking my head. Violently. “Someone taking advantage of you?”
Hattie scowls. “You’re not taking advantage of me, Beck. This is what I want.”
The way she says my name? She sounds serious, but—no. Just no.
“Since when? You met me two months ago.” My heart gives another squeeze because is that all it’s been?
Two months? It feels like Hattie has been my soul’s forwarding address since the dawn of time.
“What if two months from now, you regret it? And you’ve sunk a quarter million dollars into—into this?
” I wave a hand out across the horizon toward all our fields and farm buildings.
I expect Hattie to take it all in—to consider how big of a decision this is at least for a second—but she doesn’t even break eye contact with me. Instead, a smile stretches across her face.
She ticks off on her fingers.
“A) I won’t regret it. It’s a good investment. I will profit long term. And B) I know we’re new, and this may not last. Even if we don’t, I’ll still feel good about making a difference for you and your family.” She gives a little shrug. “And I will still make a profit.”
She doesn’t know that. Hell, I don’t even know that.
“What if my plans fail and you lose everything?”
“I won’t lose everything.” She mimics me and then wrinkles her nose as though my assertion is simply ridiculous. “I have a lot more than that investment.”
I blow out a frustrated breath. “Hattie, I get that your family has wealth, but that—”
Hattie scoffs and slaps on a bless-your-heart kind of smile.
“I’m not talking about money. I mean I have talent and creativity and plans of my own.
Buying into your farm doesn’t change any of those.
” Then she shrugs and that smile turns shy right before my eyes.
“But it does secure something I want. Because I want you and your family to keep this place. And I know there are no guarantees, but I hope I get to be part of that family one day. And when the time is right—if we decide that it’s right—I want to live here and, one day, I want our kids to live here.
And I like the idea of owning this place with you and your dad and your brother and his husband… I like the idea of belonging here.”
Her words knock me right in the chest.
All of it.
I want all of it.
But what she’s offering? The sheer amount of what she’s offering?
I can’t accept it. I don’t care what she says. I’d be taking advantage of her.
“I can’t let you do this.” I shake my head again. “It would feel like I was using you.” Who would I be if I did that? I wouldn’t need to worry about her family hating me because I’d be too busy hating myself.
“Using me?! HA!” She’s back to yelling in my face again, and this time she almost looks angry.
“Let’s get one thing straight. I’m the investment mastermind here, Farm Boy.
This is venture capitalism. I’m using this—” she points to the ground, indicating the earth my family has worked for generations.
“I’m going to make bank off your sweet potato vodka. Just you wait!”
My mouth twitches.
Because she wants to convince me she’s the one benefitting here.
And because she so clearly believes what she’s saying.
She so firmly believes in me.
And, I must admit, that doesn’t suck.
I lift a hand and let it hover between us, giving myself just a second to drink in this feeling. Of her faith in me. Of her wish to partner with me.
And then I let my hand drop to her knee and pat it. “Look, I appreciate what you’re trying to do. I mean it. I don’t think I’ve ever felt more loved. But I can’t do it. I can’t accept. I’d never forgive myself if you grew to regret it.”
She blinks at me, and I think maybe I’ve finally gotten through.
But then her eyes narrow to slits and her voice comes out steely.
“Beck Olivier… you think I don’t know what I’m doing.”
I open my mouth to object—or at least explain, but she cuts me off.
“You have never—not once—underestimated me. It was the very first thing that attracted me to you. You—unlike everyone else—never treated me like someone incapable of making my own decisions. You’ve never doubted what I’m capable of.
” Her nostrils flare and her jaw notches to the side, and it’s only in this instant that I realize how badly I just fucked up.
“I resent the way my family underestimates me. But this? From you?” She shakes her head and swallows hard.
“I’m disappointed. And I just learned that disappointment is way worse than resentment. ”
And then—before I can ask for a do-over, take back my words, or try to explain—Hattie shoots to her feet, hitches her overnight bag onto her shoulder, and, to my surprise, heads for my front door instead of her Jeep.
“Hattie, wait—”
“We’re not talking anymore tonight. I’m going upstairs.”
The screen door creaks and then slams behind her, leaving me out here in the dark.
Fuck.
FUCK!
I stand up, aiming to go after her when the screen door creaks and slams again.
Pop, leaning against this walker, glares down at me.
“Beckett Jeansonne Olivier, I know I raised you to have more sense than that,” he grumbles.
Irritation gnaws like termites. “Oh? You were listening?”
Pop scoffs. “Couldn’t help but hear.”
Of course he couldn’t. Even if it weren’t Hattie. Conversations on the front porch have never been exactly private.
But it was Hattie, so he probably heard every word without trying.
“So, you heard what she wanted to do?”
This time, Pop chuckles. “Kid, I heard what she wants to do this morning about twenty minutes after you left. She told me what she was thinking, what capital she had to put up, what she speculated our profit margins are—when we make a profit—what she predicted they would be when you start producing sweet potato vodka for real.” He shakes his head, that grin of his more than a little impressed.
“We talked for hours, and then we got on the phone with your brother and Kennedy and talked some more.”
“You did what?! And nobody thought to loop me in?”
I’m punch drunk.
So, while I was crashing and burning in my last-ditch approach to Uncle Paul, the rest of my family was conspiring?
“Don’t look like that,” Pop growls, brows bunching. “You know how you’ve been about this. Pig-headed. Refusing help from all sides. Acting like this is all on you to sort out. Ready to toss your future and your plans onto the funeral pyre. Being a goddamn idiot.”
I throw out my hands because this is all on me. “This is my responsibility because I’m the only one who wants to farm. I can’t expect everyone else to risk their security just to make me happy, Pop.” My chest burns as my voice climbs.
“Do you actually hear yourself?” Even though he’s lit only by the soft glow coming through the windows, I can see the way Pop shakes, and I don’t think it’s just from the Parkinson’s.
He’s pissed. Really pissed. “I want to farm. I just can’t.
But the next best thing to me farming is you farming, you horse’s ass!
And so what if Griffin isn’t a farmer? That doesn’t mean he wants to let go of this place.
This is his home too. His heritage. Do you know that he and Kennedy are looking at egg donors and surrogates?
Between the two of you, there’s bound to be a next generation of Oliviers.
Are you ready to explain to them why you sold out their futures? ”
It’s like I’ve taken a punch to the throat. My mouth opens but no sound comes out.
Grif and Kennedy are having kids?
It’s not that they ever claimed they didn’t want them. But I’ve only heard them talk about kids in an abstract future way.
But looking for donors and surrogates?
Shit. I could be an uncle in less than a year.
And if I’m the one who let’s go of this place—
“But let’s put every Olivier—past and future—to the side for a minute.” Pop turns and points at the house. “What did you just do to that girl you claim to love, jackass?”
“Hey—that’s enough.” How dare he question what I feel for Hattie? Finding her is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
Still, his words scare me shitless. Because if he could doubt how I love her, then what’s she thinking?
“Enough? Nah, son. I don’t think so. She just offered you the world, and you acted like she was a kid playing make believe.”
My guts cringe like they’ve taken a blade. “I did not—”
“She just offered to put up her security money to tie her future with yours. To become part of this family’s legacy. To build something with you to last a lifetime, and you wouldn’t even hear her out, son.” Pop stares at me like he just can’t believe how dumb I am.
And as his words sink in—about just how quickly I shut Hattie down—he’s not the only one questioning my intelligence.
My father shakes his head in disgust. “She couldn’t have offered you more of herself if she’d gotten down on one knee and produced a ring.” He scowls at me. “And you weren’t even willing to discuss it.”
Oh fuck.
He’s right.
My throat spasms.
My blood runs cold.
Because if she had gotten down on one knee, I would’ve said yes.
In a fucking heartbeat.
Zero hesitation.
“Shit—” I break into a run.
The screen door slamming behind me cracks like a rifle. I pound up the stairs like my shoes are on fire.
But when I reach it, my bedroom door is open, the room empty. I wheel around thinking she’s retreated to the bathroom, but that door stands open too. That’s when I see it. The door to the spare room—Grif’s old room across the hall—is closed.