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His laugh boomed. “What’s that, be a bunch of pussies?”
“Get along.”
“Exactly.” He opened his laptop and started typing. “I just want to know one thing.”
“I’m not telling you who ratted you out.”
He watched me for a beat. “At some point, I’m gonna find out.”
“Well, you let me know when you do. I’ll buy you a drink.”
Again, a chuckle, touched with respect. It was a strange feeling to be even distantly respected by someone you hated so much. A sweet sort of sour.
And I enjoyed the taste until I was three-point-five million dollars richer.
The pop of a champagne cork sounded in Jeremiah’s office.
I laughed as I watched him fumble with the bottle, helpless against the foaming fountain.
As he poured into scotch glasses—which I’d have preferred to be filled with actual scotch—he said, “Never did I think I’d see the day when the Pattons were run out of town.”
“Well, not all of them,” I said, taking the glass he offered me.
“To Frank,” he said with his glass in the air.
“To Frank,” I echoed, wishing he were here.
We took simultaneous sips and made identical faces.
He put his on his desk. “It seemed like the proper drink to celebrate, but I forgot just how much I hated it.”
“Oh, I remembered how bad it was.”
“Next time, speak up.” He took his seat, smiling. But something about the expression was sad. “I have one more thing for you to sign today.”
“What’s that?” I asked as he picked up a folder I hadn’t noticed on his desk.
“Have a look for yourself.”
When he handed it over, curiosity prickled up and down my spine. I opened it. Saw Olivia’s name. Stopped breathing.
The document went through some legalese I scanned, getting to the contract points.
The first of which granted me her fifty percent share.
I skimmed the rest, picking out a few other terms. But I couldn’t think past the first one.
The entire farm.
Mine.
I looked up at Jeremiah, who had that same sad smile on his face.
“She asked me to give you this too.”
I took the letter with shaking hands. Tore it open. Read it once fast, then again, slower. And with every word, a little piece of me fell apart.
Jake,
Please don’t say no.
I know you’re going to resist, but I’ve already relinquished my shares, and that’s the case whether you sign the contract or not. So I hope you’ll take the farm. It’s yours.
It was always yours.
I came here with all the best intentions, and I’m leaving having failed at so many of them. But in this one final act, I’m going to make that right and do what I should have done from the start. Give the farm to you.
How can I say I’m sorry when words aren’t enough? How can I explain how it feels to know that I broke the trust you give so sparingly? You were right—I came home like a bulldozer and changed everything. But I hope you know that I would never betray you. That everything I ever did was with the farm first, you second in my mind. Only I had it backward—it should have been you first, always.
Thank you for teaching me so much more than how to drive a tractor. You showed me what was important in my life and gave me what I was missing. You let me love you for a season, and that’s a gift that will carry me through the rest of my days.
I will miss this place more than you know.
I will miss you most of all.
I hope someday, you’ll forgive me. But in the meantime, please take care of the farm. Take care of Kit and Mack and Alice.
Take care of yourself.
All my love forever,
Olivia
I ran my thumb over the loops of her name with my heart nothing but glittering shards in my chest.
I should have been happy—it was what I thought I’d wanted, after all. But all I felt was deep, aching loss, coupled with an immediate rejection of her contract.
Because it wasn’t what I’d wanted after all. Not without her.
If she’d handed this paper to me a few months ago, I’d have signed without question. But not now. Because somehow, over the course of one summer, I’d come to rely on her. I’d shared every moment with her as we navigated our new, solitary lives without Frank. Every struggle, every success. She’d become the only person I could share the farm with, just like Frank had intended.
She couldn’t leave. I never wanted her to leave.
Long ago, I’d let her leave here without a fight, and then I blamed her for it. I’d pushed her away and locked the door behind her. And here we were again, history repeating itself. Except this time, it was me who’d caused the mess.
It was me who didn’t trust her. Not the other way around.
It wasn’t her leaving me—I’d all but sent her away, fulfilling my prophecy, sabotaging myself, my happiness.
