Page 56 of Dumped for a Christmas Tree Farmer

“You’re so brave, sweetheart. So damn brave.”

Her nose pushes into my neck. “I don’t feel brave. I was so tense just trying to hold in my shaking. I’m so angry at him. And Holly. She was my best friend, and when she found this out, she said nothing. She just ghosted me and acted as if I’d done something terrible. I felt so betrayed, and then Mom’s health deteriorated so fast, and then when she died, I thought she’d pull through for me. But nothing. And no help from him either? I think I remember him sending flowers, but the business was not doing well. I was trying to keep everything together. The only person who was helping me was Henry, and Henry’s mom when she was the head chef before Scott moved here . . .” She pauses for a moment, her eyes widening before she grabs my hand and pulls me back into the B&B.

“What is it?”

She scrambles behind the front desk, shoulder to shoulder with a confused-looking Henry. She pulls out the laptop, opening files before heading back to ten years ago. An old spreadsheet shows her accounts. It's basic, and you can see how far Indy has come, given that I saw her current bookkeeping system. It's clean, tidy, and a lot of things are automated. I wonder if she even realizes how much she’s achieved and learned whilst working here. Mr. Honeyford is right about one thing: Indy’s mom would be so proud of her.

“Oh my God. I always wondered who it could have been.”

“What?” Henry asks.

“A few months after Mom’s funeral . . . the B&B received an anonymous donation.” She stares at me, and it clicks.

“The angel investor?”

She nods. “I never discovered who it was, but . . . do you think it could have been him? Mr. Honeyford? I mean, who else would have that kind of cash? I can’t believe I never thought of him.”

“Holy shit, Indy? He dropped a hundred grand on your mom’s business?”

“Someone did. It paid off all our debts and kept us afloat for a few months so I could get my shit together after the funeral. I . . . I should talk to him. I just don’t think I’m ready yet.”

“Hey, you don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for. You owe him nothing. Frankly, a hundred grand is nothing compared to what a father should have been doing your entire life,” I say, lifting her chin by hooking my finger beneath it.

Her lashes flutter, her eyes swimming with tears. Biting down on her lip, she nods, and I use my thumb to free the pillowy flesh from her bite. I drop a kiss, soothing her.

“We should get on the road.”

She settles, nodding as her shoulders relax a little more than they had when Hugh was here. This wasn’t quite the way I wanted her to leave her hometown, but she’s doing it; she’s embarking on her next adventure. An exciting city life she’s wanted for the last ten years. And I’m going to damn well make sure she doesn’t regret it.

Except making us wait to be together.

That she’s gonna regret.

Indy

Mav navigates the freshly plowed roads with ease, the bright white of the snow sparkling as we make steady progress to Seattle.

I can’t believe I’m moving. I’m finally leaving Bear Hills like I always dreamed of. It won’t be forever, I know we’ll be back to visit at some point, maybe even to live when we retire. The steady hum of the engine has the knot around my heart loosening, like this is what will make my mom proud. Not running the B&B, but living my life the way I choose. With each mile between me and Bear Hills, I feel more and more confident of my decision.

Mav’s coat is draped over my lap and slipping my hand into the pocket, the weight of Mr Honeyford’s, my father’s, letter has my stomach swooping.

“Are you going to read it?” Mav asks softly, his eyes fixed ahead, his hands ten and two on the wheel.

I pull it out, running my finger under the lip of the envelope and slowly slide out the piece of paper.

Christ.

Can I do this?

Is he going to say something mean about my mom? She did sleep with a married man and hid it from me for years. It’s no wonder Holly hates me.

I can’t answer Mav. The lump in my throat won’t let me.

“You don’t have to. We can burn it, never mention it again. Or I can read it. Whatever is best for you, sweetheart.” He reaches his right hand over and squeezes my thigh.

Mav is here. I’m safe. I can do this.

Unfolding the crisp white pages, I focus on Mr Honeyford’s scrawl.