Page 8 of Evan

I glance at Molly, seeing the hint of a blush coloring her cheeks. "Yeah, buddy," I say, my voice low. "I guess we are."

We drop Chad off at school, watching as he bounds up the steps, his backpack bouncing with each step. Molly watches him go, a tender smile on her face, and I feel a sudden, fierce urge to protect her, to shield her from all the hardships and heartaches that life has thrown her way.

But as we drive to the diner, the silence stretching between us; I feel the old frustrations creeping back in. The restlessness, the yearning for something more than this small-town life.

"I envy you, you know," I blurt out, the words tumbling from my mouth before I can stop them. "Not that your car won’t start, but that you have this whole world of possibilities open to you, this chance to start fresh and chase your dreams. You aren’t bound by the expectations of others. Here I am, stuck on a Christmas tree farm in the middle of nowhere, watching life pass me by because I wasn’t given a say in the matter."

Molly is quiet for a moment, her gaze fixed on the passing storefronts. When she speaks, her voice is gentle but filled with a quiet strength. "Evan, I know it might not seem like it, but you have possibilities too. You have a chance to make this farm into something truly special, to build a life here that's filled with purpose and meaning."

I snort, the sound harsh in the stillness of the truck. "Easy for you to say. You're not the one saddled with a family legacy you never asked for, a life you never chose."

Molly reaches over, her hand resting on my arm. The touch is gentle, almost hesitant, but it sends a jolt of electricity through me. "I understand feeling trapped, feeling like your life isn't your own. Believe me, I do. But I've also learned that sometimes, the greatest adventures, the deepest joys, are waiting for us right where we are. We just have to open our eyes and our hearts to see them."

Her words hang in the air between us, a challenge and an invitation all at once. I want to believe her, want to trust in the possibility of happiness, of contentment. But the old doubts, the old fears, cling to me like cobwebs, clouding my vision and my judgment.

We pull up to the diner, the warm glow of the windows a beacon in the early morning darkness. Molly turns to me, her eyes searching my face. "Thank you again, Evan. For everything. I don't know what I would’ve done without you today."

I nod, my throat tight with emotion. "Anytime, Molly. I mean it."

She gives me one last smile, then slips out of the truck, hurrying towards the diner's entrance. I watch her go, feeling a tug in my chest, a longing for something I can't quite name.

As I drive back to the farm, the sun just peeking over the horizon, I try to shake off the melancholy, the sense of dissatisfaction that clings to me like a second skin. I have work to do, trees to tend, a business to run. I can't afford to get lost in daydreams and what-ifs.

But as I pull into the driveway, the familiar sight of the barn and the rows of evergreens stretching out before me, I feel a flicker of something I haven't felt in a long time.

Hope.

It's small, fragile, like a candle flame in a windstorm. But it's there, a tiny spark of possibility in the darkness of my doubts.

I think of Molly's words, of her unwavering belief in the power of the present moment, the potential for joy and meaning right here, right now. And I feel a sudden, fierce desire to prove her right. To find a way to make this farm, this life, into something I can be proud of. Something I can love.

I climb out of the truck, the brisk morning air filling my lungs, the scent of pine and wood smoke tickling my nose. The farm is quiet, peaceful, the only sound the gentle rustling of the wind through the trees.

I take a deep breath, squaring my shoulders, a new sense of determination settling over me. I may not have all the answers, may not know exactly where this journey will lead me. But for the first time in longer than I can remember, I'm ready to find out.

Ready to take a chance on the life I have, instead of pining for the one I don't.

I head towards the barn, my mind already racing with ideas, with plans. I'll start with the little things, the small improvements that can make a big difference. A fresh coat of paint on the barn, some new signs to guide customers through the trees. Maybe even a hot cocoa stand, a place for families to gather and warm up after a long day of searching for the perfect tree.

As I gather my tools, the first rays of sunlight filtering through the dusty windows, I feel a smile spreading across my face. It's a strange feeling, this flicker of excitement, of anticipation. But it's a welcome one, a reminder that even in the darkest of times, there's always a glimmer of hope waiting to be found.

The day passes in a blur of activity, my mind and body fully engaged in the work at hand. I trim branches, stack firewood, even start sketching out designs for a new wreath-making station. It's hard work, physical and mental, but it feels good. Honest. Like I'm finally putting my energy into something that matters.

As the sun dips below the tree line, casting long shadows across the farm, I hear the crunch of tires on gravel. I look up to see Molly's battered old sedan pulling into the driveway, Chad waving excitedly from the passenger seat.

I feel a flutter of nervousness in my stomach, a sudden self-consciousness about my dirt-streaked face and sweat-stained shirt. But then Molly steps out of the car, a warm smile on her face, and all my worries melt away.

"Evan, hi!" she says, her voice bright with surprise. "I hope we're not interrupting anything."

I shake my head, wiping my hands on my jeans. "Not at all. I was just finishing up for the day. What brings you out here?"

Chad bounds over, his eyes wide with excitement. "Mr. Evan, Mom said we could come visit you at the farm. Can you show me how to cut down a tree? Can I help you make a wreath? Can we have a campfire and roast marshmallows?"

I laugh, ruffling his hair affectionately. "Whoa there, buddy. Let's take it one step at a time. I don't want you handling any sharp tools just yet. But I'd be happy to let you help me stack some wood, maybe make a wreath. How does that sound?"

Chad nods eagerly, practically vibrating with enthusiasm. "Yes, please. I want to learn everything about being a Christmas tree farmer.”

Molly watches us, a tender expression on her face. "I hope you don't mind us dropping in like this. I just wanted to say thank you for the ride this morning and thanks for putting in a good word with your friend.” She smiles and I can’t breathe while she’s looking at me like that. “He had my car ready by the time my shift was over.”

---