Page 11 of Evan

Molly looks up, followed by Chad’s exaggerated stare. “I’m Molly, and this is my son Chad.”

“And I’m Betty, volunteering for the day,” I add.

“Glad to have you. I’m Paul and that over there is Seth.” He glances towards the man standing on the ladder hanging garland. Seth nods in our direction.

“Evan asked us to make wreaths.” Molly looks at the table, then at me. “We better get started.”

I agree as Paul invites Chad to help stack the extra cut boughs for wreaths. Chad looks at his mom for permission, then marches off behind Paul, a little spring to his step.

Molly and I go to the table. “I’ve never made a wreath before.” I admit. Suddenly my robe-making insecurities surface.Maybe I’d better help Chad.

“That’s okay. It’s really simple.” Molly slips her coat off and hangs it on a nearby chair. "Wreath-making 101. The first thing you need to know is that it's all about the base. You want to start with a good, sturdy frame, something that will hold up to all the decorations you're going to pile on top."

She reaches for a coil of wire, her fingers deft and sure as she shapes it into a circle. "See, like this. Nice and tight, but not too tight. You want it to have a little give, a little flexibility."

I watch her work, not truly convinced this is something I can do."You make it look so easy," I murmur as I reach out to touch a sprig of holly.

Molly grins, handing me the wire frame. "That's because it is easy once you get the hang of it. Here, you try."

As I weave the greenery around the wire, my brow furrowed in concentration, Evan steps into the barn. “How’s it going?”

“Just got started.” Molly gets to work. I sense Evan's gaze lingering on her face, tracing the curve of her cheek, the fullness of her lips. There's a tenderness in his eyes, a longing that makes my angelic heart flutter with anticipation.

Oh, my dear boy, if you only knew how much she cares for you, how much light and love she could bring into your life, if only you'd let her.

But Evan looks away, his expression clouding over, and I can feel the old doubts, the old fears, creeping back in. He's still holding himself back, still clinging to the idea that he doesn't deserve happiness, that he's somehow betraying his family, his legacy, by even daring to dream of a different life.

I want to reach out, to shake him, to shout in his ear that he's wrong, that he's worthy, that he's loved. But I know it's not my place, not my role. All I can do is watch, and pray, and hope that somehow, someway, he'll find the courage to open his heart, to take the leap of faith that will change everything.

“I better get back out there. If you need anything, just ask Paul or Seth.” Evan straightens his shoulders. “It’s going to be a busy day.”

As the morning wears on, more customers arrive, families and couples and groups of friends, all eager to find the perfect tree, the perfect wreath, the perfect little piece of Christmas magic to take home with them. Evan moves among them, greeting each one with a smile and a kind word, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he listens to their stories, their laughter, their dreams.

And as he does, I can feel something shifting in him, a softening, a warming, like the first tentative blooms of spring after a long, hard winter. He's starting to see the farm through their eyes, through Molly's eyes, to understand the joy, the wonder, the sheer delight that it brings to so many hearts.

It's a small change, a subtle one, but it's there, growing stronger with every passing moment. And as I watch him, as I feel the love, the gratitude, the pure, unbridled happiness radiating from every soul he touches, I can't stop myself from smiling, my own spirit lifting knowing that maybe, just maybe, my work here is not in vain.

But even as I revel in the progress, in the glimmers of hope and healing, I can't shake the feeling that something is still holding Evan back, some deep-seated pain or fear that he's not yet ready to face. And so, I close my eyes once more, reaching out with all the love, all the compassion, all the divine guidance that my angelic heart can muster.

Show him, I whisper to heaven above, to the great force that moves us all. Show him the truth of who he is, of what he's meant to be. Give him the strength, the courage, the faith to let go of the past and embrace the beautiful, boundless future that awaits him.

For a moment, there is only silence, a stillness so profound that it feels like the entire world is holding its breath. And then, as if in answer to my prayer, I hear Molly's voice, kind and gentle, drifting across the barn like a summer breeze.

"Evan," she says, her hand coming to rest on his arm. "Can I ask you something?"

He turns to her, his brow furrowed, his eyes searching her face. "Of course. Anything."

She hesitates, biting her lip, as if gathering her courage. "I was just wondering... what made you decide to take over the farm? I mean, I know it's been in your family for generations, but... was it always your dream, to be here, to do this work?"

Evan stiffens, his jaw clenching, and for a moment, I'm afraid he's going to shut down, to push her away. But then, something in him seems to crumble, his shoulders sagging, his eyes filling with a weariness, a vulnerability, that I've never seen before.

"No," he says, his voice hoarse, barely above a whisper. "No, it wasn't my dream. It was my father's, and his father's, before him. But dad’s body was wearing out and he couldn't manage the farm anymore, and I didn't see any other choice. My brother's in the military, he can't be here, and my mom... she needs to be with my dad. They deserve to enjoy these years together. So I stepped up, I took on the responsibility. Because that's what you do, right? That's what family means."

Molly nods, her eyes shining with understanding, with empathy. "Of course. Of course it is. But Evan... that doesn't mean you have to give up on your own dreams, your own happiness.”

Evan looks at her, his expression raw, stripped bare, and I can see the war raging within him, the desperate, aching longing to believe her, to trust in the possibility of something more. “It’s hard to chase after your own dreams when you’re living someone else’s.”

Molly smiles, her hand tightening on his arm, her eyes holding his with a fierce, unwavering compassion. "I think sometimes we get caught up in what we think we’re missing out on, I’ve seen you handle the trees with such tenderness and care, andI’ve seen the way you talk with your customers, if I didn’t know better I’d say this is your dream.” She studies his face. “Evan, what you’re doing here matters.Youmatter to this town,” Molly pauses. “To me.”

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