Page 130 of Chasing the Sun
Cal smiled, handsome and genuine. “I know.”
There were too many words in my chest. Too many things I needed to tell him, but they all scrambled together, tripping over each other in the rush to get out.
So I did the only thing I could—I started building.
“I don’t know anything about farms,” I said, stepping toward him, wiping my sleeve across my damp cheeks. “I can’t tell you what soil is best for apples or how to fix irrigation lines. But I know people. I know comfort. And I know how to make a place feel like home.”
His brow furrowed, confused—but he didn’t interrupt as I kept rambling.
“I want Star Harbor Farm to have a farm-to-table restaurant,” I said. “A real one. Cozy. Local. Booked-out-every-weekend kind of place.”
His lips parted, but I pressed on.
“And I want you to run it. A true farm-to-table setup. Your food. Your vision. Something we build together.”
Cal went still. So still I wasn’t sure he was breathing.
“I want the inn and the orchard and the ghosts in the trees and all of it. I want you. I want Levi. I want early mornings and burned toast and a place where people come to slow down and fall in love.”
Tears gathered in my eyes, but I blinked them away.
“Love doesn’t have to mean someone loses,” I said, voice barely above a whisper. “It can mean we both win.”
The wind shifted, carrying the scent of lavender from the patch near the porch. The fog had finally lifted. The rickety cottage stood behind me, light spilling through the windows, as if it already knew what came next.
“I’m not scared anymore,” I said. “Not of staying. Not of failing. I want to build something with you, Cal. Not because I need you to fix me, but because I’m finally ready to create something that lasts. Besides, I already talked to JP, and he loves the idea so you better get on board.”
He didn’t answer, not at first.
Cal reached out and pulled me into his arms, holding me like I was the answer to every question he’d ever asked.
His mouth brushed my temple, and he exhaled into my hair.
“You saved me,” he murmured. “I just wanted to return the favor.”
And that was it.
I smiled up at him. “I think we saved each other.”
Just a man and a woman, standing in the dirt, chasing the sunlight, with wreckage at their feet and the future in their hands.
Not an ending, but the beginning of everything.
Epilogue: Callum
The sun was low and slow, stretching gold across the orchard like it knew we needed one more perfect day.
I stood just outside the barn, my boots planted in the dirt, arms crossed as I watched a group of kids charge Tire Mountain like it was Everest. One of them lost a shoe halfway up. Another screamed with delight and launchedinto a dive-roll. Nobody cried. Nobody got hurt. The kind of chaos that made a place feel alive.
And it was alive—every inch of it.
It was perfect. Chaotic, a little sticky, probably two safety violations away from a lawsuit—but utterly perfect.
A year ago, this farmland was just overgrown hills and a distant what-if. I didn’t even believe in forever back then—not until a fiery brunette in muddy boots showed up and refused to leave.
The scents of woodsmoke and warm cider curled through the air. Someone had spilled kettle corn near the firepit, and a trail of toddlers were treating it like a buffet. The hayride was packed, the tractor rattling down the path behind the barn while laughter and squeals echoed behind it. The bluegrass trio had set up beside the pumpkin patch and was strumming into the late-afternoon light.
A golden retriever with a bandanna labeled “Hank” was doing laps between tables, joyfully stealing doughnuts off paper plates like it was his personal fall buffet. Someone yelled “Hank, no!” and he responded by snagging another one and bolting toward the hayride.
