Page 10 of Cherished Lands
I watched as hands raised around the table—Mom, Dad, Jas, Chase, Nana, Papa, Natalie, and even Charlie over FaceTime from her apartment at college. Everyone's except mine. The betrayal stung, each raised palm another knife in my back.
"Fuck," I muttered, defeat settling over me like a heavy blanket.
Dad nodded, a hint of sympathy in his eyes. "It's settled then. Natalie, sweetheart, what next?"
I slumped in my chair.How the hell am I supposed to work with Tessa fucking Belmonte?
Natalie's eyes darted nervously around the table. "Well, I suppose the next step is to set up another meeting with Tessa. We need to discuss the terms of her investment and hash out the details of this partnership."
I drummed my fingers, fighting the urge to flip the table. "Fine. Set it up. But I want to be there."
Chase snickered. "Yeah, I bet you do."
I shot him a glare that could curdle milk. "Shut it, Chase. This is business."
Yeah, keep telling yourself that, Elliot. It's just business. It has nothing to do with those long legs or that smart mouth.
I pushed the thought away, focusing on Natalie. She was nodding and tapping away on her phone. "I'll arrange it for tomorrow afternoon. That work for everyone?"
There was a chorus of agreement around the table. I grunted noncommittally.
As the family dispersed, I caught Dad's eye. He jerked his head towards the back door. I pushed back from the table with a sigh and trailed after him into the crisp night air.
We walked in silence for a few minutes, our boots crunching on the gravel path that wound through the orchard. The bare branches of the apple trees stretched towards the star-studded sky like gnarled fingers.
Finally, Dad spoke. "I know you're not happy about this, Son."
I snorted. "Understatement of the century."
He stopped and put a hand on my shoulder, turning to face me. "Elliot, sometimes we have to make hard choices to protect what matters most."
"By getting into bed with the enemy?"
Dad's eyes narrowed. "The Belmontes aren't the enemy. They're our neighbors, our competition, sure. But this feud? It's childish, and it's hurting both our families."
I crossed my arms, feeling like a petulant child. "They've been trying to buy us out for years."
"And now one of 'em wants to invest in us instead. Maybe it's time we buried the hatchet. For the sake of the orchard."
I wanted to argue, to rail against the unfairness of it all. But looking at Dad, seeing that weariness in his eyes, I couldn't bring myself to fight anymore. Somewhere, beneath all the anger and bitterness, there was a tiny rational voice telling me he was right. I nodded, my shoulders sagging in defeat.
Dad clapped me on the shoulder. "That's my boy. Now, get some rest. Tomorrow's gonna be a big day."
I watched him walk back towards the house and began my trek home through the orchard. Lots of people found it spooky to walk through the trees at night, but I loved it. The moon cast long shadows over the familiar path, and the sprawling branches felt like sheltering arms. As I rounded the final bend, my tiny house came into view.
Despite my foul mood, a smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. It wasn't much, but it was mine. I had built it with my own two hands. It was an Everton home on Everton soil, and every inch of it felt like a part of me. The logs, the nails, the varnish—it all carried the sweat and calluses of long nights and hard work. It wasn't large, but it didn't need to be. It was just me out there, and the cabin fit me like a comfortable old shirt.
I picked the red color of the front door on purpose. It reminded me of ripe apples, and it felt warm and cheerful, like an open hand inviting you in from the cold. It was the first thing to catchmy eye when I came home after a long day of hard work. The porch always creaked under my boots, but it didn't annoy me like it should. It was simply another sound that reminded me the place was alive in its own way. The bench on the porch? I made it one summer while sipping beer and watching the world slow down. And the grill right next to it? I'd fire that up all year round, even if I only cooked a meal for a party of one.
I climbed the three steps to the small porch, fishing my keys out of my pocket. The lock clicked open, and I stepped inside, automatically ducking my head. At six foot two, I wasn't exactly built for tiny living, but I made it work.
The wood-burning stove had done its job, chasing away the bite of the wind and filling the place with the scent of pine. I kicked off my boots and padded across the hardwood floor in my socks. Everything had its place here, carefully arranged to maximize the limited square footage. The kitchenette straight ahead led to a door to the bathroom, the living area was off to the left, and just past it, a set of steep steps that led to my sleeping loft.
I grabbed a beer from the fridge and collapsed onto the small couch. After the chaos of the family meeting, I welcomed the silence.
Here, in my own space, I could finally breathe.
I took a long pull from the bottle, letting the cold beer soothe my frayed nerves. The thought of working with Tessa Belmonte made my guts churn. Or maybe that was just the alcohol hitting my empty stomach.
