Page 79 of Cherished Lands
Elliotand I stood with Jay and Emma on their front porch, the four of us waving as Jasper and Natalie pulled out of the driveway to head off on their honeymoon.
No sooner had they left than the contractors rolled in.
"Looks like it's time to get to work," I said.
Elliot planted a kiss on top of my head before leading me down the porch steps. He laced our fingers together, and we took our time making our way to the cidery.
The space looked stunning. The reclaimed wood walls provided a cozy, natural feel, while sleek concrete floors, polished metal accents, and exposed ductwork lent the space a cool, contemporary vibe.
I loved everything about it. Elliot had put up a fight about most of it.
In the end, I got my way, which was both satisfying and oddly endearing. This man, who always exuded a need for control, relinquished so many of these decisions to me. Hetrusted me to get this right, to help him save his family business.
It was a sentiment I did not take lightly.
Which was why we were standing in the middle of the empty taproom, arguing.
Feet planted, hands on my hips, I faced off with my husband. My vision for this space was crystal clear—a warm, welcoming hub where people could gather and connect. Not another dingy bar where lonely souls nursed their drinks in silence.
"We don't need ten-foot-long tables. Besides, where are you even gonna get those?" His jaw clenched, that muscle ticking in his cheek.
"You're going to build them." I raised an eyebrow, already picturing his broad shoulders and capable hands crafting exactly what we needed.
"What? I don't have time for that. Not with all the work that's going to pick up with the orchard." He ran his fingers through his hair, leaving it deliciously mussed.
"Please, Elliot." I stepped closer, deploying my secret weapon—wide eyes and a practiced pout. "It'll be perfect. Long tables where people can congregate will give it the community vibe we're looking for. No one is coming here to sit at the bar alone. That's what Callaghan's is for."
Elliot dropped his head back and stared up at the ceiling. When he let out a resigned sigh, my pout wavered, and my smile threatened to break free.
"Fine," he said. "Just tell me what you need."
I let out a little squeal and clapped before launching myselfat my husband. He caught me with ease, smiling as I wrapped my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you." I covered him with kisses. He held me to him by my ass and kissed me hard on the lips.
"Anything for you, Princess."
God, this man.
Just as we were about to get carried away, a throat cleared.
"Hey, Andy." Elliot's voice rumbled above me as he set me on my feet and steadied me against his side. "What brings you by?"
Our friend shifted his weight. His police uniform looked particularly stark under the industrial lighting, and his face bore the grimace of someone about to deliver the killing blow. "Hey, guys. I've got some bad news."
My stomach dropped. "What happened? Is everyone okay?"
Andy lifted his hand, and my eyes fell on the crisp white papers clutched in his grip. "Everyone's fine. But I, uh—" His throat worked as he cleared it again. "I have a cease and desist here. Tess, your dad's filed an injunction. Caught word, and asked the judge if I could be the one to break it to you. All work on the cidery must be stopped until you appear in court."
The papers crackled as Elliot snatched them from Andy's hand. Ice spread through my veins, freezing me in place. After three months of radio silence, Dad had finally deployed his nuclear option.
"You've gotta be fucking kidding me." Elliot's brows knitted as he scanned the pages. "This is bullshit."
"I know, man." Andy's shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news."
I forced my lips into what felt like a smile, though it probably looked more like a grimace. "It's not your fault, Andy. Thanks for letting us know."
I walked to the bar and ran my hand along its polished surface while Andy and Elliot continued to talk. I tuned them out. I had a decision to make: fight fire with fire, or roll over and let my dad control my life—again.
