Page 35 of You Wish
For a moment, he thought he’d taken a wrong turn because the shape rising in the clearing looked more like a relic than the dream he remembered. The barn’s frame jutted out against the pale December sky, weathered beams silvered with age and the half-peeling red paint of what was supposed to be the crown jewel of the farm.
He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, jaw tight. He hadn’t set foot here in years, but the sight still hit him low in the gut. Swallowing every emotion that was choking him he made his way across the land that had belonged to his family for four generations and opened the arched door.
It creaked with age and rusty memories. The scent of pine beams and mahogany flooring hit him in the gut, sharp and clean even after years of neglect. It carried him back to longafternoons when he’d worked alongside his grandpa, hands raw from hammering, the two of them sweating sawdust and hope.
Back then the barn had felt like a promise—of roots, of permanence. Now it just felt like failure staring him down in the winter light. Every board seemed to whisper at him, every empty window frame accusing him of walking away before the job was done.
“You found her, huh?”
Jake startled at the voice, turning to see Grandpa making his way across the frozen ground. The old man hobbled more than walked, shoulders stooped but still steady, his breath puffing in little clouds. He didn’t sound angry, or even disappointed. If anything, his tone was wrapped in something gentler—like longing.
Jake cleared his throat, gazing back to the empty room that had so much promise. Beneath the dust, the structure was sound. It was the loving touches that were missing. Paint, lighting, sanding and staining the floors, and the finishing.
It also needed a woman’s touch.
“Looks dustier than when I left it,” Jake joked, but it fell flat to his ears.
Grandpa stopped beside him, both of them staring at the looming project. “Aye. That’s the problem, isn’t it? She was supposed to hold a thousand I-do’s by now.” His voice went softer, the corners of his mouth tugging downward. “Your grandma always wanted to dance under those beams again.”
The words caught Jake off guard, lodging in his chest. He could almost hear her laugh echoing in the space that wasn’t built, smell her perfume mixed with sawdust as she dragged him onto a dance floor years ago. She’d always said she couldn’t wait to see her grandkids married here, to fill the place with music, cake, and too many cousins under one roof.
Instead, all that stood was lumber that creaked when the wind cut through it.
“Didn’t realize you still thought about this place,” Jake muttered.
Grandpa gave a low chuckle, but it wasn’t amused. “Think about it every day. About the folks who might’ve had their start here. About the life that could’ve been built.”
Jake had once thought he’d share his I-do and build his new life here. But that didn’t pan out. Which was probably why coming here felt like tearing open an old wound.
Nic tapped his foot lightly against one of the beams, and the sound echoed hollow. “This barn was always meant to be more than a pile of wood. It was supposed to be part of the family.”
Jake exhaled hard through his nose. “Guess I let it down, then.”
Nic didn’t scold him, didn’t lecture. Instead, he rested his palm on Jake’s shoulder, warm and solid, the same way he had when Jake was a rookie clutching the wheel, certain the first skid would send him flying. “You can only let something down if you never pick it back up.”
Jake looked away, his throat tightening. The winter sun slanted through the bare beams, spilling long shadows across the frosted ground. For the first time in years, he let himself wonder what it might feel like to finish what he started—to give his grandma her dance floor, to watch life bloom in a space that had been waiting all this time.
The barn seemed to be holding its breath.
Georgia hadn’t plannedon wandering this far. She’d been pacing along the gravel drive, half-listening to Liz’s latestsuggestions about the gala, when her phone finally lost signal altogether. She muttered under her breath, pocketed the useless thing, and started back toward the cabin—only to stop short when she spotted the outline of a barn out at the edge of the tree-lined farm.
It stood stark against the pale winter sky, beams stretching up like arms half-reaching toward heaven, half-forgotten. Something about it pulled at her, though she couldn’t have said why. And then she saw him.
Jake was inside, standing in the center of the empty space with his back to her. His shoulders slumped in a way she’d never seen, like the weight of something invisible was dragging him down. One hand rested against a post, his thumb absently rubbing the grain of the wood as though it could give him answers. He looked—God, he looked lost.
She almost turned around, feeling like an intruder on a private moment. But the barn seemed too quiet, too heavy, and she couldn’t bring herself to walk away.
“Didn’t peg you for a barn whisperer,” she called softly, her voice carrying across the open area.
Jake stiffened, then turned. His expression flickered—surprise, then defensiveness, then something unreadable before he smoothed it all away. “Guess you found my skeleton in the closet.”
Georgia stepped inside, boots crunching on the frost-hardened floor. The air was sharp with cold and dust, but it smelled alive—of wood and earth and the ghost of something unfinished.
“It doesn’t look like a skeleton,” she said, tilting her head as she took it all in. “More like a promise that’s still waiting.”
That made him look at her differently. For a moment, the cocky race-car driver melted away, and what was left was a man with too much history in his eyes.
He dragged a hand through his hair, restless. “This was supposed to be my big contribution. A wedding barn. My grandparents’ idea. I promised them I’d make it happen for their fortieth.”
