CHAPTER 215: CLOSE TO HOME

Jeffrey was stunned at how much his grandparents had already planned. They had picked out potential venues, sketched out guest lists, and even chosen a possible reception location. Christina had already spoken with a florist, ready with arrangements and mood boards. All that remained was for Joanne to select the flowers and color palette.

He’d heard people say that every woman dreamt of her wedding day. He needed to ask Joanne what her dream was and make sure the real one came close. They had a mountain of things to plan—from the invitations to the cake.

He sighed as he rose to leave. First things first: he needed to propose.

"Jeffrey," Philip called, just as he reached the door.

Jeffrey turned.

"Tell her Sean left me some money for her wedding," Philip said. "Make sure she knows she won’t be spending a single dollar."

Jeffrey hesitated.

He knew Joanne. She would insist on contributing. She’d want to pay her share, or all of it. She’d want to make it her own. But Philip was resolute.

"This is a Winchester wedding," the old man continued. "The first in decades. She is one of ours already. It’s going to be done properly. Lavishly."

Jeffrey gave a small nod. He understood the sentiment.

Still, he doubted that the white lie would convince Joanne.

"She’s not spending a dime," Philip repeated, firmer this time. "Don’t call yourself a man if you make her. Our family doesn’t have the tradition of letting the bride’s family take the expenses."

Jeffrey held his grandfather’s gaze, then nodded again.

Understood.

He left the room with his purpose clear.

-----

On his way back to his room, Jeffrey caught sight of Aunt Greta glaring at him from down the hallway. He didn’t flinch, didn’t stop. He walked past her with practiced indifference, though he knew she wanted him to ask what was wrong. It was her usual tactic: provoke and wait.

But today, he wasn’t playing her game.

He had one concern—Joanne. And a growing worry about what Aunt Greta might have said or done in his absence.

"Jeffrey! Stop!" Greta called after him, clearly shocked that he hadn’t fallen into step with her confrontation. She followed him, indignant. "That woman you brought—"

"Sorry, Aunt Greta," Jeffrey cut her off without turning around. "I need to get to my wife."

With a dismissive wave, he walked away, leaving Greta fuming behind him. She huffed and stomped off in search of someone else to complain to.

Jeffrey opened the door to his room and immediately relaxed at the sight before him.

Joanne was standing by the dresser, carefully arranging the jewelry she had just received. Sunlight kissed her profile as she turned to him, her face brightening.

"You’re back!" she said, her voice a melody. "Are you here for lunch?"

"I’m off for the day," Jeffrey said, stepping forward to wrap her in his arms. He breathed her in. Whether she was standing at the porch to welcome him home or turning around to greet him in his room, nothing compared to seeing her smile the moment he walked in.

While he held her, Joanne told him everything that had happened that morning—how Christina had brought her to the family vault, how Greta had disapproved, how she’d been overwhelmed and yet oddly at peace.

"So that’s what Grandma meant," Jeffrey murmured, mostly to himself.

"What?" Joanne tilted her head curiously.

"Nothing." He smiled. "Let’s have lunch. And if you’re feeling up for it... I want to take you somewhere afterward."

"Ooh, mysterious," she grinned, clearly intrigued. "I love it."

At lunch, the mood at the head table was warm and joyful. Philip, Christina, Jeffrey, and Joanne carried most of the conversation with laughter and light teasing. The rest of the table, however, was markedly quieter. Greta wore a sour expression. Robert, too, seemed pensive.

At one point, Robert politely asked Philip’s permission to bring his girlfriend to dinner that night. He claimed she was curious to meet Jeffrey’s fiancée.

Joanne caught the flicker of something else in his tone. A subtle tension. A motive beneath the words.

Jeffrey noticed it too. He reached under the table to squeeze Joanne’s hand once.

After lunch, Jeffrey invited her on a walk.

The estate’s grounds were peaceful in the afternoon sun. When Joanne said she was feeling well, he asked if she might like to go horse riding.

"Not this early in the pregnancy," she laughed. "Maybe once the doctor says it’s safe."

He smiled, then retrieved the caddy and drove her to the far edge of the estate.

There, nestled against the backdrop of woods, stood a solitary oak tree.

The forest loomed quietly on one side, but where they stopped, the view opened wide. The sun had begun to dip, casting a golden-orange glow across the field. A soft breeze drifted past, carrying the scent of wildflowers and summer leaves.

Joanne settled down beneath the oak tree, leaning her head on Jeffrey’s shoulder. She let out a breath of wonder—it reminded her of home. The peace. The openness. The stillness before something beautiful.

But her heart was thudding now.

Because she could feel it.

He was planning something.

Was he...?

Was this the moment?

Jeffrey didn’t speak for a while. Just held her hand. Just let the wind pass around them.

But Joanne... she was sure.

He was going to propose.

"You know..." Jeffrey’s voice was soft, almost a whisper as he slipped Joanne’s hand into his, his thumbs tracing gentle circles across her palm. He turned his gaze to the horizon, where the golden light of late afternoon painted the sky in shades of rose and amber.

"This past year," he began, voice thick with memory, "I would come here—just me and this oak. I’d lean against its trunk, breathe in its sweet sap and the warmth of the sun. I’d close my eyes, and for a moment, I’d be back at the farm. I could almost smell the hay in the barn, taste the fresh grass in the fields... and most of all, you." He met her eyes, and the world around them seemed to still.

Joanne leaned her head against his shoulder. The breeze stirred her hair, carrying with it the faint tang of wildflowers. Her voice caught as she spoke. "It really does feel like home."

He hummed thoughtfully, the last light spilling through the leaves overhead, turning the world to molten gold. Then, uncertain at first but growing bolder, he began to sing, his clear tenor carrying across the meadow:

"An empty street, an empty house

A hole inside my heart

I’m all alone, the rooms are getting smaller."

Each note wove into the rustle of leaves and the distant chirp of crickets. Joanne closed her eyes to listen, her heart swelling at the warmth in his voice.

Jeffrey’s voice, low and tender, melted into the breeze like it had always belonged there. Each word of the song carried something deeper—a longing, a memory, a promise. Joanne’s breath hitched as she listened, eyes still closed, leaning into him.