Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Jameson
"T o Savannah, for bringing Mountain Laurel Lodge into the big leagues," Liam raises his glass, and everyone around the table follows suit. "The Bennett retreat is exactly the kind of high-profile business we've been hoping to attract."
"And to the happy couple," Mom adds, beaming at us with undisguised delight. "It's about time someone captured this wild son of mine."
Murmurs of agreement circle the table as everyone drinks to our supposed engagement. Only Jules knows the truth, and she's carefully avoiding my eyes across the table. The charade was supposed to end with the Bennett contract, but somehow I haven't found the right moment to tell my family it was all an act.
Or maybe I haven't wanted to.
Savannah smiles and raises her glass, but I notice it doesn't quite reach her eyes. She's been this way all evening. Physically present but somehow a thousand miles away.
"To new beginnings," she says, her voice carrying a weight I don't understand.
Bear whines softly at my feet, as if sensing the tension I'm trying to hide. He's been dividing his attention between me and Savannah all evening, occasionally resting his head on her knee despite her half-hearted protests.
Declan serves the main course—his Bennett Beef Wellington that he's been perfecting all day—and conversation flows around the table. Mom asks about wedding venues. Mia wants to know if she can be a flower girl. Each innocent question seems to make Savannah retreat further behind her polished smile.
Something's wrong, and I have a feeling it has nothing to do with Bennett Financial.
Mom notices too. Nothing escapes Evie Callahan, especially not when it involves one of her children or someone she's decided belongs at this table.
"Savannah, dear, why don't you help Jameson bring out the dessert?" she suggests innocently, though the pointed look she gives me is anything but subtle.
"Of course," Savannah replies, setting her napkin aside and standing. Her movements are graceful but mechanical, like she's operating on autopilot.
In the kitchen, away from the cheerful noise of the dining room, the silence between us becomes impossible to ignore. I pull Mom's apple pie from the warming drawer while Savannah gathers plates from the cupboard.
"Okay, what's going on?" I finally ask, setting the pie down and turning to face her. "You've been somewhere else all night."
"Tired," she says without meeting my eyes. "It's been a long week."
"Try again." I step closer, and she stills, plates clutched to her chest like a shield. "I may not be a corporate strategist, but I know when someone's keeping something from me."
For a moment, I think she'll maintain the facade. Then her shoulders drop slightly, and she sets the plates on the counter with a soft clink.
"I got a job offer today," she says quietly. "Regional Director for a new office in Denver."
The words land like a physical blow, though I do my best not to let it show. "Denver, Colorado?"
"Yes, it’s a significant opportunity." She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, a rare nervous gesture from someone usually so composed. "Leading a whole office, building a team from scratch."
"When?" The question comes out rougher than I intended.
"Two weeks." Her eyes finally meet mine, and the conflict I see there makes my chest ache. "If I accept."
"If?"
She glances toward the dining room, where my family's laughter drifts through the doorway. "It's complicated."
"Because of my family?" I ask. "They don't know yet. About us not being real."
She winces slightly at the word 'real.' "That's part of it."
"And the other part?" I press. "Is it because of what's been happening since that kiss?"
A flash of vulnerability crosses her face before her professional mask slips back into place. "That was a moment. We both got caught up."
"A moment," I repeat, the words hollow. "Is that what you tell yourself to make this easier?"
"Make what easier?"
"Leaving. Walking away." I step closer, close enough to see the pulse jumping in her throat. "That's what you do, isn't it? When things get too real, too messy, too unplanned?"
Her eyes narrow slightly. "That's not fair. This is an opportunity I've worked years for."
"I'm not saying it isn't. I'm saying there's something real here, Savannah. Between us. And you're looking for an escape route before you have to admit it."
"There is no 'us,' Jameson," she says, though her voice lacks conviction. "We had an arrangement. It's done. We just need to find a way to tell your family the engagement is off."
"Is that what you felt when we were dancing? An arrangement?" I challenge. "Is that what you felt when I kissed you?"
She looks away, her composure finally cracking. "What I felt doesn't matter. What matters is what makes sense."
"And Denver makes sense." It's not a question.
"Yes," she whispers. "On paper, it's perfect."
Something in her phrasing gives me hope. A fragile, dangerous hope. "And off paper?"
Before she can answer, I remember the small gift I'd made for her. I reach into my pocket and pull out a simple leather bracelet, three braided strands with a small wooden charm attached. The wood is polished smooth, carved in the shape of a mountain peak.
"I made this for you," I say, holding it out. "Bear helped by stealing the leather strands twice and hiding them under the porch."
She stares at it, conflict written across her face.
"I carved the mountain," I continue when she doesn't speak. "It's the view from the east trail. Where I first realized I was in trouble."
"Jameson..." Her voice breaks slightly. "I can't?—"
"You plan everything in life," I say quietly, "but you're too scared to plan for your own happiness."
Her head snaps up, eyes wide with surprise or maybe recognition.
"I don't think you ever needed a fake fiancé," I continue, laying my heart bare in a way I've never done before. "I think you just needed someone to believe in you. Someone who sees past all those carefully constructed spreadsheets and five-year plans."
She takes a step back, panic flashing across her face. "This isn't—we aren't—" She shakes her head. "What happened between us was never supposed to be real."
"But it is," I insist. "You know it is."
"It can't be." Her voice hardens with resolve. "I have a life, Jameson. A career. Goals. Things I've worked toward for years. I can't throw that away for... for..."
"For what?" I press. "For someone who makes you laugh? Who sees the real you? For a place where you belong?"
"I don't belong here," she says, but the tremble in her voice betrays her. "This was always temporary. A business arrangement. Nothing more."
She's retreating behind her professional armor, and I can almost see the walls going up around her heart.
"So take the job," I say, unable to keep the hurt from my voice. "Go to Denver. Be Regional Director. But don't pretend this was nothing. Don't pretend we were nothing."
"We were pretending the whole time," she whispers. "That was the point."
She turns away, gathering the dessert plates with hands that aren't quite steady. "We should get back. Everyone's waiting."
"And what do we tell them?" I ask. "That our engagement is off because you're moving to Denver? Or that it was never real in the first place?"
She freezes, her back to me. "I don't know. I just... I need time to think."
I shove the bracelet back into my pocket and watch her walk back to the dining room, shoulders squared, composure restored. Only I notice the slight tremor in her hands as she sets down the plates. Only I see the brightness in her eyes that might be unshed tears.
Mom looks between us questioningly as I set the pie on the table. I give an almost imperceptible shake of my head, and her expression softens with understanding, though she doesn't know the half of it.
Throughout dessert, I sit quietly, the leather bracelet still in my pocket, the wooden mountain charm digging into my palm as I clench my fist around it. Savannah smiles and accepts compliments on the Bennett contract, answers questions about wedding venue preferences that make her voice catch, plays her role perfectly.
But when Bear rests his head on her knee again, I see her fingers hesitate before scratching behind his ears. When Mom hugs her goodbye at the end of the night, I see her hold on a moment too long. When she walks to her car, I see her pause, just for a heartbeat, as if she might turn back.
She doesn't.
I stand on the porch, Bear sitting glumly at my feet, as her taillights disappear down the winding road that leads away from the lodge. Away from me.
She never took the bracelet. Never acknowledged what we both know is true.
And as I turn to head back inside to a family that still believes I'm happily engaged, the wooden mountain charm still clutched in my hand, I wonder if all we'll ever be is an arrangement that ended too soon. A pretend engagement that felt more real than anything I've ever known.
Because you can't lose something that was never really yours.
Even if, for a little while, it felt like it could have been.