2. Annabelle Davis #2
I’m used to the townspeople looking at me with their judgy eyes, so I don’t shrivel under his gaze.
Instead, I meet his gaze head-on. I wasn’t always so sure of myself.
Years ago, I was a charity case. I had to be.
Taking donations from the church just to get by.
Now, I’ve learned how to survive, and I did it all on my own.
“I have some paperwork that requires your signature.” He lifts a folder that’s in his hand.
“Oh, sure. Ahhhh, we should go inside, then.” I remember my manners and turn, walking to the house, and I hear him follow, his shoes crunching on the gravel. I wonder briefly if the flashy black leather can hold up in this dusty, rough environment.
As I step up onto my porch, I cringe once again at hearing the boards creaking underfoot.
Opening the door, I kick off my boots and take a moment to settle my nerves.
Nerves at a stranger turning up at my place.
Nerves from having a man in my house. It’s been a long time since that’s happened.
Not since my husband's passing has there been a man who wasn’t a doctor or a friend in my home.
My brain scrambles, trying to remember everything Victoria mentioned.
I push my shoulders back to maintain an air of professionalism, even though he’s without a doubt one of the most handsome men I’ve ever met, and I currently look like one of those trolls from that movie my kids love watching so much.
"So, what do I need to do?" As the words leave my mouth, I feel excitement building. Hesitation? Yes. Worry? Yes. Stress? Definitely. But ever since I met Victoria, my life has become more positive. Like there’s light at the end of the tunnel. It’s a very long tunnel and the light is barely visible, but it’s there.
We have a good system going. Kevin milks her goats and brings the milk to me.
I make the soaps at night, distilling my own oil from the lavender and roses here on my farm on weekends, and each week produce a few boxes of soaps that Victoria picks up, packages, and distributes.
“There are a few contracts. The legacy paperwork, which covers what will happen with the business if one party isn’t involved anymore, and there’s also the business name and structure, which I believe Victoria and you have already discussed.
I also have copies for the trademark applications and copyright notices for your files. ”
Nodding, I walk farther inside but then look up and come to a halt.
I should’ve thought about this before I invited him in.
The kitchen is a complete mess. All my bowls and tools are out, ready for a long night of soapmaking.
Laundry dries on a rack in the sun, my simple cotton underwear that I grabbed in the bargain bin last month on a trip to Williamstown on full display.
Unread books are piled near my armchair, with my drawing pad and pencils on top.
It’s the spot I used to always curl up in to read or sketch, but that indulgence isn’t something I’ve had time for lately.
Noah and Kevin are standing in the living room, watching Sawyer like he’s the devil.
Kevin looks to be about a minute away from telling him to leave and Noah’s wearing a pinched expression that’s supposed to be tough and intimidating, but it’s just too darn cute.
“Sorry, I wasn’t expecting visitors. Kids, say hello to Mr. Silvers. He’s a friend of Tanner’s and Victoria’s.” At that, Kevin’s shoulders lower.
When Victoria first moved to town and into Marie’s Place years ago, Kevin helped her with her animals.
It was a means to an end. I was newly widowed, with no job and barely two dimes to my name, and Kevin rode his rusted bike down to Marie’s Place to milk her cow, bringing a bucket of milk back home.
He did this so we would have milk for the day and for his brother’s nightly bottle, our own cow not always producing enough.
I flick my eyes to my youngest son, seeing Noah’s cute scowl morph into a full-blown grin.
“Tanneeerrrrr!!!!” Noah laughs, his giggle enough to have me smiling. He loves Tanner, probably because Tanner always buys him ice cream whenever we happen to see him in town. Which is rare, but obviously impactful to a three-year-old.
“So do I need to sign them now? I can clear a space.” Feeling a little overwhelmed, I scoop up the math tests from school that I need to correct tonight, which I had dumped on the dining table when I got home.
“I can leave them here for you to read over in your own time and then come back to collect them. You seem a bit… busy.”
I stop what I’m doing and look at him. It’s obvious he doesn't think much of my home, but that’s exactly what it is, my home, and regardless of his good looks, I conclude that this man is a stuck-up city lawyer who probably wouldn’t know a hard day's work if it bit him on the ass. As I move papers around, his words filter through my mind, and I’m somewhat confused.
“How can you come back to collect them? Aren't you from the city?”
“Yes, but Tanner has me working a few days a week from the law office in town.” He doesn’t seem enthusiastic by that prospect, if his tense body language and tightened jaw have anything to say about it.
It’s always the same with these city people. They have their head shoved so far up their own asses they can’t see the beauty around them. Whispers is the most stunning place ever and he’s acting so put off, like he’s landed on Mars.
“Jerry’s office?” Everyone knows Jerry is retiring. I’ve been wondering what we’ll all do without him, assuming that we’d need to drive to Williamstown to get anything we need on legal matters.
“With Jerry retiring, Tanner seems to think I can work here and support the town in his place.” It’s obvious he’d rather be anywhere else and that Tanner made him come to Whispers.
But it makes sense. With Jerry gone, we need someone new, and Tanner is the kind of man to always have a plan for this town.
I know Tanner Whiteman well; the two of us have something in common with both losing our partners when our kids were young and single parenting becoming both our journeys in life.
Tanner was the first person to help me when I lost my husband, ensuring that Kevin was kept busy and providing the odd bag of groceries that we desperately needed at that stage.
“Is Sawyer your real name?” I continue clearing an area on my table, not sure if we need to sit down.
“It is… Why would you ask that?”
I look up at him, seeing a frown of confusion on his face, and I bite my grin back before I shrug my shoulder.
“It’s just… a lawyer called Sawyer ? Sounds like an intro to a joke or something.” His frown deepens and he pulls the lapels of his jacket, clearly not amused. He’s so straitlaced, I wonder what he would do if he accidentally fell into my vegetable patch and got that crisp white shirt of his dirty?
That thought makes me bite the inside of my lip to tame a smile.