Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Savvy
Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, catching on the polished floors as I entered Madison Center. I stopped by the reception desk to sign in and pick up my visitor pass.
The nurse behind the counter looked up, her expression warm and welcoming. “Oh, you’re back! James was practically glowing after your visit yesterday. It’s been a while since we’ve seen him so energized.”
Her words sparked a touch of warmth, a reassurance that my visit had mattered. “Good to know,” I said, sliding the pass over my head. “I’ll do my best not to wear him out this time.”
I clutched my battered copy of Jane Eyre tighter as I walked down the hall. Yesterday, when James asked me to return, I hadn’t promised anything. “Not for Henry,” he’d said, his sharp eyes piercing me. “For me.”
At the time, I’d nodded, unsure if I could face this place—or him—again .
But now I was here, my heart buzzing with nerves as I reached his door.
James was in his usual spot by the window, his face turned toward the golden autumn light filtering through the trees outside. His head tilted at the sound of my footsteps, and a smile spread across his weathered features when he saw me.
“Ah, Savannah,” he greeted, his voice warm but faintly strained. “I knew you’d come.”
I closed the door behind me and stepped toward the chair beside him. “Hi, James.”
His gaze flicked to the book in my hands, his lips twitching into a grin. “And with Jane Eyre , no less. Fitting, don’t you think, considering the Honeysucker-Kingston saga?”
I let out a quiet laugh, despite myself. “It seemed appropriate.”
James chuckled and gestured for me to sit. “Good. Let’s argue about Rochester while I still have the energy.”
I took the seat beside him, setting the book on my lap. “I thought you might have more important things on your mind today.”
“Important things, yes.” He reached for my hand, his grip lighter than it had been yesterday. “Like reminding you how stubborn you are. Though I suppose that’s why you’ll succeed where I failed.”
His words pulled me up short. “James, you’ve never?—”
“I have,” he interrupted gently. “More times than I care to admit. For Henry's sake, I should have stood up to Richard years ago. For your sake. But I didn’t. And I regret it every day.”
My throat tightened as I studied his face, the lines of his years gentled by the afternoon light. “You’ve done more for me than anyone in that family ever has. You don’t owe me anything.”
His hand squeezed mine. “You’re wrong, Savannah. I owe you—and Henry—more than I could ever repay. That’s why I need you to be strong. To fight for what’s right. For River Bend. And…” He paused, his gaze turning thoughtful. “And maybe for him, too, if he proves he’s worth it.”
I opened my mouth, but before I could speak, the door creaked open behind me.
Henry’s presence filled the room before he even stepped inside. My breath caught as I turned to see him, his broad shoulders framed by the doorway. His eyes immediately found mine, the flicker of surprise quickly replaced by something deeper.
“Grandfather,” Henry greeted, his voice steady. “Savvy.”
“Henry,” I replied, my voice more guarded.
James lit up at the sight of him. “Henry. Don’t stand there looking like you’ve been caught skipping church.”
Henry sat down across from me. His face was etched with a calm that didn’t quite match the strain in the room. The air grew thick with things unsaid and the pull of too much history.
James didn’t seem to notice, or perhaps he ignored it. “Now that we’re all here,” he began, “let me tell you what I’ve admired about places like River Bend.”
Henry and I both glanced at him, caught off guard by the shift in conversation.
“It’s not just the charm,” James continued, his voice soft but steady. “It’s the people. Small towns take care of their own. They show up when it matters.”
I nodded, emotion pressing against my ribs.
“You don’t see that in cities like New York,” James went on, his gaze drifting out the window. “People get so caught up in their own ambition that they forget what matters. But in a place like River Bend, you notice when someone’s hurting. You look out for each other.”
He turned his attention to Henry, his expression growing more serious. “That’s what I should’ve done more of. Look out for the people who matter instead of letting your father dictate the rules. Don’t make that same mistake, Henry.”
Henry’s jaw tightened, but he leaned forward, his voice quieter than usual. “You’ve looked out for me, Grandfather.”
“When I could,” James admitted. “But I didn’t do enough. Not for you. Not for Savannah.”
His gaze shifted between us, his words landing with quiet finality.
Henry stood and touched his shoulder when James’s head dipped, his energy fading. “We should let him rest.”
Before we left, James regained a moment of clarity. His frail hands caught ours, his grip weak but purposeful. “Take care of each other,” he murmured.
The drive back to River Bend was silent, both of us lost in thought. When Henry slowed the car on Main Street, he glanced at me. “Do you want to take a walk?”
I hesitated for only a moment before nodding. “Okay.”
The town was calm, its quiet streets glowing in the soft light of the early sun. As we walked, we stopped to chat with familiar faces—Mrs. Patterson was setting up the post office display, and Old Mr. Dixon was arranging the crates outside The Weathered Barn.
“We need to warn them,” I said softly after Mrs. Patterson bustled inside with her packages.
Henry nodded. “Yes, they need to know what’s coming. That no matter what they hear about inspections or offers to sell, they have to hold the line.”
We moved from one person to the next, sharing what we knew about Richard Kingston’s looming plans. Henry’s voice was measured and steady, but it carried an undercurrent of urgency that struck a chord with everyone we spoke to.
“Don’t sell,” he urged Mrs. Patterson. “No matter what you’re offered, regardless of what you hear about the state of your building. We’ll ensure you understand your property’s true value and get you the resources to protect it.”
Mrs. Patterson’s sharp eyes narrowed as understanding dawned. “I’ll spread the word,” she promised. “Everyone will know by sundown that we’re standing together.”
I didn’t doubt her. Mrs. Patterson could move news faster than the internet in River Bend, and right now, that network could be our strongest defense.
As we continued our walk in the late morning sun, Henry’s presence beside me felt steady, more like a lifeline than a burden. His focus on protecting the community reminded me of the boy I once loved, who fought for what was right, no matter the cost.
When we reached my apartment, I paused at the door, struck by how naturally we’d fallen back into sync today.
“Do you want to come in for coffee?” The words tumbled out before I could stop them. “We need to gather resources before your father makes his move.”
Henry’s eyebrows lifted, a look of approval playing across his face. “I’d like that. I’ve got all day, and I have some contacts we should call.”
The hours flew by in a whirlwind of productivity. Henry worked with his corporate contacts while I contacted local property owners. My coffee table became command central, covered in property assessments and legal documents. Henry’s laptop chimed with incoming emails as responses from law firms trickled in.
“Martinez & Associates is in,” Henry announced around two o’clock, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “Pro bono representation for any resident facing pressure tactics.”
I looked up from my stack of papers, grinning. “That’s three firms now. And I’ve got two independent inspectors willing to do fair market assessments at reduced rates.”
Henry exhaled, shaking his head in disbelief. “It’s not just about business for them. My father’s burned a lot of bridges over the years—strong-arming locals, undercutting contracts, making it impossible for small firms to compete. They’ve been waiting for a chance to push back.”
When our stomachs started growling, Henry ordered pizza. We ate straight from the box, comparing notes between bites. His tie had long since been discarded, sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he paced, talking to another contact. I couldn’t help but notice how the muscles in his forearms flexed as he gestured.
The sun was setting when Henry ended his last call. “That’s five law firms total,” he said, dropping onto the couch beside me. “And a promise from my old professor to review any contracts that come through.”
I stared at our day’s work spread across the coffee table, overwhelmed by what we’d accomplished. “We’re doing this,” I breathed. “We’re fighting back.”
“We are,” Henry said. When I turned to look at him, I found his face inches from mine.
The air between was filled with something more than victory. We’d been brushing past each other all day, sharing looks, working in perfect sync. Now, with no more calls to make or emails to send, I couldn’t ignore the electricity anymore.
“Savvy,” Henry breathed, his hand coming to rest on my knee. The warmth of his touch sent shivers up my spine.
I knew I should focus on our work and the community counting on us. But as Henry leaned in, his lips inches from mine, all my boundaries disintegrated.
Our lips met in an achingly familiar and thrillingly new kiss. It was soft at first, tentative, but quickly deepened into something more urgent. Years of pent-up longing and regret poured into that kiss, mingled now with the pride and passion of our shared mission.
When we broke apart, breathless, my mind spun with conflicting emotions. The floodgates had opened, and I was drowning in everything I’d tried to forget. Was this brilliant or completely reckless? My brain screamed that we had too much at stake, that mixing business with pleasure could jeopardize everything we’d worked for today. My heart whispered of second chances and destined timing. And my body ... my body wanted him closer.
“Stay,” I heard myself whisper. The word emerged from some deep place I hadn’t even known was ruling my actions.
Henry’s answer was another searing kiss, his hands tangling in my hair as he pulled me closer. Warning bells rang distantly in my mind, but the thunder of my pulse drowned them out, as did the electric feeling of his fingers against my scalp and the intoxicating familiarity of his cologne.
As we rose from the couch, papers scattered to the floor, I couldn’t tell if this was the smartest or stupidest decision I’d ever made. But in that moment, with Henry’s lips trailing fire down my neck, I realized I didn’t care. Tomorrow could worry about itself.
We stumbled toward the bedroom, leaving a trail of discarded clothing in our wake. Each touch and each kiss obliterated another rational thought until nothing was left but sensation and need. And when Henry whispered my name against my skin, I surrendered completely to whatever force—logic, love, or pure desire—had brought us to this moment. Right or wrong, there was no turning back now.