Chapter 26LARK #4
Sawyer presses his lips together, then exhales slowly, a quiet whistle escaping through his teeth.
“If we confront him directly with all of it, he’ll panic.
Either try to cover his tracks fast or get desperate and double down.
But if we’re smart about it—if we let him know someone’s watching and we’ve got receipts—he might just slink back into the shadows and rethink the bakery. ”
I glance toward the fields stretching out around us, dark and silent under the early summer sky.
“I don’t want to scare him,” I say, then correct myself.
“No, actually—I do. I want him to know I’m not just going to sit back while he takes what’s mine.
This diner? It’s not some failing relic he can bulldoze with overpriced pastries and a chalkboard menu.
It’s mine. It was Alice’s. It’s the town’s.
And I’m done letting him act like he gets to have the final say. ”
Sawyer’s eyebrows lift, and for the first time since he arrived, he looks almost impressed.
Boone turns toward me fully now and there’s something in his eyes—quiet, unflinching.
“I’m not gonna stand in your way,” he says, voice low and rough at the edges. “But if you need anything—me there with you, or just close by—I’ll be there. Whatever you need, Lark. Say the word.”
His hand finds mine, warm and sure, fingers curling around mine. He gives it a gentle squeeze.
I squeeze back. “I know.”
A breeze picks up and cuts through the heat pooling at the base of my neck. The scent of hay and blossoms drifts up from the pasture.
“Can you send me everything?” I ask, turning to Sawyer. “All of it. Whatever you’ve got.”
He nods once. “I’ll get it to you tonight. Encrypted folder. Don’t open it on any public Wi-Fi. It’s messy, but it’s solid.”
“Messy’s fine,” I say. “I just need to see it for myself.”
Sawyer crosses his arms, thumb tapping absently against his massive bicep as he thinks. “You’ll want to go in firm but not desperate. If he smells panic, he’ll turn it into leverage. Just show him enough to suggest you’re not bluffing. Let him wonder how deep you’ve already gone.”
“Drop just enough to make him sweat.”
“Exactly,” Sawyer says. “Act like you’ve got nothing to lose. That’s what he hates most. People who aren’t scared of him.”
Boone gives a small, humorless huff beside me. “You’re already better at that than you think.”
I let out a quiet laugh. For the first time in a long while, I can see the next few steps laid out in front of me, sharp and steady. Not easy, but mine to take.
Sawyer glances toward his car like he’s finally run out of reasons to linger. “I just wanted to bring the news myself,” he says. “Felt like it deserved more than a file in your inbox.”
He nods at me. “Good luck, Lark. You’re tough. I can tell.”
“Thanks,” I say, meaning it more than I expected to. “For looking into it. For showing up.”
Boone reaches out, and the two shake hands again, firm and quick. “Appreciate it. Seriously, man.”
Sawyer shrugs one shoulder and lifts an eyebrow. “Guess the Harts aren’t all bad.”
Boone lets out a low laugh. “Careful, you’re gonna ruin your reputation with all that sentimental shit.”
Sawyer chuckles, already turning toward the steps. “See you around.”
We watch his taillights cut through the dark, the sleek body of his car disappearing down the gravel drive. Once he’s gone, Boone sighs and turns toward me.
“That was a lot,” he says, voice quieter now, like the night has finally caught up to us. “How are you holding up?”
I blink toward the horizon, where the last sliver of sunlight has finally disappeared, and try to make sense of the knot sitting behind my ribs. “Honestly?” I say, twisting the edge of my sleeve around my fingers. “I feel like I just got handed a loaded weapon and told to play nice with it.”
Boone brushes a loose strand of hair away from my cheek, his touch careful, like he knows the exact weight of the moment. “You don’t have to play nice. Not with him.”
“I know,” I say. “But I want to be smart. I want to win.”
He studies me for a second, like he’s cataloging every shift in my expression.
Then he leans in, presses his mouth to mine, slow at first—steady and sure, like a promise—but then it deepens, and his hand moves to my waist, fingers pressing through the fabric.
The kiss drags me away from all of it—the gravity of this clusterfuck, the chess game I’m about to play.
It’s hot and comforting all at once, and it pulls the breath right out of me.
When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against mine, breath warm and a little smug. “We’ve got a few minutes before dinner.”
I arch a brow. “What, you wanna bang it out upstairs while your mom sets the table?”
He grins, that crooked, wicked kind that makes my knees feel a little less trustworthy. “Why not? Ridge pulled that move for years.”
“Ew.” I laugh, scrunching up my nose. “I really didn’t need that visual, thanks.”
He laughs again, then slips his arms around my thighs and lifts me up like it’s nothing. I let out a startled squeal as he carries me up the driveway.
“Where exactly are we going?” I ask, my arms winding around his neck as I try not to smile too wide.
He heads toward his truck without missing a beat. “To Lucille. It’ll be just like high school.”
I narrow my eyes. “Are you insane? Someone could walk by. Anyone could see us.”
His grin just widens. “Then you better saddle up and ride like you mean it, sweetheart.”