10. Chapter 10
Chapter ten
Wyatt
Dad's already outside when I come down for coffee, working a hose along the tomato beds like it's any other Tuesday morning.
“Morning,” I say.
“Morning.” He doesn't look up from the hose. “Savannah make it back to Texie's all right?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.”
He moves the water to the next row, taking his time with it.
I know that look. There's more coming.
“You got something you want to ask me?”
“Nope.”
“Dad.”
“Just wondering how the rest of your not-a-date went.”
I lower my coffee. “Who told you it wasn't a date?”
Now he looks at me. “Savannah.”
“When?”
“Over cobbler. Before Ellie got to the story about the goat getting into the garden.”
I shake my head.
“We had a good time.”
“I figured.”
I lean against the porch post while he finishes the row.
“She's different,” I say.
Dad nods. “Fifteen years will do that.”
“That's not what I mean.”
He shuts the water off and starts coiling the hose.
“You're different too, son.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Dad—”
“I'm not saying anything.” He finally looks at me, and there's nothing sharp in it, just that same steady patience he's had my whole life.
“Just don't fall in love with the memory of who she was.
That's an easy trap. Man gets to missing somebody so long, he starts loving the missing instead of the person.”
“I know who she is now.”
“You're starting to.”
He isn't wrong, which is irritating.
The Savannah I knew at nineteen had a sketchbook under her arm and one foot out of Stonebridge. The woman who came back built the company she used to talk about like it was some impossible dream. She runs meetings and employs people and has an entire life I know almost nothing about.
But last night she walked into the honey shop and, within five minutes, had ideas for half the place. She sat at our kitchen table eating Dad's cobbler and talking to Ellie like she belonged there.
Between dinner and walking her to Texie's door, I stopped thinking much about the girl she used to be.
Dad picks up the coiled hose and slings it over one shoulder.
“Get to know the woman, son. Not the girl you used to walk home from school. There's a difference, and it matters.”
“I am.”
He takes a few steps toward the shed, then stops.
“And don't make the same mistake twice.”
“What mistake?”
“Thinking loving somebody means you have to step aside.”
My grip tightens around the coffee cup.
“She wanted New York.”
“I know.”
“What was I supposed to do? Ask her to give all that up for me?”
Dad looks at me for a long second.
“No. But there's a difference between asking someone to give up her dreams and telling her you want her to stay.”
I don't answer.
Because in my head, those have always been the same thing.
Dad turns toward the shed again.
“Get to know her, Wyatt. Then let Savannah decide what Savannah wants.”
He doesn't wait for me to answer.
I don't have one ready anyway.
The Books and Blooms fundraiser meeting is already underway when I get to the library.
Same conference room as last year. Same too-small table. Same plate of cookies Millie insists are for everyone while steadily moving them closer to her side.
Martha Bell, Stonebridge's librarian, has a binder open in front of her. Texie has opinions about the binder.
We make it through most of the schedule without an argument. Bike parade at eight, book sale and food vendors through lunch, reading awards in the afternoon, dunk tank to finish the day.
“And Wyatt's doing the dunk tank again,” Martha says.
“No.”
“You did it last year.”
“That's not a reason to do it again.”
“Ellie dunked you three times,” Texie says.
“Four.”
She smiles. “I was trying to protect your dignity.”
“It's too late for that.”
That gets a laugh around the room, and for a second it's easy—the schedule, the banter, the familiar rhythm of people who've done this together for years.
I let myself settle into it, grateful for something to think about besides Savannah.
Then the conference room door opens.
Savannah steps inside with two books tucked under one arm and stops when she sees us.
“Oh. Sorry. I didn't realize you were having a meeting.”
“You're fine,” Martha says. “Come in.”
“I can come back.”
“Or you can sit,” Millie says. “We're planning Books and Blooms.”
Savannah finds me at the table.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
There's an empty chair beside me.
She takes it.
I don't read anything into that.
I also don't move mine farther away.
Martha pulls out the flyer draft next, sliding copies around the table. One lands in front of Savannah.
“Sponsor a Shelf,” she explains, mostly for Savannah's benefit, slides another sheet across the table. “Local businesses sponsor a shelf inside the library, we put up a plaque. Helps cover new titles, computer upgrades, that kind of thing.”
Savannah reviews the list — Stonebridge Hardware, Pine Hollow Bakery, Millie's Café.
She stops on one plaque near the bottom of the stack.
“Sponsored by an Anonymous Friend of the Library,” she reads aloud. “That's sweet. Any idea who?”
“Nobody knows,” Martha says, entirely too fast, not looking at me.
Texie doesn't look at me either, which is somehow worse.
“Well, whoever it is, that's a nice thing to do quietly,” Savannah says, setting the folder down. “Most people who do nice things want credit for them.”
“Some people don't,” I say, before I can stop myself.
Her eyes come back to mine.
For a second, she just looks at me.
Then she lets me off the hook.
“Blake Co. will sponsor a shelf.”
Martha blinks. “Blake Co.?”
“Absolutely. Just tell me what I need to do.”
“Savannah, that's incredibly generous.”
“It's a library shelf.”
“That's exactly why it's generous,” Texie says.
Savannah waves that off and flips another page.
“What's going in the silent auction?”
“Gift baskets, mostly,” Martha says. “A quilt from the sewing circle. Last year someone donated a weekend at their lake house.”
Savannah taps her pen against the page.
I know that expression already. She's working something out.
“I can have Blake Co. send some things down. Jackets, packs, hiking shells. The good stuff.”
Martha stares at her. “You're serious?”
“Of course. I'll call Liv tonight.”
She's already writing herself a note.
“What else can I do? Setup, cleanup, work a table. Whatever you need.”
Texie smiles. “You don't have to do all that.”
“I know.”
Savannah goes quiet for a second.
“I want to.”
That gets my attention.
“I'm here. Put me to work.”
There's a certainty in her voice I wasn't expecting.
Martha smiles. “We can definitely put you to work.”
“I was hoping you'd say that.”
My radio crackles at my hip.
“Sheriff, you available?”
“Go ahead.”
“Mrs. Patterson locked herself out again.”
“Tell her I'm on my way.”
I push back from the table.
Savannah stands too.
“What are you doing?”
“Coming with you.”
“Why?”
“I just said put me to work.”
“This isn't fundraiser work.”
“Still work.”
“Savannah, it's a lockout.”
She picks up her bag. “Maybe I can help.”
“Can you pick locks?”
“No. But I'm small and resourceful.”
“That's concerning.”
She's already heading for the door.
I've seen this before. Savannah moving while I'm still trying to explain why she doesn't need to.
Martha waves us off. “Go. We've got this.”
Savannah turns back. “I'm serious about helping.”
“We'll put you to work,” Martha promises.
“Good.”
Then Savannah turns to me.
“Ready?”
I don't have to hear her answer. I know I am.
I follow her out.