24. Chapter 24
Chapter twenty-four
Wyatt
Savannah's been back from New York for three weeks.
Which isn't entirely accurate.
She's been back for three weeks, gone again for four days, and come back again.
I like that last part best.
She's at our kitchen table when I come in from feeding the goats, laptop open, one earbud in, talking to Liv while Ellie works on a math sheet beside her.
Dad's at the counter cutting peaches.
This has become a pretty normal morning around here.
Savannah stays at Texie's when she's in Stonebridge, but she's at Iron Ridge often enough that Dad told her two weeks ago to quit calling him Mr. Stapleton.
“You're family around here,” he'd said. “Call me Dad.”
She'd gone pink all the way to her ears.
She still slips back to Mr. Stapleton sometimes, but she's getting used to Dad.
I'm getting used to a lot of things.
“No, move it to Thursday,” Savannah says into the phone. “If the samples aren't ready Wednesday, there's no reason to make everybody miserable pretending they are.”
Ellie taps Savannah's arm and points at her worksheet.
Savannah studies it for a second, whispers something to her, then goes right back to her call.
I lean against the counter and watch her.
It's not anything big. That's probably why I like it so much.
Her laptop on our kitchen table. Her purse hanging over the back of the chair. Ellie leaning close enough to see her screen even though she has no interest in anything happening at Blake Co.
A few weeks ago, I flew to New York because I was afraid if I didn't finally tell Savannah exactly what I wanted, I'd lose another fifteen years.
Now she's sitting in my kitchen arguing with someone about a Thursday deadline while helping my niece with fractions.
Dad follows my line of sight.
“You're staring.”
“I know.”
He drops another peach slice into the bowl. “Just checking.”
Savannah looks up from her laptop and catches me.
Her mouth curves into a smile before she points to the empty chair across from her.
“You planning to stand there all morning?”
I pull out the chair. “Depends. You planning to work all morning?”
“Some of us have jobs.”
Dad carries the peaches to the table. “I'd stay out of this one, son.”
“Thank you, Dad.”
Savannah says it without thinking.
Dad goes still. So do I.
It takes her another second.
Then she realizes what she said.
“Oh.”
Her cheeks go pink.
Dad smiles. “You're getting better at it.”
She laughs. “I guess.”
“Told you it'd stop feeling strange.”
“I'm not sure we're there yet.”
“Close enough.”
He heads back to the counter.
She turns to me.
“Don't.”
I smile. “Didn't say anything.”
“You don't have to.”
Her phone chirps, and she reaches for it.
“Saved by Liv.”
She puts the earbud back in and goes right back to work.
Ellie pushes her worksheet across the table toward me.
“Can you check this?”
I give the problem a quick once-over.
“Ask Savannah.”
“She told me to divide when I was supposed to multiply.”
Savannah holds up one finger without looking away from her screen.
“I corrected myself.”
“After I told you.”
Dad laughs from the sink.
I take the pencil from Ellie.
“Probably best we leave math to the Stapletons.”
Savannah pulls out her earbud.
“Excuse me?”
“Go run your fashion empire.”
She narrows her eyes at me, puts the earbud back in and returns to her call.
I steal a peach from Dad's bowl.
Yeah.
I could get used to this.
By ten, Savannah has finished with Blake Co. and moved on to meddling in my business.
She turns her laptop toward me as I'm heading for the mudroom.
“Come look at this.”
“No.”
“You haven't seen it.”
“Don't need to.”
“Wyatt.”
I keep walking.
“You don't actually work for Lane.”
“I'm consulting.”
“Nobody hired you.”
“That's what makes me affordable.”
I stop.
“You are definitely not affordable.”
She smiles. “Come here.”
I walk around the table.
She's pulled up the Lane website.
The old homepage is gone. In its place is a photograph of one of our duffels on the tailgate of my truck, the orchard soft in the background. Below it are wallets, belts and backpacks, everything laid out cleaner than before.
I hate how much better it looks.
I scroll farther.
Then I see Grandpa's workbench.
I stop.
His tools are still hanging above it. The old cutting mat is scarred from years of use, and his wooden mallet is sitting near the edge, the handle worn smooth where his hand used to wrap around it.
“Where'd you get this?”
“Your dad.”
“Of course.”
Savannah leans closer to the screen.
“He said you learned everything at that bench.”
“Most of it.”
“Then it belongs here.”
I look at the picture a little longer.
Grandpa spent years telling me I could make something out of this. Savannah spent half our teenage years saying the same thing.
I didn't believe either one of them.
Turns out they were both right.
I scroll again.
THE STORY BEHIND LANE
“No.”
“You haven't read it.”
“It's private.”
“I know. That's why I kept it simple.”
I read the three sentences.
Lane began at a workbench on a Tennessee farm, where Wyatt Stapleton learned leatherwork from his grandfather. The company was named for someone who believed his work was worth sharing long before he believed it himself.
“I like it,” I say as I close her laptop.
“Hey. I wasn't finished.”
I pull her chair away from the table and bring her to her feet.
She laughs when my hands settle at her waist.
“Now I'm consulting.”
“On what?”
I kiss her.
The back door opens.
We separate just as Ellie walks in carrying a bucket.
She stops long enough to look at us.
“I need Grandpa.”
“Garden,” I tell her.
She heads right back outside.
The door closes behind her.
“She knows.”
“She's nine. She knows people kiss.”
Savannah picks up her laptop.
“Go to work, Sheriff.”
I catch her before she gets around the table and kiss her cheek.
“Quit changing my website.”
“No promises.”
That afternoon, I find Savannah at the honey house.
She's sitting on the counter with her laptop beside her, one of our honey jars in her hands.
“You know Texie has a house.”
“I've seen it.”
“And you have an office.”
“I've seen that too.”
“Yet you're here.”
She holds up the jar. “I was looking at the label.”
“Put that down.”
She laughs and sets it beside her.
I put the crate I'm carrying on the worktable.
“You're going to redesign those too, aren't you?”
“I might have a few ideas.”
“Of course you do.”
I start checking jars against Saturday's order while she works beside me.
This is another thing that's become normal.
Savannah showing up.
Sometimes she's here to help. Sometimes she has her own work to do and likes doing it close to me.
I don't ask which one it is anymore.
After a few minutes, she closes her laptop.
“I'm going back Monday. Three nights. I'll be back Thursday.”
The first time she told me she needed to go back, I heard the word go louder than everything that came after it.
This time I hear Thursday.
“Okay.”
“I have a meeting and a few things I need to handle in person.”
“You don't have to explain.”
“I know.”
She slides off the counter and comes over.
“I like telling you when I'm coming back.”
I set the clipboard down.
“I like hearing it.”
“Thursday.”
“Thursday.”
I step between her and the counter and put my hands on her waist.
She straightens the collar of my shirt, even though there's nothing wrong with it.
“I thought splitting my time would be harder,” she says. “Like I'd end up doing both things badly.”
“And?”
“I don't. Liv's taking more of the day-to-day work. Priya's doing more. I'm still running Blake Co. I just don't have to be standing in New York every minute to do it.”
“And when you need to be there, you go.”
“Exactly.”
“Sounds like it's working.”
“I think it is.”
“I missed you last time.”
“You were gone four days.”
“Four days is a long time.”
“It really isn't.”
“It is when I'm used to this.”
She kisses me.
I understand exactly what she means.
There isn't an Ellie or a dad or an employee anywhere nearby this time, so I don't hurry.
I slide my arms around her and pull her closer. I kiss her again and she smiles against my mouth.
When we finally separate, she stays right where she is.
“I'll miss you Monday too.”
“I'll survive.”
“That's very romantic.”
“I'll be miserable.”
“Better.”
“Thursday.”
She smiles. “Thursday.”
Monday night, I miss her.
Which is ridiculous. She's been gone less than a day and she'll be back Thursday, but the house feels different without her in it.
I lie in bed thinking about the last few weeks. All the catching up we've done. The things we've finally said after fifteen years of not saying them.
And I find myself thinking about what I could give her.
Not flowers. Not some expensive piece of jewelry Savannah could buy herself without thinking twice.
Something that means something.
The thought comes dangerously close to a ring, and I shut that down before I get ahead of myself. We're not there yet.
But maybe a promise of some kind.
Something that tells her I'm serious about this. About her. About whatever we're building this time.
I think back through all those conversations we've had since she came home.
And one comes back clearer than the others.
Savannah beside me at the overlook, telling me about the wedding.
Her mother's necklace.
You have no idea what I'd give to have it back.
I sit up.
Maybe I don't need to find her something new.
Maybe I need to help her get back something she never should've lost.
I reach for my phone.
“Liv?”
“Yes?”
“This is Wyatt Stapleton.”
Silence.
Then, “Stonebridge Wyatt Stapleton?”
I close my eyes. “I'm guessing there's only one.”
“Oh, there's definitely only one.”
“I need your help with something.”
Her teasing disappears. “Is Savannah okay?”
“She's fine. It's about her mother's necklace.”
Another pause.
“I'm listening.”
I tell her what Savannah told me.
“I know about the necklace,” Liv says when I finish. “I just never knew what happened to it.”
“I think Preston's mother might still have it.”
“Probably.”
“Think we can get it back?”
There's a beat of silence.
Then Liv says, “Oh, we're getting it back.”
I smile.
“How?”
“We call Preston.”
Six days later, Liv calls me while I'm leaving the sheriff's office.
“We got it.”
I stop beside my truck. “She had it?”
“Preston's mother? Yep. Although she denied it at first.”
“Of course she did.”
“Preston didn't buy it. He pushed until she finally admitted she'd put it away with the other jewelry from the wedding.”
“And?”
“And he got it back.” Liv pauses. “From what I heard he also told his mother exactly what he thought about taking it off Savannah without permission.”
I smile. “Good for him.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
For a moment, neither of us says anything.
Then Liv's voice softens.
“She's happy, Wyatt.”
The change in subject catches me off guard. “Savannah?”
“Really happy. I don't know if you understand how different she is.”
I lean against the truck.
“She loves Blake Co. She always has. But for a long time, work was almost everything. Now she calls me to tell me about Ellie and your dad and honey and goats. Last week she sent me a picture of a chicken.”
“It was probably a good chicken.”
“It was an extremely average chicken.”
I laugh.
“I'm serious,” Liv says. “She's different. Lighter. She sounds like she's enjoying her life instead of just managing it.”
“I believe Stonebridge is good for her.”
“Maybe.” Liv pauses. “I think you are too.”
That one stays with me.
“She's pretty good for me too.”
“I figured.”
“You should come visit.”
“Stonebridge?”
“Why not? Savannah would love it. Ellie would probably have your entire visit planned before you got here.”
Liv laughs. “Careful. I might take you up on that.”
“I hope you do.”
“Now, where am I sending this necklace?”
“To me.”
Silence.
“Not Savannah?”
“No.”
Another pause.
“Oh, Sheriff.”
“Don't.”
“What are you planning?”
“Just send the necklace, Liv.”
She's still laughing when we hang up.