25. Chapter 25
Chapter twenty-five
Savannah
My suitcase has stopped pretending it's temporary.
It's open across the end of Texie's guest-room bed, but half my clothes are hanging in the closet now. I've claimed the nightstand for chargers and reading glasses, and there are three pairs of boots under the chair that I haven't packed in weeks.
Texie takes one look around the room and announces she's raising my rent.
“You don't charge me rent.”
“I do now.” She folds her arms against the doorframe. “One dinner a week.”
I hang another blouse in the closet. “That's extortion.”
“Then move out.”
We both know I'm not doing that yet.
When I'm in Stonebridge, this is home base. When Blake Co. needs me in New York, I go back to my apartment there. Four days last week. Five days next week. Then back here.
It's not permanent.
It doesn't need to be yet.
Texie picks up a Lane wallet from the dresser and turns it over in her hands.
“You know you're basically working for Wyatt now.”
“I am not working for Wyatt.”
“You redid his website.”
“Because it was terrible.”
“You fixed the honey labels.”
“Also terrible.”
“You spent three hours yesterday taking pictures of leather bags.”
“That was for Blake Co.”
She doesn’t buy it.
“Cross-promotion.”
“Sure.”
I take the wallet back from her and drop it into my purse.
Blake Co. is still mine.
Lane is still Wyatt's.
Neither of us has any interest in changing that.
But I know things about branding and campaigns. Wyatt knows how to make leather goods that people actually want to buy.
Helping each other doesn't mean combining everything.
It just means we're finally part of each other's lives.
My phone buzzes with a reminder for my meeting with Liv.
“I have to go.”
Texie smiles. “You always have to go when I'm winning.”
“I'll be at dinner Thursday.”
“With dessert.”
“Don't push it.”
She calls after me as I head downstairs.
“Tell your boyfriend I said hello.”
“I will.”
“And tell him I'm charging him half the rent.”
I laugh all the way to the kitchen.
An hour later, Liv is sitting in my New York office while I'm at Texie's kitchen table with my laptop open and a glass of iced tea beside me.
That would've felt strange a few months ago.
Now it's just Thursday.
We spend most of the call going over the week. Liv tells me what she's handled. I make the decisions that still need me. Priya joins for ten minutes, shows me something she's working on, and leaves before I can overthink it for her.
By the time the call ends, my list is shorter.
And nobody at Blake Co. seems particularly traumatized by the fact that I'm four hundred miles away.
Progress.
I close the laptop, grab my purse, and drive to Iron Ridge.
Dad's truck is parked by the barn.
Wyatt's is near the workshop.
Ellie is on the porch with Moose sprawled across her feet and a book open in her lap.
She looks up as I get out.
“You're late.”
“It's twelve-oh-six.”
“You said noon.”
“Six minutes is not late.”
Ellie closes her book and holds out a sheet of paper.
“Permission slip.”
I take it. “For me?”
“Uncle Wyatt forgot to sign it.”
“So give it to Uncle Wyatt.”
“You're going there.”
I guess I've been promoted to courier.
“Anything else?”
She thinks about it.
“Grandpa said dinner's at six.”
“I'll be here.”
“Good.”
She opens her book again.
Conversation over.
I head toward the workshop with the permission slip in my hand.
Nobody asked me when I started becoming part of the machinery around here.
It just happened.
Ellie hands me permission slips.
Dad asks if I'll be here for dinner.
Moose meets my car halfway down the drive.
Wyatt leaves the workshop door open when he knows I'm coming.
It's open now.
I step inside.
He's standing at the workbench with his sleeves pushed to his elbows, working on a piece of dark brown leather.
He hasn't seen me yet.
Or he's pretending he hasn't.
I take advantage of it.
Broad shoulders. Dark hair. Strong hands moving carefully over the leather.
There are still moments when I see the boy I knew at seventeen.
“You're staring," he says without looking up.
I smile. “You've been doing plenty of that yourself.”
I walk over and hand him the permission slip.
“Very romantic.”
He looks down at it and sighs.
“Forgot.”
“Ellie noticed.”
“She keeps you in line.”
“Someone has to.”
He signs it and sets it aside.
Then his attention comes back to me.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
His hands settle at my waist.
Mine slide up around his neck.
This part never gets old.
He kisses me slowly, like he has nowhere else to be.
I kiss him back the same way.
“How was your meeting?” he asks.
“Good.”
“Blake Co. still standing?”
“Barely.”
I smile and run one finger over the edge of the leather on his workbench.
“What are you making?”
“A bag.”
“I see that.”
He keeps his attention on the leather. “It's for you.”
That gets my attention. “For me?”
He gives me a teasing smile. “Maybe.”
“Wyatt.”
He goes back to his work. “You weren't supposed to be here until noon.”
“It's twelve-ten.”
“Exactly. Thought I'd have more done.”
I reach for it.
He catches my hand before I get there.
“No.”
I stop reaching. “But it's mine.”
“Maybe.”
“You just said it was.”
He pulls the leather a little closer to his side. “I changed my mind.”
I reach around him, but he moves it out of range before I can grab it.
“You are incredibly annoying.”
His smile stays for another second.
“You keep coming back.”
That stops me.
The teasing is gone now, and I forget all about the bag.
I slide my fingers through his.
“Every time.”
His hand closes around mine.
“Good.”
By six, the four of us are crowded around the kitchen table with chicken, corn, and the last squash and tomatoes from Dad's garden.
Moose has planted himself between Ellie and me, evidently having identified the two weakest links.
Ellie is trying to convince Dad that Moose understands everything she says.
“He understands the refrigerator,” Dad says as he passes me the corn. “That's about it.”
Ellie drops one hand to Moose's head. “He understands me.”
I test the theory by tearing off a tiny piece of chicken under the table.
Moose's head immediately lands against my knee.
Wyatt catches me.
“Don't feed the dog.”
I keep my hand hidden. “I'm conducting research.”
Ellie bursts out laughing.
Dad shakes his head as Moose takes the evidence straight from my fingers.
Wyatt looks around the table like he's searching for one remaining ally and finds none.
“You've corrupted my entire family.”
“Improved,” I correct, reaching for the tomatoes.
Dad doesn't bother hiding his smile.
Dinner moves on after that—to Ellie's field trip, Saturday's farmers market, and whether the goats have figured out how to open the lower pasture gate again.
Normal things.
Nobody asks when I'm leaving.
Nobody asks how long I'm staying.
At some point, Dad asks whether I'll be here Sunday.
“I think so.”
He nods. “Good. I'm making cobbler.”
That's all.
And it's enough.
After dinner, Ellie takes her signed permission slip upstairs, Dad settles into his porch chair, and Wyatt finds me rinsing plates at the sink.
“Come with me.”
“I'm helping.”
He takes the plate from my hand and sets it beside the sink. “Dishwasher.”
“Very advanced technology.”
“Changed everything.”
He takes my hand and leads me through the back door toward the orchard.
The sun is low over the trees when we reach the old swing. I sit, and Wyatt steps behind me, giving me a slow push.
“You're going to make me ask if this still holds adults again.”
“It holds you.”
“Still not an answer.”
“I have something else for you.”
I look at him. “What?”
“Close your eyes.”
“Why?”
“Savannah.”
I smile. “Fine.”
I close my eyes.
Wyatt moves behind me, and a second later something cool brushes the front of my neck.
My breath catches.
I know.
Before he even fastens the clasp, I know.
My hand comes up, fingertips finding the small pendant I haven't touched in almost a year.
“Wyatt.”
He finishes with the clasp and his hands settle lightly on my shoulders.
I open my eyes.
My mother's necklace.
For a second, I can't say anything.
I just hold it between my fingers.
“How?”
“Liv helped.”
I turn around. “You got it back?”
“It belonged to you.”
And that's when I lose it.
I get off the swing and wrap my arms around him.
He catches me without a word, holding me tight while I press my face into his chest.
I cry.
Not because of Preston or the wedding. Because I have this piece of my mother back when I'd convinced myself it was gone for good.
Eventually I pull back and wipe my face.
“Thank you.”
“You're welcome.”
I touch the necklace again, still having a hard time believing it's really there.
“I thought I'd never see it again.”
“I know.”
And somehow, that means almost as much as getting it back. He knew how much it mattered. He remembered. And then he did something about it.
I hug him again.
We stay out there a while after that. I end up back on the swing, and Wyatt gives me a slow push like he did the first time. The necklace rests against my chest, familiar in a way that makes everything feel a little more settled.
There's something else I've been meaning to tell him.
“I'm going to New York next Friday,” I say. “Five days this time. And I may have to go again a couple weeks after that.”
“Okay.”
I wait for more. When it doesn't come, I smile. “That's it?”
“What else am I supposed to say?”
I smile because that's exactly the answer I wanted, even if I didn't know it. “I spent so long thinking it had to be one life or the other. Stonebridge or New York. Like there was some rule that said I couldn't love both.”
“There isn't. Blake Co. needs you.” He pauses. “So do we.”
“Very subtle, Sheriff.”
“Wasn't trying to be.”
He steps between my knees and brushes a loose strand of hair away from my face.
“Still worth all the flights?”
“Every one.”
He kisses me.
Next Friday, I'll get on another plane. A few days later, I'll come right back.
Neither one feels like leaving anymore.
When Wyatt pulls back, he reaches into his pocket.
I freeze.
He laughs. “Don't.”
“You put your hand in your pocket.”
“I have pockets.”
“Wyatt.”
Still laughing, he pulls out a small leather keychain.
I stare at it. “That was cruel.”
“I didn't know you were going to panic.”
“I did not panic.”
“You stopped breathing.”
He holds it out to me. A key hangs from the ring, and the leather tab is stamped with one word.
LANE.
“What's this?”
“Key to the house.”
That takes a second to sink in.
“Before you start, I'm not asking you to move in. You're staying at Texie's until we figure out what makes sense. But you're here all the time, and Ellie keeps leaving the back door unlocked for you.”
“She does?”
“Constantly.”
“That's terrible home security.”
“I'm the sheriff. I've mentioned it.”
I take the key from him. “So this is practical.”
“Entirely.”
“Not romantic.”
“Not even a little.”
I turn the leather tab over.
Two smaller words are stamped on the back.
COME HOME.
My teasing disappears.
“For when you go,” he says quietly.
I trace the words with my finger. “You know I will.”
“I do.”
That simple answer gets me more than a speech ever could.
I stand and wrap my arms around his neck. He catches me around the waist and pulls me close.
“I love it.”
“I hoped you would.”
I smile. “And I love you.”
His arms tighten around me. “Even better.”
I kiss him, then slip the key into my pocket.
“So, just to be clear, this isn't a proposal.”
Wyatt laughs. “No.”
“Just checking.”
I start toward the house, and he falls into step beside me.
“Although when that happens, you're not getting this much warning.”
I stop. “Wyatt.”
He keeps walking, entirely too pleased with himself.
I catch up and slide my arm through his.
The lights from the house glow between the trees, Dad is still on the porch, and Ellie's voice carries through the screen door. Moose comes charging across the yard the second he sees us.
I still have an apartment in New York. My office at Blake Co. is still mine. My clothes are scattered between two states, and none of this is how I would've planned my life.
That's okay.
Wyatt takes my hand.
The new key rests in my pocket.
COME HOME.
I always will.