I lean back in my chair, suddenly exhausted. “I might be doing something stupid.”
“Ooh, this is new. Tell me everything.” I can hear the smile in her voice.
“It’s Asher’s mom.”
“I knew it!” Savannah sounds delighted. “What’s her name?”
“Jo.” Even saying it feels dangerous. Intimate. “She’s forty-eight, and owns a boutique.”
“Sounds perfect for you.”
“She’s chaos personified. Gets glitter everywhere. Probably hasn’t met a regulation she hasn’t tried to bend.”
“Definitely perfect for you.” Savannah laughs. “Dad, you’ve spent five years being structured and controlled and careful. Maybe you need someone who shakes things up.”
“She shakes everything up.” I run a hand through my hair. “She makes me want things I thought were over for me.”
“Like what?”
“Like...” I stop. Swallow hard. “Like waking up next to someone. Making coffee for two. Having someone to come home to who actually wants me there.”
The line goes quiet for a moment.
“Dad.” Savannah’s voice is gentle. “You sound happy.”
Do I? I test the feeling, and realize she’s right. Despite the fear and the complications and the three hours of sleep, there’s something light in my chest that hasn’t been there in years.
“Maybe I am,” I admit.
“Then whatever you’re planning to do, do it. Take the risk. Mom would want you to.” She pauses. “Also, bring her around sometime. I want to meet the woman who got you to smile again.”
After we hang up, I sit with that for a long moment. The permission from both my daughter and my employee. The plans spread across my desk that are really just an elaborate excuse to see Jo again. The feeling in my chest that might be hope or might be terror or might be both.
Time to decide. Play it safe, keep my distance, let someone else approve her festival.
Or risk everything.
By the end of my shift, I’ve made my choice.
The plans are perfect. Professional enough to pass any inspection, creative enough to give Jo everything she wants and more. I’ve included permit applications, timeline suggestions, even a list of local vendors who could help with outdoor setup.
It’s too much. It crosses every professional boundary I’ve ever maintained.
I’m doing it anyway.
“Heading out, Chief?” Asher catches me rolling up the diagrams.
“Yeah. Need to deliver something.”
His lips curve. “To anyone I know?”
“Your mother.” I meet his eyes. “About the festival.”
“Right. The festival.” His grin widens. “Good luck, Chief.”
I’m going to need it.
Rex bounds into the truck when I open the door, tail wagging like he knows something good is about to happen. Maybe he does. Maybe dogs can sense when their humans are about to do something either brilliant or catastrophically stupid.
