CHAPTER EIGHT
RYAN

The lobby is quieter without her in it. I hate that I hate that, but her mood board is still on the table. I pull it toward me and look at it properly for the first time. The green she argued for—the color of the valley at dusk, not the sky but the shadows in the grass when the light goes sideways and everything goes deep and specific before it disappears. The copper accent Rowdy mixed for her. Fixture references with handwritten notes in the margins. A layout sketch on graph paper, pencil lines, smudge marks from corrections. I recognize it because it looks just like the kind of thing that gets made at midnight when a space won’t leave you alone.

I’ve had a lot of those over the years away from Oak Valley.

Very few of them ever made it onto the finished product because the partners at the firm are more worried about bottom lines and trends than anything that looks like a unique creative thought.

I glance at my plans. It’s the same building. My version solves for load, span, historical accuracy, code compliance. Every decision is defensible and every line exists for a financial or feasibility reason.

Dale sticks his head in from the hallway, clocks the way I’m hovering over these plans apparently decides whatever he needed wasn’t that urgent after all.

From the east corridor Matt’s bluetooth speaker spills East Divide’s hits through the building. I hear him say something about Dani’s suggestion with the sconces over the music.

My grandfather’s voice answers, warm and unhurried.

The two of them standing under the junction box Matt’s been working on all day. My grandfather has lived in this building longer than Matt has been alive. “The offset was her idea?” my grandfather is asking.

“Came in this morning and clocked it in about thirty seconds,” Matt says. “The walls aren’t square over there. Centered sconces would’ve killed the shadow play the original architecture is doing.” He shakes his head like he’s still thinking about it. “Didn’t occur to me to look at it that way.”

My grandfather nods slowly. He sees me standing in the hallway. Doesn’t say anything, just looks back up at the junction box with a smile tugging at the corners of his eyes.

Jake walks up behind me and grips my shoulder with one hand. “Still here?” he asks, looking over my shoulder at the plans stretched out in front of me.

“Mhm,” I say, rubbing my thumb over one of the color swatches Dani left behind.

“I’m going to miss having her around,” he says. 

“Uh-huh” I grunt, again. “Wait… what?”

“When this wraps up,” he says, pulling back and giving me a blank expression like that just explained everything.

It didn’t.

“What do you mean? What’s happening when the inn is complete?”

“She’s got something lined up,” Jake says, picking up a few of his tools from the work table. “It’s a big deal for her, apparently. She’s been working toward it for a long time.”

“When?”

Jake glances up. “The start date’s in like three weeks, maybe four? Pretty competitive from what I understand.” He hefts his tool bag onto his shoulder.

Three weeks.

I’m doing math before I can stop myself. Twenty days for the inn, maybe twenty-five with buffer. That’s…

Nope.

Not thinking about that right now.

“You didn’t know?” Jake asks.

I shake my head.

“Huh.” He shifts his weight. “Well. Now you do.” He moves toward the door, pauses. “She’s good at what she does, Ryan. Really good. They’ll be lucky to have her on their team.”

The door closes behind him with a thud.

I look back at the mood board and drag my hand down my face.

She’s leaving Oak Valley?

My phone buzzes.

Marcus: Board meeting moved up to Monday. Need confirmation you’ll be there.

From the east corridor I can hear my grandfather and Matt still talking about the offset sconces and the specific shade of green that only matters if you’re actually paying attention.

Which apparently I haven’t been.

For ten years.

Cool.

Great.

That’s fine.

She’s been here the whole time I’ve been in Nashville, probably walking past this building a thousand times, seeing exactly what it needed, and just… not stopping.

Because I left.

That’s why.

My thumb hovers over Marcus’s message.

Monday?

The partnership papers are still sitting on my laptop. Unsigned. Because apparently I can’t make myself do the one thing I’ve been working toward for ten years..

That tracks.

Me: I’ll be there but on Zoom.

I shove my phone back in it’s holster, already planning out how this conversation is going to go when Marcus calls me about it, because he absolutely will.