by Sarra Cannon
“I do, too,” I say. “While we were walking around, I was already making up project lists in my head. It would be a huge job to organize and manage, but I really think we should go for it.”
“Well, we can put in a bid, but that doesn’t mean that the historical society is going to choose us for the job,” he says. He takes a sip of wine. “Susan said there are already six bids in place, and there are still a few months before the council is going to make their decision.”
“So, we just have to blow them all out of the water,” I say, touching his hand.
“It’s not that simple,” he says. “We would need to prove that we have the staff to handle it, the ideas on how things are going to be done, plus we need to be able to show that we have the experience and skill to do the job.”
“It’s so sexy that you’re using the word ‘we’ right now,” I say, laughing.
“I couldn’t do this without you,” he says. “I’m good at the woodworking, but when it comes to the business and the organization, I have no idea what I’m doing. You’d be perfect for all that stuff.”
“I mean, I never really thought about wanting to start my own business or run a business, but it makes sense. I love organizing, I’m good at project management. I have a degree now in economics. Penny can help us set everything up in terms of the business name and all the paperwork. Do you think you’d really like to work with me every day?”
“Are you kidding me? I can’t think of anything I’d rather do with the rest of my life,” he says. He leans over his pizza and kisses my cheek. “We just need a business name.”
“Ah, good point,” I say. I almost can’t believe we’re really thinking about this, but I’m excited and thrilled. Ever since graduation, I feel like I’ve just been floating on a sea of ‘I have no idea what I’m going to do with my life’. The idea of applying for some stuffy office job sitting in a cubicle or something all day was killing my will to live. But this? This is exciting.
“What about Warner Restorations? Too boring?” I ask.
“Definitely too boring.”
“Warner Construction, Incorporated?”
“Too corporate sounding,” he says. “My dad was a corporate kind of guy, and I don’t want to feel like him in any way. If we’re going to do this, we’re going to be simple and straightforward and stay true to ourselves the whole way.”
“So, we need something more personal,” I say. I’m trying to think creatively, but so far, nothing brilliant is coming to mind.
“I’m drawing a blank,” he says. “Everything I think of sounds too business-like. I’d rather have something that feels like us, you know?”
I smile and bite my lower lip.
“What?” he asks.
“This might be too cheesy,” I say. “But what about Where the Heart Is, LLC? Kind of a play on home is where the heart is?”
“I love it,” he says. “And it’s a nod to my passion for heart pine. It’s perfect.”
And it is. A chill travels down my spine.
“So, does this mean we’re really doing this? We’re going into business together?”
“We’re already a team in life,” he says. “We might as well be a team in business, too. What do you think?”
“I’m all in,” I say.
And we spend the rest of the night talking about our plans.
Chapter Twenty-One
Between our plans for the new company and our plans for the wedding, time seems to fly by. It’s exciting to be a part of it, and the idea of us working together has completely transformed me. I never in a million years dreamed I would be working with my future husband and running a business together, but it’s actually fun to get to spend so much time together.
And I’m in list-making heaven.
Penny has been helping us set up an official LLC—Where the Heart Is—and we’ve almost gotten through all the paperwork and businessy stuff that needs to be done. I’ve even managed to get a few new jobs for the business by talking to people around town about the work he’s done so far. I know it’s going to take some time to build our reputation, but every business starts somewhere, and I’m excited to be a part of it.
My parents think it’s a terrible idea, of course. They say we don’t have enough experience and should spend more time thinking about it before we jump right in, but I’m tired of listening to their objections about every major choice I make in my life.
On the days when we don’t have a job site to work on, we both help out at Rob’s. Knox still bartends on the days and nights when Jo is short or someone calls out sick, and I volunteered to serve whenever she needs an extra hand.
This morning when Jo called to say she had two servers call out with some type of stomach bug, I left Knox at the site of our most recent job and headed over. My shift is almost finished when my mother walks through the door.
My body immediately tenses.
She’s barely said two words to me since I told her we were moving forward with our plans to start a business. Every time I’ve called or tried to come over, she’s made up some excuse as to why she doesn’t have time to work on the wedding plans, but I know that she’s punishing me for making a choice she doesn’t approve of.
I’m starting to realize this is a pattern with my mother. When I’m doing what she wants me to do, she’s very sweet and loving toward me. But when I make a choice she doesn’t agree with, she punishes me with her silence and a cold shoulder, letting me know that I’ve made her unhappy.
Still, realizing it and not letting it affect me are two very different things.
As soon as I’ve refilled the water glasses at all my tables, I head over to say hello to her.
“I was afraid I might find you here,” she says. “I’ve been trying to call you all morning.”
“Is everything okay with Dad?” I ask.
“Dad? Oh, goodness, yes, everything is fine,” she says, glancing around the restaurant with a look of distaste on her face.
“Do you want me to get you a table?” I ask. “You should really try the shrimp and grits here, you would love it.”
She frowns. “I don’t intend to stay long,” she says. She plants a smile on her face and takes my hand. “But if you have a minute, there’s something exciting I’d like to show you.”
“Sure,” I say, utterly confused why she’s come up here just to show me something. “I’ve still got a couple tables running, but if it’s important, I can have someone else look after them for me.”
“Well, I wouldn’t have come up here if it wasn’t important,” she says.
Annoyed, I ask her to give me a few minutes. I disappear into the kitchen and grab one of the other servers and ask him to keep an eye on my two tables for a few minutes. When I come back out, Mom is still standing in exactly the same place near the hostess stand.
“Come sit down for a second,” I say.
I lead her toward the bar and have to force myself not to roll my eyes when she takes a napkin and wipes down the seat of the barstool before sitting down.
“What’s up?” I ask, sincerely curious about what’s so important that’s she’s come all the way down here.
“I had no idea you were actually still working here,” she says, her voice low as if it’s some awful secret she wants to hide from the world. “Forgive me if I’m overstepping here, but if Knox supposedly has all this money, why on earth are you two still taking shifts at this place?”
“This place is a respectable restaurant that’s run by his closest family, Mom,” I say. “A family that’s going to be mine soon, too.”
She makes a clicking noise against her teeth, a sign of distaste I’ve come to loath over the years. “I just never dreamed you’d end up in a place like this,” she says, shaking her head. “People will think you need the money.”
Anger rolls through me like a summer storm. “Why do I care what people think?” I say.
“Don’t take that tone of voice with me, young lady,” she says.
“And you should absolutely care what people think. If Knox is going to try to set up a legitimate business here in town, it would be best to at least give the illusion that things are going well. You here waitressing and him working the bar simply doesn’t look good. If either of you knew the first thing about starting your own business, you’d realize that.”
I bite down on my tongue to keep from shouting at her.
“What did you come to tell me?” I ask. “You said you had exciting news?”
Her eyes light up. “Yes,” she says. She digs through her purse and comes up with a large yellow envelope. “Look what came to the house today. Leigh Anne, this could change everything for you.”
Confused, I pick up the envelope and look for the return address.
Stanford Law School.
My heart beats faster and my palms begin to sweat. “What is this?” I ask.
“What does it look like? It’s an application to the JD program at Stanford,” she says, practically bouncing on the stool. “I requested one for you and it just arrived today. But if you’re going to meet the February application deadline, you’re going to have to start studying for the LSAT in December. I went ahead and sent in your registration online.”
“Mom, why would you do that?” I ask.
She grips my hand, forcing me to look in her eyes.
“Because I know you were meant for better things than this,” she says, leaning toward me. “The Leigh Anne I knew used to want to get out into the world and make something of herself. I know you’ve been through more than anyone should ever have to go through at such a young age, but you can’t let that derail your entire life. I know you started filling out applications last year, but you got scared. It’s understandable. But you have another chance to follow your dreams, and I’m not going to let you throw that away.”
“You’re being ridiculous,” I say, pulling my hand away from hers. “I don’t want to go to law school. That’s why I didn’t send those applications out. I don’t want to leave Fairhope. Knox and I are getting married and making a life here. This is what I want.”
She shakes her head. “Is it really?” she asks. “Are you absolutely sure? Because if you turn your back on everything you used to want, you better make damn sure you’re doing it for the right reasons. I know you think I’m overbearing and sticking my nose in where it doesn’t belong, but you have to believe that all I want is what’s best for you. I don’t want you to wake up ten years from now stuck in this town that you used to hate and regret that you didn’t go after your dreams.”
“That isn’t going to happen.” I stand up, pushing the envelope toward her on the bar. “Is this all because you don’t approve of me marrying Knox? Is that why you’re doing this? Because our engagement party is three days away, and I’m not calling it off to run away to law school just to make you happy.”
She stands up and grabs the envelope. “I’m doing this because ever since that man hurt you, you haven’t been the same person you used to be,” she says. There is venom in her tone. “I don’t want to see you walk away from everything you ever wanted just because you’re afraid. I don’t want to see you choose something that feels safe just because you were too scared to take a risk again. The Leigh Anne who left this town was happy and brave, but the Leigh Anne who came back has been weak and scared. You’re making a huge mistake settling for a man like Knox. You were meant for bigger things. Everyone with eyes can see that.”
I try to swallow, but there’s a thick lump of shame caught in my throat. I can’t even bring myself to speak.
“This isn’t who you are, Leigh Anne,” she says, nodding toward the bar. “You don’t belong in a place like this. Don’t give up on your dreams just because some guy hurt you.”
She shoves the envelope from Stanford into my hands.
“This is who you are,” she says. “I think if you really listen to me and listen to your heart, you’ll see that I’m right.”
With that, she turns and walks away from me, disappearing through the door of the restaurant.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Sweat trickles down my back as I lift a heavy sheet of plywood from the back of the truck and haul it into the house. It’s an unusually hot fall day, and the house we’re working on doesn’t have any electricity at the moment, which means no air conditioning or fans. It’s sweltering, and I’m contemplating telling everyone to take the rest of the afternoon off and come back at seven tonight when it’s cooler.
If I can find a generator and rig up a few lights, it’s a real possibility.
But before I can decide, a man in khakis and a yellow polo shirt walks up the front steps and holds his hand out to me.
“Knox Warner, right?” he asks.
I set the plywood down and pull the work glove off my right hand. “That’s me,” I say. “And you are?”
“Johnny Pruett,” he says. “I hope I’m not intruding, but I just finished up a job in the area and thought I’d try to catch up with you if you have a few minutes.”
For a second, I can’t quite place where I’ve heard the name, but then it comes back to me in a flash.
“You’re a friend of Mr. Davis,” I say. Whenever I’ve mentioned wanting to start a business restoring houses, Leigh Anne’s father mentions his good friend Johnny who works in the business. He’s also the man who suggested Dr. Wilson tear down her entire staircase rather than try to restore it. “Pruett Construction?”
“In the flesh,” he says. He’s an older man, probably mid-sixties, and he’s a couple inches taller than my six feet. “Do you have some time to chat?”
“I was actually just thinking about telling my guys to knock off until this afternoon,” I say. “The heat is oppressive today.”
“I hear you there,” he says. “Why don’t you take care of that and then swing by this cafe on the boardwalk called The Bakery. I’ll have some iced tea waiting for you.”
I hesitate. I have no idea what this guy has come to talk to me about, but there’s no doubt in my mind that Leigh Anne’s dad sent him with some kind of agenda, and that makes me nervous.
“I know you’re a busy man,” he says. “I promise not to take up too much of your time. I’ll see you there in about fifteen.”
Johnny Pruett doesn’t even give me a chance to say no. He heads back to his truck and pulls away before I can answer, and for some reason, that annoys the crap out of me. I don’t like being manipulated or told what to do, and it just rubs me the wrong way.
But if he’s a friend of Mr. Davis, it wouldn’t be a good idea for me to refuse to talk to him for a few minutes. It’s already been a struggle to get Leigh Anne’s parents on board with this wedding, and I don’t want to make things worse just a few days out from the official engagement party.
I tell my small crew to head home for the day, take a detour to Rob’s to wash up real quick, and then drive over to the small cafe by the beach. Johnny is waiting there and waves me over to his table.
“Right on time,” he says. “I appreciate you meeting me here for a few minutes.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, what exactly did you want to talk about?” I ask.
“You get right to the point, don’t you?” he says with a laugh. “I was talking to Bud Davis the other day and he told me about your engagement to his daughter. I wanted to extend my congratulations. I’ve known Leigh Anne since she was a little ol’ thing in diapers.”
“Thank you,” I say. But I know he hasn’t tracked me down just to tell me congratulations, so I wait for the rest of it to come.
“He also mentioned to me that you’re just getting started in the business,” he says. “And I’ll admit I’ve heard a few rumors going around that you’ve had your eye on the old Monroe mansion project.”
I nod. “I took a look around the place a few weeks back,” I say. “It’s incredible.”
“It sure is,” he says. “It’s a big job, as I’m sure you noticed.”
“Yes, sir.”
/> “Well, I’ve had my eye on that project for a while myself, and I was thinking maybe we could work together on it, if you were interested,” he says.
This surprises me. I wasn’t expecting a business offer. “What exactly did you have in mind?”
“I know you’ve been working to set yourself up with your own local business, so I don’t want to step on your toes or anything. I was once in your shoes. I understand how tough it can be to run a business of your own when you’ve just got a small crew and only a few real jobs under your belt,” he says. He sits back in his chair and sips on his coffee. “I was thinking instead of trying to tackle such a big job by yourself, you could come to work for me. Just as a temporary thing for now. Kind of a trial run to see how we work together. I’ve been needing a new foreman for some time now, and Bud speaks very highly of your work.”
I clear my throat and set my glass of tea back down on the table. “I appreciate the offer, but I’ve already got a few jobs of my own going at the moment, and I’ve already put in all the paperwork on my own company,” I say. “I wasn’t really looking to work for a larger corporation.”
“Of course, I understand that,” he says. “It’s just that the Monroe estate is too big of a job for a small company like yours. Forgive me for being frank here, but you simply don’t have the experience to tackle such a big job on your own. I’m sure you realize that.”
“If I won the bid, I’d have to bring in a lot of new crew, but I think we’re up to the task,” I say.
“We?” he asks, sitting back in his chair.
“Leigh Anne and I,” I say. “We’re starting the business together. She’s going to run the project management side while I handle the day-to-day reconstruction work.”
