The Perfect Pairing
Westover & Crane didn’t let up. Julia had agreed to a phone interview, but only to confirm to herself that she was not interested in the job. She received a phone call from one of the partners, then another, and another. Still, Julia wasn’t convinced. By month’s end, a formal offer arrived. The salary made her eyes widen, but it was the challenging project list that made her heart race with excitement.
It was a far bigger decision than she’d anticipated—even for something she’d only dreamed about. Dreams rarely factor in the inconvenient details that must be overcome to make them a reality. Boston meant career advancement and more prestigious projects. Savannah meant home, her established network, and her cherished colleagues and friends. Professionally, it meant abandoning the historic warehouse project she’d poured her soul into for almost a year.
“I can’t do it,” she said to Eliza. “It’s not just about the job,” she confessed. “It’s about you guys, too.”
Eliza, perched on the armrest of Julia’s sofa, unexpectedly softened. “Of course it is,” she replied. “Missing your friends is allowed. It’s practically a constitutional right when you’re contemplating a move to, well,Boston.” She shuddered theatrically.
Julia managed a weak smile. “But that doesn’t make it any easier.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Eliza agreed. “But are we talking ’miss you so much I’ll send cornbread care packages,’?” She paused, then added, “Because that requires actual boxes. The other kind of missing just requires a good therapist and a decent broadband connection.”
Julia laughed. It was a teary laugh, though. “What if I regret it? What if Boston just isn’t . . . Savannah?”
Elizasqueezed her hand. “It won’t be. It’ll be colder, for a start. And they probably don’t deep-fry enough things. But it’ll also benew. And besides, you’re too brilliant to stay comfortable forever. Be brave! We’ll still be here, probably complaining about the humidity.”
After her friend left, Julia walked toward the open window, the evening air a balm on her skin. Savannah was home. There was so much she would miss: the lull of Mrs. Mercer’s voice, almost as comforting as her peach cobbler; the Spanish moss swaying gently in the breeze, and the chorus of crickets that had sung her to sleep. It was not easy, leaving a place where every breath felt like a memory. Leaving it all for a job—would it truly be worth it? Julia needed time to think. The next day, an ordinary Wednesday, she asked for the afternoon off.
The afternoon heat hung over Savannah like a damp blanket. Mrs. Mercer’s melodious drawl drifted across the veranda as Julia climbed the steps, her lightweight cotton blouse clinging to her back.
“You simply must come in for some lemonade,” Mrs. Mercer was saying. She wore a flowing sundress in soft yellow, her silver hair pinned up. “She’s a very busy girl, you know—she won’t be home until late.”
Julia paused on the bottom step. A pang of dread washed over her. Dr. Da Silva again, she thought. But something about the voice responding to Mrs. Mercer made her stop.
“You’re so right. I should have called ahead.” It was a rich, measured voice, very unlike Dr. Da Silva’s cheerful chatter.
Julia’s breath caught. She knew that voice. The man standing with his back to the stairs wore khaki chinos and a light blue linen shirt, the sleeves rolled up. His dark hair and broad shoulders were hard to miss.
“What lovely manners!” Mrs. Mercer continued. “When she does get home, I’ll be sure to tell her what a distinguished gentleman came calling. Though I do wish you could stay—”
Dylan turned as she spoke, and their eyes met across the veranda.
“Dylan!?” Slowly, Julia set the briefcase on the wooden steps.
“Juliaah,” he smiled. His face transformed, relief and joy colliding in that devastating smile she’d been missing for weeks.
Mrs. Mercer’s hands flew to her chest. “Well, I do declare! Julia, darling, you didn’t tell me you had such a distinguished gentleman coming to visit!”
“I . . . didn’t,” Julia stammered, unable to look away from Dylan. “What are you doing here?”
“Something I should have done weeks ago,” Dylan said, moving toward her.
“How wonderfully romantic,” Mrs. Mercer said. “Like something from a Jane Austen novel!”
Julia bent to grab her briefcase, her mind racing. “You flew all the way to Savannah just to see me?”
“I flew to Savannah because I realized I was being an idiot.” Dylan’s honesty was disarming.
“Well,” Mrs. Mercer interjected, “whatever brought you here, I approve wholeheartedly. Julia, invite this charming man upstairs this instant.”
“Mrs. Mercer—” Julia began.
“No arguments, sweet pea. A man doesn’t travel a thousand miles to stand on a porch making small talk.” She fixed Dylan with a stern but affectionate look. “I do hope your intentions are honorable.”
Dylan’s ears reddened slightly. “The most honorable, ma’am.”
Mrs. Mercer beamed. “Now you two go on upstairs before this heat melts us all into puddles.”
