Silence.
And then it hits me.
"We earn their trust," I say. "Not with spin or stunts. With service. Real help."
Mason lifts his head. "What sort of help?"
I start pacing. "You're a lawyer. Henry knows estate planning. How many people here have wills or the right paperwork to protect their families?"
Henry nods. "Not many."
"So we offer free legal clinics," I say. "Wills, trusts, basics. No strings. Neighbors helping neighbors."
Mason studies me. "That … could work. But it won't change what she wrote."
"No," I say. "But it gives people a chance to see the truth for themselves."
Savvy's smile sharpens. "You're not defending yourself. You're making your past irrelevant."
"And when people start talking about how you helped them?" Ivy adds. "That's the headline that'll stick."
Henry folds his arms. "We'll use the community center. Make it official."
I glance around, at Savvy, at Henry, at Ivy beaming from the screen. At Mason, who holds my gaze a beat longer than I expect.
"So," I say, squeezing his hand, "ready to show River Bend what a real lawyer looks like?"
His smile is small, but solid. "Let's do it."
By the time the plan is in motion, Henry drafting paperwork, Ivy planning to return for the festival, Mason beside me with that rare, real smile, I know where I need to be.
I pull the croissant from my bag and set it on the table between us. Not habit. Not tradition. A promise. We're not backing down.
CHAPTER TWENTY
MADDY
Monday morning finds me at the barn before the sun fully rises, laptop open and a steaming mug of coffee at my elbow. The "River Bend Builds" festival is under two weeks away and today marks the beginning of what I'm privately calling "Operation Reputation Rehabilitation." Mason and Henry's first legal clinic starts in an hour, and Savvy should be arriving any minute to help me coordinate our media blitz.
The barn feels different this morning, humming with purpose instead of tension. Mason's gone, leaving behind the faint scent of his cologne and a sense of anticipation that makes my skin feel too tight. Yesterday's planning session stretched late into the evening, the two of us hunched over documents and timelines until our shoulders brushed with every movement. Each accidental touch sent electricity racing through me, building a slow burn that's becoming impossible to ignore.
I shake my head, trying to focus. There's work to do.
My phone buzzes with a text from Mason.
Mason
First client arrived. Mrs. Russell. She brought pie.
A smile tugs at my lips. Leave it to River Bend to pair legal consultations with baked goods. I type back.
Me
Tell her to save me a slice. And don't let Henry try to explain probate law using interpretive dance.
His reply comes.
Mason
