Page 24 of Practically Perfect Together
Margaret studies me for a moment, her years of corporate intuition clearly picking up something. "Let's grab coffee," she suggests, leading me to the designer kitchen.
As she prepares two cups from the elaborate espresso machine, she asks casually, "So, where do you see yourself taking this division in five years?"
Five years. The question that used to excite me now leaves me strangely empty. I open my mouth to deliver my usual polished response about strategic growth and market penetration, but the words stick in my throat.
Where do I see myself in five years?
In this corner office, surrounded by awards and accolades but eating takeout alone at my desk?
Or somewhere with mountain views that aren't framed by glass and steel? Somewhere with family dinners that run late because no one's watching the clock? Somewhere with a golden retriever who thinks he's a lap dog and a man whose smile makes me forget about five-year plans altogether?
"Savannah?" Margaret prompts, handing me a coffee cup. "That's usually your favorite question."
"I'm sorry," I say, gripping the cup like an anchor. "It's just... I've been so focused on getting here that I haven't thought much about what comes next."
Margaret raises an eyebrow, clearly surprised by my uncharacteristic lack of planning. "Well, you'll have plenty of time to develop that vision. For now, let's focus on the contracts you need to sign and getting you moved to Denver."
I nod, sipping coffee I barely taste.
This is everything I've worked for. The logical next step in a carefully planned career that I've already accepted.
So why does it suddenly feel like I'm heading in the wrong direction?
* * *
After leaving the office, I wander through downtown Denver. The city pulses with energy—sleek professionals hurrying between meetings, upscale shops displaying luxury goods, rooftop bars preparing for happy hour. Everything is polished, ambitious, driven.
Everything I thought I wanted.
I stop at a pedestrian crossing, watching people rush by. How many of them are chasing careers that look good on paper? How many are measuring success in promotions and salary figures rather than moments that make their hearts full?
My phone buzzes with a text from Margaret:Contracts ready for your signature tomorrow morning. 9a.m.?
I stare at the message, unable to type a response. Instead, I find myself opening my photo gallery, scrolling to pictures I didn't even realize I'd been taking. Mia proudly holding up her origami fox. Evie rolling out pie crust in the lodge kitchen. Bear sprawled dramatically across my feet during movie night.
The last photo makes me pause. It’s a group shot from the celebration dinner that Jules sent to everyone. In the background, slightly out of focus but unmistakable, is Jameson looking at me from across the room. The softness in his eyes, even in this casual captured moment, makes my chest ache.
"You plan everything in life, but you're too scared to plan for your own happiness."
His words echo in my mind as I continue walking, eventually finding myself in a small park. I sit on a bench, surrounded by carefully landscaped flower beds that somehow lack the wild beauty of mountain laurel growing freely on a hillside.
My fingers brush against my phone again, and without planning to, I find myself calling Jules.
"Hey, corporate queen!" she answers cheerfully. "How's the big city treating you?"
"It's fine," I manage. "Listen, can I ask you something? About Lauren and Liam?"
A pause. "That's not what I expected. But sure."
"What happened between them? I saw them arguing at the lodge, and the tension was..."
"Thick enough to cut with a knife?" Jules supplies. "Yeah, that's been going on since Lauren came back to town."
"But what happened? Why did they break up?"
Jules sighs. "From what Declan's told me, they were high school sweethearts, married young. Lauren wanted to move to the city, pursue a finance career. Liam couldn't imagine leaving the lodge."
My breath catches. "So she left."
