Chapter 34
KRISTA
Istood on my father’s doorstep in Florida, tugging at the hem of the sundress I’d bought three days ago.
The fabric was light and airy, a soft yellow that reminded me of the Greek sun.
It had felt right in the store. It had felt like maybe I could be that woman again.
I loved how pretty I felt in that dress.
Could I replicate that feeling or was that only because of Dash?
Was it only because he looked at me like I was the only woman on the planet?
Standing in the oppressive Florida humidity, I just felt ridiculous. My dad was going to laugh me right out of Florida. I looked like a girl. Obviously, I was, but I didn’t know how to look like one and I had a feeling I looked like a kid playing dress-up in her mother’s closet.
The door swung open and my father’s face lit up. “Krista! You’re early!” His smile faded as he took in my appearance. “Well, look at you. You’re all dressed up.”
He was being nice but I hated that he noticed and commented. It was a basic look but not for me. This wasn’t me. This was a costume I was trying on, and everyone could see right through it. I wanted to change—fast.
“It’s just a dress,” I mumbled. “It’s hot. Dresses are practical in the heat.”
“I didn’t mean anything bad about it.”
“I know what you meant.” I pushed past him into the air-conditioned house, immediately regretting the tone. This wasn’t his fault. None of this was his fault.
He closed the door and watched me. He was waiting for me to explain why I bit his head off.
“You look beautiful,” he said quietly.
I was so embarrassed. “Thanks.”
“You look just like your mother.”
The words stopped me cold. I stared at him.
My mouth was actually hanging open. He was smiling, but his eyes were wet.
He had never said that. I used to stare at myself in the mirror and look for her features.
Sometimes I allowed myself to believe they were there and then I quickly dismissed the thought because my mother was beautiful. I wasn’t.
“She had a yellow dress,” he continued, moving to the couch and sinking down. “Almost exactly that shade. She wore it to a barbecue the summer before she got sick. I remember thinking she looked like sunshine.”
I sat down beside him, the anger draining out of me. I was intrigued. I wanted to know all the details. Stories about my mother were rare and I clung to them like a life preserver tossed into the ocean. “I don’t remember that dress.”
“You were young. Maybe ten?” He rubbed his hand over his face. “She was always trying to get you to wear dresses. You’d fight her on it every time.”
“I was a tomboy.”
“You were my little soldier.” He smiled. “Following me around, wanting to do everything I did. She used to worry about it sometimes but then said it was a phase. Once you hit puberty you would blossom into a beautiful woman. And that didn’t happen because I held you back. I’m sorry.”
The guilt in his voice was palpable.
“Dad, you gave me everything.”
“I gave you what I knew how to give. Structure. Discipline. A path forward.” He looked at me. “But I didn’t know how to talk to you about boys. Or feelings. Or any of the things your mother would have handled. Makeup and hairstyles. Dresses.”
I felt tears burning behind my eyes. “I didn’t need that stuff.”
“Didn’t you?”
I wanted to deny it, but I couldn’t. Because he was right. I’d spent years pretending I didn’t need softness or vulnerability or any of the things that made me feel feminine and exposed. I’d built my entire life around being tough enough that I didn’t need anyone.
“I think I turned out okay,” I said.
“Of course, you did.” He smiled. “But I like seeing this side of you. I don’t remember the last time I’ve seen your hair down. Maybe that’s why you look so much like her. Those natural curls.”
I reached up and self-consciously ran my hand over the curls. “Of course I leave it down when it’s hotter than hell.”
He chuckled. “It’s beautiful. I’d love to see you wear it like that more often.”
“Maybe,” I murmured.
“Did you buy yourself more than just this dress?”
I crinkled my nose. “Just one other one. I bought some heels. Not real heels, but they are a two-inch block. I would kill myself if I tried to wear actual heels.”
“You’d learn how to walk in them.”
I laughed. “After a few broken bones later. I can’t afford to be on crutches. Hard to run logistics if you can’t walk.”
“I hope you’ll do more,” he said. “Your mother would be so proud of you.”
Would she? I didn’t know if she would be proud of me because I was a coward. I had a feeling she would not approve of the way I treated a good man. I hurt him.
“I fell in love,” I heard myself say.
His eyebrows shot up. “What? When? Who’s the lucky man?”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. I hadn’t come here with the intention of telling him about Dash. But I felt like we’d crossed into new territory with our relationship. For the first time, I felt like I could try talking to him about this stuff.
“In Greece. With a client.” The words tumbled out before I could stop them.
“His name is Dash and he’s everything I’m not.
Spontaneous and creative and he makes me feel like I’m not broken.
Like maybe there’s a version of me that can be both strong and soft at the same time.
He’s way out of my league but he said he was falling in love with me. ”
“That’s wonderful, sweetheart.”
“No, it’s not.” I wiped at my eyes, pissed at the water leaking from them.
I wasn’t a crier, but since I had met Dash, it was an affliction I couldn’t find a cure for.
“Because I left him. I walked away because I was terrified and I didn’t know what else to do.
And now I’m here, wearing this stupid dress, trying to be someone I’m not because I thought maybe if I could just figure out how to be the woman he fell in love with, I could be good enough for him. ”
“You are good enough for anyone.”
“Dad, this is Dash Blackwell. Do you know who that is?”
He shrugged. Of course he wouldn’t know. My dad’s idea of fashion was whatever was new at the Army/Navy Surplus store.
“Krista, why did you walk away? Because he’s rich? Famous?”
“Because I’m going to ruin it. I don’t know how to be in a relationship. Mom should be here to tell me what to do and she’s not, and I don’t have anyone else to turn to.” The sob that escaped surprised me. “I needed her, Dad. I needed her to tell me how to do this.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” He pulled me into his arms. I let myself cry against his shoulder like I hadn’t done since I was a kid. “I’m so sorry. I should have been better at this. Should have known you needed more than just marching orders and structure.”
“You did your best.”
“My best wasn’t good enough.” He pulled back to look at me.
“Your mother was the best thing that ever happened to me. When she died, I knew in my bones that life without her would be empty. And it has been, in a lot of ways. But I had you, and that made it bearable. I relied on you to be strong because I wasn’t sure I could do it. And you just soldiered on.”
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
“If you feel that way about this man and you know in your bones that life without him will be empty, then you can’t let him slip through your fingers just because you’re afraid.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Why not?”
“Because when someone sees you, they can hurt you.” The words came out raw. “And I don’t know if I’m strong enough to risk that. I survived losing Mom but only by the skin of my teeth. There’s no way I can survive another loss like that.”
He was quiet for a long moment. “Loving someone means trusting them enough to risk the pain. Your mother and I knew that. We knew that loving each other meant we could lose each other someday. And we did it anyway because the alternative—never having that love at all—was worse.”
“But I’m not his type,” I said, hating how weak my voice sounded. “He fell for this version of me that wore dresses and sang and let herself be vulnerable. But that’s not who I really am. You know that. I’m cargo pants and combat boots and hair up. Eventually he’ll realize that and walk away.”
“Stop.” My father’s voice was firm. “This isn’t about dresses or makeup or any of that surface stuff. This is about you being terrified of being seen. Really seen.”
“It’s not fear like that.”
“Yes it is. And I get it. You lost your mother. You know how much it hurts to lose someone you love. Your brain is trying to protect you from ever feeling that pain again.” He squeezed my hand.
“But you can’t let your nervous system call the shots here, sweetheart.
You have to choose your path and follow it with your chin up. ”
I stared at him. He had never been so insightful. So open.
“You’re a very strong woman,” he continued. “And braver. You just have to decide if this man is worth the risk.”
Was he worth the risk? I already knew the answer.
I’d known it the moment I’d run through the rain trying to get back to him.
I’d known it when I’d watched those lights shooting up into the sky and realized he didn’t need a babysitter—he needed a partner.
Someone who believed in him. Someone who would stand beside him through the chaos and the beauty of it all.
“I’m sorry, Dad.” I stood up abruptly. “I have to go.”
“What?”
“I have to cut this visit short. I need to catch a plane back to New York.”
His face broke into the biggest smile I’d seen in years. “That’s my girl. You fight. This is what I’ve taught you to do. You do not quit. Do not give up. When you want something, grab it.”
“I’m sorry. I promise I’ll come back soon and we’ll do this properly.”
“Don’t apologize. Go chase your happiness.” He pulled me into another hug. “And Krista? Keep the dress. Your mother would have loved seeing you in it.”
I kissed his cheek and grabbed my purse, already pulling out my phone to book the earliest flight I could find. My heart was pounding as I rushed out to my rental car.
I was going back to New York. I was going to find Dash and tell him everything I should have said in Santorini. I was absolutely in love with him. I wanted to try, even if I didn’t know how. He was worth the risk.
I knew there was a damn good chance he might not be excited to see me.
I had ghosted him. And hello, he was Dash Blackwell.
There was a long line of women that would be more than happy to step into the spot I vacated.
And that was a fear I would have to learn to get over.
It was insulting to him to think he couldn’t keep it in his pants.
That was undermining him. He was always trying to prove himself.
He shouldn’t have to prove anything to me.
He already had.