Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Dara
“This is a great shot,” I say, taking a second to appreciate my handiwork.
I fiddle with the image a bit more. It’s a shot with the groom and his two best friends from a wedding I worked on a few weeks ago.
Their arms are over each other’s shoulders, and a bottle of Corona is hanging from one of their hands.
Faces lit up in smiles like someone just told a joke.
The golden hour casts the perfect glow on their handsome faces.
The wedding was amazing. It was the kind of celebration that I always pictured for myself.
The white tents were filled with delicious food and raucous laughter.
Revelers danced until the wee hours of the morning.
The music didn’t stop—random explosions of confetti and sparklers didn’t wane—until the closest neighbor a mile away finally complained at three o’clock in the morning.
“There. That’s perfect.” I stop editing the picture and pause to get a better look. “They’re going to love these.”
I reach for another baby carrot on my snack plate when my phone rings. I clamp a hand over the back of my neck—tense and stiff from the past four hours of edits—and answer the call.
“Hello?”
“Guess what?” Rusti squeals. “Don’t guess. I’m not going to wait that long because I can’t wait that long to tell you my news. So, guess what? Zack called.”
Her enthusiasm is a little much, especially for news that I already expected would happen. Of course, Zack called. Zack is an opportunist. There’s no way he doesn’t know how into him Rusti is, and Rusti is a catch by all accounts.
I recline in my chair. “He did? When?”
“Now. Just a minute ago. He wants to see me.”
“He wants to see you to give you back a hoodie? Or to get a little booty?”
She laughs. “Realistically? Probably the first, but I’m hoping for the second.”
“Just keep that little dog of yours out of the way, or she’ll clam jam you.”
Rusti’s laughter only grows louder. “What is that? The female equivalent of a cock block?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I laugh. “Come to think of it, she might trigger something in Zack if he starts remembering all that leg humping. You should probably hide her.”
“Aw, Auntie Dara. Do you want to puppy sit your little niece?”
I make a face and pick up a carrot. “Hardly.”
“Hey, now,” she says, teasing me. “The last time I allowed you to watch her—”
“You practically threw her at me.”
“Well, you almost let her get away.”
I snap off the end of the carrot. “Because she clearly hates me. You’re a terrible mother for letting your child be with someone they loathe.”
“She was testing you just like all kids do. You should be honored that I’d even consider letting you watch her again.”
I snort and get to my feet. “That’s me. Honored.”
Rusti’s voice gets fainter.
“You know, she did you right. She hooked you up,” Rusti says as if the phone is away from her face. “My girlie led you right to Catnip and …”
I don’t know what she says after that. My brain is already off on a tangent that leads to Wade Mason.
My body tingles as it remembers the heat of his palm. The allure of his cologne. The sexiness of his smirk.
It’s impossible to figure this man out. Does he like me? Hate me? Is he indifferent?
I don’t know.
He kicks me out of his office like I’m a time crasher. There are no follow-up calls or emails. And then he acts like he cares that Johan isn’t qualified to work for me and that he’s almost insulted that I would consider anyone else.
“You know I didn’t make a weak first impression. You know if I told you that I could fit you in my schedule that you’d be there on time … ready and willing.”
What was that? We both know we weren’t just talking about architecture. But how does one man go from not even caring if he sees me again to talking in innuendos?
I don’t understand.
And I suppose that’s part of the draw. It’s a challenge. He’s a challenge.
“I should do this, right?” Rusti asks, her voice loud and clear again.
“Do you want my honest opinion?”
“No,” she says swiftly. “I don’t because you’re going to go all logic on me and point out that he broke up with me over the phone and that I still have that purple dress in my closet for the work thing he didn’t end up taking me to.
And you’ll probably toss in that you always got weird vibes off him and I get that, Dara.
I do. I just don’t want to hear it right now. ”
What do you say to that?
I toss a strand of hair over my shoulder and lean against my desk.
There’s no point in saying all of those things if she already knows it.
“I’m not you,” she says, her voice quieter. “I can’t just turn off my feelings because I know they’re wrong.”
My stomach knots. “I don’t turn off my feelings.”
“Yes, you do. And—”
“And you don’t need me to tell you all of the reasons you shouldn’t see Zack because you know my opinion and I don’t need you to tell me all the reasons I’m emotionally unavailable.” I suck in a breath. “Because I’m not. I have tons of emotions. Trust me.”
As if to prove my point, a rush of feelings barrel through my brain and land on my heart with a thud.
Damn.
“I know you do,” she says, a bit more carefully than before. “I actually think, if we’re being honest, that you have more emotions than I do. But once you feel burned, you disconnect. Unplug. They’re dead to you.”
I pick up my water glass and set it on my snack plate. The remaining liquid sloshes in the glass as my hand trembles a touch.
“I’m also going to have to object to that point,” I say, my tone controlled. “And I present Exhibit A in my defense—my relationship with my grandfather.”
Rusti scoffs. “Okay. You win.”
“You can’t see me now, but I’m bowing in triumph.”
She laughs. I laugh. But really—neither of us are laughing.
Curt Bowery came into my life bearing gifts of epic proportions shortly after my mother died.
I was prepared, in a way, because my mother always told me that it would happen.
There would come a time when he would want to meet me.
“Give him a chance because you deserve that. Don’t give him a second because he doesn’t. ”
I never understood what Mom meant by that. Now I never will.
Rusti sighs. “I know you think I’m dumb for wanting to see Zack, but …”
“I don’t think you’re dumb.” I frown, my heart tender from the last few minutes. “I just don’t want to see you set yourself up for another round of heartache. That’s all.”
“I know that. And I’m grateful you feel that way.
But I miss him, Dara. And even if he comes over and we never see each other again, I feel like I need that closure.
” Her voice drops. “I was in Philadelphia when things went south and I haven’t even seen him face-to-face since we broke up.
I just … I need to see his face. I need to watch him tell me it’s over so maybe my heart can believe it. ”
“Then do it. As long as you know that it might not lead to anything and you’re sure your heart can handle it, then do it.” I grin sadly because I know this won’t end well for her. “I’ll leave a key in the hole in the tree in my front yard in case you need to sleep over tonight.”
The line between us grows quiet. Finally, she sighs.
“You’re the best, you know that?” she asks.
“It’s been said. Now, you go give yourself a quick spa night before Zack gets there. Because if this is more booty, less hoodie—you need to be ready. And if it’s not, then you’ll just feel better about yourself afterward anyway because who doesn’t like smooth skin?”
She laughs. “You’re right. Thank you. I’m going to go do that and if I need to come by tonight—the tree has the key.”
“Always. I’ll talk to you later, friend.”
“Bye.”
“Good luck,” I say but she’s already disconnected the line.
I toss my phone on my desk.
The sky is dark outside the window. There are no stars in the sky. It seems fitting.
I rub the center of my chest, hoping to dull the ache that pulses just beneath the surface. It makes my whole body tighten. My heart hurts.
Someone once told me that you hit your stride in your thirties. They said the pieces of your life—your experiences and dreams—come together and create a life that resembles who you are. A life you want.
I don’t know who that person was, but they lied.
My eyes close and I remember my mother’s face. Her eyes matched mine—a hazel-like color that floats from gold to brown at a moment’s notice. She had the best laugh, all light and airy like she didn’t have a care in the world. But she did. Of course, she did.
At nearly thirty—a full adult by anyone’s standards, I’m more alone and more confused about the direction of my life than ever.
Worst of all, I’m motherless. There is absolutely no one in the world that loves me unconditionally.
No one remembers the jokes and stories from my childhood.
No one to root for me when I’m nervous or to pull me in for a hug when I’m scared.
Or a hug for no reason. I miss those.
I don’t know if everything happens for a reason. I’m not sure I’m being led by anything but luck. But I do believe that I’m strong enough and wise enough to deal with whatever comes my way.
I try to believe that most days, anyway.
“Whatever comes my way like a new house,” I say as optimistically as I can.
I grab my plate and glass and head toward the kitchen.
A sliver of vivacity spirals through my body as my thoughts are replaced by Wade. Being around him is entertaining. And despite his irritability, he’s fun.
He’ll definitely be more interesting to work with than Johan. Although I’ve never actually met Johan, but I can’t fathom he’s as exciting as Wade.
I sit my dishes down in the sink, my mind sorting through my last conversation with Wade.
“Your architect needs to know how you’re going to use your space. What you value. The things in life you prioritize. They need to know your dreams.”
“Hmm …”
I meander through my house, flipping on each light as I go. The eat-in kitchen leads into a living room that’s just off the foyer. A long hallway extends the other direction with a closet, a bathroom, two small bedrooms with a bathroom and the master suite.
I stop in the hallway and rest against the wall to think.
This house is really all I need. It’s also really all that I want.
It’s also my last connection to my mother since it was hers.
I’m sure I won’t live here forever but, for now, it’s perfect—for me and for my heart.
That’s the thought that keeps popping in my brain every time I think about building something new. Something bigger. Something Bowery-worthy.
Sure, the office is a little small and the window is shaped like a porthole.
It’s charming. The guest room is crammed with my mother’s things but I kind of like having it all close by—even if it is in boxes.
I don’t really need a dining room since I don’t have tons of friends and people in my house makes me anxious anyway.
And the butler’s pantry that Rusti is convinced that I need …
I don’t. I don’t even know what I would do with it.
This home is cozy. It feels like a hug when I walk in at the end of the day. The sun fills the house and makes it feel less lonely.
“And there’s a tree for a key,” I say, laughing. I lean my head against the wall, my heart aching again. “I really love this house. I’ll hate to leave it.”
But leaving it feels like the only way to go forward. And the opportunity that my grandfather is presenting me with this new house—because it is an opportunity, even if it feels so wonky to me—is a door opening.
I just have to walk through it.
A handsome smirk flashes before my eyes.
“That gives me some time to figure out what makes Wade Mason tick,” I say, shoving away from the wall. “That can’t be a bad thing.”
My words reverberate through my brain as I head back to the kitchen.
Famous last words.