“For you to be happy at least.”
“Were you happy before you came here?” My tone comes off more accusatory than neutral.
Her shoulders stiffen. “For a time, yeah.”
My napkin crumples in my tight fist.
Her brows furrow. “Julian…”
I rise in a rush and toss my crushed napkin and fork in the trash.
“Where are you going?” she asks.
“My house.”
She doesn’t need to stand to make me feel small as she asks, “Do you notice how you never call it your home?”
Fuck. Leave it to Dahlia to call me out on such a thing.
Truth is, I don’t have a home, and I have no one to blame but myself. I spend way too much time living in my head, fearing I’ll never be good enough without ever trying to prove to someone that I can be.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Julian
“Hey, boss. Do you have a minute?” Ryder’s muffled voice seeps through the cracks of my office door.
“Come in,” I call out before locking my computer.
Ryder shuts the door to my office before leaning against it with his arms crossed. “Your family friend has a special request I wanted to run by you.”
Lovely. Ever since last week’s dinner disaster, I have done my best to avoid Dahlia, which is probably why she enlisted Ryder to do her dirty work.
I lean back in my chair. “What does Dahlia want?”
“She’d like to match the original moldings and woodwork that came with the house, but I’m having trouble finding a local carpenter with that kind of skill level who can work with our short time frame.”
“Can we find someone from Detroit to help?”
“She knew you would suggest that.”
I shoot him a look. “Predictability is a sign of stability.”
“And boredom.” He brushes his hand over his buzz cut. “She wanted me to ask if you would be willing to do the work instead. She knows you’re busy—”
“No.”
He doesn’t miss a beat. “But she said—”
“I don’t care what she said. Either she works with whomever you hire or she can scrap her idea altogether.” I type my password, only to screw it up twice from my agitation.
“Got it, boss.” He nods before exiting my office, leaving me to take out my irritation on my keyboard.
The ache in my chest intensifies with each passing minute, and I’m quickly distracted from my work by the thoughts bouncing around my head.
Who does Dahlia think she is, making requests like that despite knowing I don’t do carpentry anymore?
Are you annoyed at her asking for your help, or are you angry at yourself for being too afraid to follow through with her request?
I claimed to have processed my dad’s death and moved on from my past mistakes regarding it, yet when given an opportunity to prove it, I shy away, allowing fear and grief to control my choices.
You’re the one with all the power here.
And that’s what scares me most.
As much as I wanted to avoid the building site and the woman who is working there, a few things needed to be addressed, including a formal introduction to the new team member Ryder hired.
It took him only one day to find me a carpenter fit for Dahlia’s task and only one minute for me to hate him, breaking a new company record.
I glare at the blond, brown-eyed giant from across the lawn, although he is too busy talking to Dahlia to notice me.
Strike one.
“Hey, boss.” Grass crunches beneath Ryder’s work boots.
“Hey.” I turn toward my project manager while keeping the carpenter on my radar. “Where did you find the new guy?”
“He comes highly recommended from someone I know out of Detroit.”
“Hm.”
Ryder shifts his weight. “According to my contact, he does the best woodwork on this side of the state.”
Strike two.
That fact, along with the way he smiles at Dahlia, has me scowling.
Strike three. “Get rid of him.”
Ryder freezes up beside me. “I’m sorry, sir. What?”
“I don’t like him.” God, it sounds as stupid to my own ears as it does aloud.
“Have you met him?”
“Seeing as he is too busy flirting with Dahlia to notice his employer, no.”
Ryder’s gaze swings from me to the carpenter. “I see.”
“He seems too”—I pause in search of the right word—“unfocused.”
“He’s not on the clock yet.”
“Perfect. Less paperwork for Sam.”
He doesn’t try to hide his amusement. “Boss, if you don’t mind me making a suggestion…”
Working with Ryder for seven years comes with many advantages but also a few caveats, such as his ability to read me better than my own mother sometimes. I blame his military background and fascination with too many true crime shows.
“Go ahead.” My deep sigh doesn’t deter his knowing smile.
“If you don’t want him around, then you’ll have to find someone to replace him.”
“Do you know any retired female carpenters?”
His laugh comes out like a low rumble. “I never thought I’d see the day someone got under your skin.”
I peek over at him through the corner of my eye. “Dahlia doesn’t have to try too hard.”
“Exactly.”
“Don’t you have a job to do or someone to manage?”
He holds up his clipboard. “Nope. I was actually about to go hand Dan some paperwork to sign before he starts working.”
I snatch the paperwork from his hand. “Hold on.”
His lips twitch. “Problem, sir?”
Dahlia shooting Dan a soft smile answers his question for me. Like a shot to the heart, the pain radiates through my chest.
Feeling jealousy toward Oliver was understandable given our history, but getting overwhelmingly frustrated at any man within her vicinity? That’s a whole different issue I never thought I would have to face in this lifetime.
It was easy to ignore my feelings for her when she lived states away, but it wasn’t until she returned to Lake Wisteria that I felt myself drowning in the what-ifs.
What if I hadn’t made the choices I did after my dad died?
What if I had processed my grief differently and stepped up to be the person Dahlia deserved?
Would she have heard me out and given us a chance to fall in love? Or would we have gotten together only to realize we were better off apart?
My world spins around me as I consider the possibilities.
Attempting to avoid her clearly hasn’t been working, so what are you going to do now?
“I have an idea.” Ryder fidgets with the pencil tucked behind his ear.
“What?”
“If you don’t want to hire Dan because he seems unfocused,”—Ryder shoots me a knowing look—“there is one guy I’ve heard who could easily replace him.”
“Who?”
“You.”
“Really?” Excitement bleeds into Dahlia’s voice.
The wood step creaks beneath my shoe as I pause halfway down the stairs. Dahlia doesn’t notice my presence as she walks toward the back of my truck, disappearing from my view.
“Wow.” Whoever is speaking to her on the other end must share something good based on the tiny squeal she lets out.