“Only if I let them.”
Her heels click against the floor from her pacing. “You’re not thinking of going, are you?”
I stay quiet.
“Dahlia, you can’t be serious. You’ve come so far since the first time we met. No need to threaten all that progress.”
When I first met Jamie, I had a breakdown in her office after telling her the story of how my previous agent dropped me as a client. At the time, I was depressed without knowing it, and my lack of control over my emotions was at its all-time low.
But look at you now.
“I want to show them they didn’t break me.” They might have come close, but I’m still here, fighting for myself and the future I deserve.
“Do you want me to be your plus-one?”
I consider it for a moment before thinking better of it. “Actually, I already have a date.”
“Is he hot?”
“Absolutely,” I say before laughing.
“Smart?”
My nose wrinkles. “Annoyingly so.”
“Please tell me he’s rich.”
“He makes Oliver’s inheritance seem like play money.”
Jamie whistles. “Good for you. He sounds like a keeper.”
I know, and it’s time I told him so.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Julian
My phone rings, interrupting me in the middle of slicing through a block of wood.
I answer. “Dahlia?”
“So, feel free to say no, but I have this crazy request—”
“Done.”
Her laugh is the sweetest sound.
She composes herself before saying, “You haven’t heard what it is.”
“Do I need to?”
She grumbles something under her breath that I can’t make out.
My brows pinch together. “What?”
“The Creswells are throwing their annual postseason wrap party, and I conveniently ended up on the RSVP list.”
I’m not the slightest bit surprised. With the media rallying behind Dahlia after Oliver’s Vegas drive-thru wedding and the disaster of their last season, the Creswells need some major damage control.
“When is it?” I toss the wood post to the side and start cleaning up my station.
“Tomorrow night.”
“I’ll be there first thing in the morning. Should I bring a tux or a suit?”
“Julian.”
“Good call. I’ll pack both, and you can pick between the two.” I wipe my sawdust-sprinkled hands down my shirt.
“You seriously want to go?”
“Do you plan on attending?”
She pauses for a moment. “Yes.”
“Then, yeah, I want to go.”
“Thank you,” she whispers before hanging up.
Last time I was in San Francisco, I could barely afford an economy ticket to get home for the holidays, yet here I am now, parking my private jet on a secluded landing strip.
Sam earned himself a nice Christmas bonus for finding a pilot at the last minute and renting me a red Ferrari worth more than all my cars combined.
I park the car outside Dahlia’s townhouse before killing the engine and stepping out. The Victorian style fits Dahlia to a T, with white wood trim, blue siding, and those bay windows she loves so much.
I climb the steps, step over the faded mi casa es tu casa doormat, and ring the bell.
“Coming!”
The door swings open a few minutes later.
Dahlia rubs the sleep from her eyes. “You’re here.”
“I told you I would be.” I wrap my arm around her waist and crush my mouth against hers, kissing her like I’ve dreamed of doing since she left Lake Wisteria four days ago.
It quickly turns punishing as I take my frustration and worries out on her lips, sucking and biting them until she hisses.
I pull away and rest my forehead against hers. “I missed you.”
“It hasn’t been a week since I last saw you.”
“Four days too long.”
“You’re needy.”
“Tell me about it.”
She yawns. “When you said you were coming in the morning, I assumed you meant later.”
“I thought we could spend the day together.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“Whatever you want.”
“Breakfast for sure.”
“Yes, please.” My stomach grumbles on cue.
“Pedicures?”
I make a face. “Sure?”
She clasps her hands together. “Shopping?”
“I expected as much.”
The pure happiness radiating off her makes today’s early wake-up call worth it.
She grabs my hand and pulls me inside before shutting the door behind me. “Give me a few minutes to get dressed. Feel free to snoop around.”
I plan on taking her up on the opportunity, but a sealed box beside the door stops me.
“I’ve been meaning to send his stuff back.”
“You got his address wrong. Hell’s zip code is 666.”
She wraps her arms around my waist. “I feel better already about everything, and you’ve only been here for two minutes.”
“Am I going to find anything else of Oliver’s around here?”
“No. This has always been my place, though he hated the idea of us living separately.”
“Remind me to thank your mother for pushing against you living with someone before marriage.”
“I have a feeling you’ll regret that statement one day.”
“What—”
A phone ringing snags her attention, and she takes off up the stairs, leaving me alone. The warm color palette, hardwood floors, and mix of furniture and textures match Dahlia’s style perfectly, although the cardboard moving boxes in every room seem out of place.
Natural light pours through the windows, highlighting the picture frames hung in a neat row. Each holds a different sketch.
Her mother’s flower shop. The Founder’s house. Her current living room featuring different items from her décor collection.
“Ready?”
I turn to find Dahlia dressed for the chilly weather outside. “Are you moving?” I point to a stack of boxes beside her.
“Yeah.”
My stomach tightens. “Where to?”
“I’m not sure if you’ve heard of it, but there’s this small town in Michigan called Lake Wisteria—”
“What?” I must have heard her wrong.
“I told you it was small.”
“You’re moving back home?”
“I am.”
“Why?”
“I turned down the deal with Archer Media.”
I blink a few times. “Why?”
“It didn’t feel right.”
“But what about your show?”
She shrugs. “When the right contract comes along, I’ll know it.”
“No second-guessing?”
“Nope. I’ve never felt more certain about anything.”
I clamp my hands around her hips and drag her closer. “You don’t need to move back to Lake Wisteria, though. We could still live here—”
She wraps her arms around the back of my neck and tugs me closer. “I don’t want to live in San Francisco.”
“But—”
“Julian?”
“Yes?”