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.
A 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.
EIGHT
DARA
“Where are you going looking so hot?” Lola, a server at Hillary’s House that I met two years ago when I started coming to the restaurant, says as she walks across the parking lot. “You should wear blue more often. Totally cute on you.”
I smooth a hand over my blouse. “Thanks. I’m trying to pull off a business but more casual with a slice of pretty on the side.” I smile. “How’d I do with those parameters?”
She laughs. “Nailed it.”
I laugh too. “Well, good, because I’m about to meet a very sinfully attractive architect and I don’t want to look too serious or too nonchalant.”
“I heard sinfully attractive. Do tell.”
Lola stops in front of me, a to-go cup dangling at her side. A breeze picks up, sending her hair flying and the edge of my eggshell-colored blouse fluttering in the air.