“Which is?”
“Stepping away from it all,” he said as if it were a confession. “Doing something completely different.”
“Like what?”
“Like investing in small businesses, or even buying the entire building. Management. I’d even thought that maybe, uh”—cautious excitement lit his eyes— “we might do something together. Go into business.”
I sat straighter. “With me? Why?”
“Why not?” he countered.
I would fail.
I would disappoint you.
The thoughts came easily but weren’t quite as confident in themselves as I expected, and when I met my dad’s fierce, hopeful gaze, a new one tagged itself in.
Butmaybe I wouldn’t.
This was actionable. If I buckled down on my courses and actually invested in the coursework with a goal in mind.
This could be it. The direction I’d been hoping for.
I stood up abruptly, my now-bare feet carving indents in the grass as I paced the yard and thought it through.
Dad seemed happy to leave me to it, and once ideas started to take shape, we fell into a game ofwhat about thisandwouldn’t it be cool if.
It felt like a lifeline. Like relief.
By the time we’d started retreading the same idea circles, it was well past lunchtime, and Dad had to get to work at Fortuna. I had nowhere I had to be, but with a phone call with Liemto look forward to later and a gulf of ideas to research, that knowledge wasn’t so anxiety edged.
When I got back to the houseboat, I made myself a formidable sandwich and grabbed my laptop, taking both to the booth. By the time I’d finished the sandwich, I still hadn’t opened it. I stroked a finger over the cool, closed lid of the device, unsure what was stopping me from digging into the ideas.
A breeze drifted in from the open deck door, and I glanced at the empty space, bereft of furniture.
Shopping would be a good way to kill time until the evening.
My muscles were already feeling the workout with Dad, but I was thankful for them as they stretched and screamed as I stood up. Every pain-filled step around the boat to lock up was evidence that I’d done something with my day. Something to make myself stronger.
I called Bree on the way out of the small lot to see if she wanted to join me. She agreed, and when I pulled up to the cottage just a few minutes later, I jumped out of the truck with a grunt the moment she stepped through the front door.
“Show me your damn leg right this instant, Cher.”
She froze in front of the door, and I did the same on the walkway. The wind chime that hung on the porch tinkled merrily as we stared at each other.
“Nice hat,” she commented after a beat, smoothing over the moment.
I groaned dramatically and yanked the cap off my head as I muttered, “This is what I fucking get.”
Seeming amused, Bree ignored my outburst and turned around. “Go on,” she said over her shoulder. “Tell me how glorious it is.”
I closed the distance between us in a few strides, like a moth to the flame that was Liem’s art. I hadn’t allowed myself to snoop at Liem’s paintings, but I was being given permission to see this.
And it was….
I wasn’t even sure words existed to properly describe it. The intricate lines, shades, and colors shone clearly in the afternoon sun, and whatever cream or oil she’d lathered on top of it had the design gleaming.
“Bree,” I breathed. “This is incredible.”
