“And you’re sure having a designer and someone to talk to customers will be the thing to turn everything around?”
He slowly nods. “You know me.” His sad eyes finally look at me. “I keep getting tongue-tied and can’t accurately show the clients possibilities.”
“So you want me temporarily?” If it’s for a short time, then maybe it won’t be that bad, and I can make sure my dad’s life's work won’t be for nothing.
He nods.
“I need more than a nod. What are your expectations?” I fire off the first question. “Have you talked to my dad? I’m sure he could help talk to customers. Why haven’t you hired someone else?” My eyes aren’t even focusing on anything while my brain continues to think of different scenarios.
He exhales like this is taking more energy than he realized it would. “Your dad has helped me enough, and I need to figure out a solution that doesn’t involve dragging him back into the business he’s supposed to be retired from. After seeing your house and having a lot of rough interviews today, I realized how perfect you would be. I have a few new clients I need to secure, and I’m not confident I can do so without help.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Ry, I need your help for a month, and I’ll keep interviewing people to find someone to take over.”
I groan as my head thumps against my headboard, looking at the ceiling. He stays quiet while I think. I’m not going to be able to demo anything right now, and I can always make videos of past projects anytime. I can’t be on my feet painting or on my knees laying tile. It would be nice to get paid to sit and design projects that I won’t be doing. The big problem is, I’ll have towork closely withhim, and that thought alone is an uneasy feeling. I don’t think I can trust him, let alone work with him every weekday. But if there’s one thing that’s my weakness . . . it would be him. I take a breath and look at him standing there, looking helpless in my bedroom. His hands are in fists now while his eyes scan me, and all I can see is the hope staring back at me. One thing is for sure, no matter how hurt I still am, I don’t think I could ever truly say no to this man.
“Fine,” I groan. “But I’m not cheap.”
His mouth turns into a smirk as he huffs out a breath. “You never have been.”
16
CLAYTON: NOW
Driving up the road,I turn into my mom’s driveway toward my childhood home. It’s been a while since I’ve been here, but I come anytime she needs something fixed. She likes to come to my house every chance she gets, bringing food and groceries as if I don’t know how to cook or shop.
I lightly knock on the front door before opening it, knowing it would be unlocked. “Mom, I’m here.”
“In the kitchen.”
She’s in the one place I always check first when looking for her—her favorite room in the house. She always said she likes doing dishes when she’s stressed and loves to cook when she’s happy. I walk in and am immediately engulfed in the smell of bacon. She leans over, pulls out a fresh loaf of bread, and places it on the stove next to the sizzling bacon and eggs.
She turns, a smile already lighting up her face. “Hungry?” She opens her arms and wraps them around me, and I feel like a little boy again, safe in his mom’s arms.
“Always.”
“Help me, and we can dig in before you need to leave forwork.” She grabs a hot pad and picks up the loaf of bread before flipping it onto a cutting board. “Get the butter.”
I gather plates, utensils, and all the food to the table as she gets our drinks. We eat with few words exchanged. There’s such a familiarity being here and eating breakfast with her. She always made sure I had fresh food before school because she knew I didn’t eat much during lunch.
“How’s the business?” she asks, taking another bite of eggs.
I wipe my mouth on my napkin. “Uh. I’m going to do something new to bring in more business, but—” I pause, not sure how to explain everything. I sigh. “I’m hiring a designer.”
She reaches across the table, taking my hand in hers. “That’s great. Why does it feel like you aren’t sure?”
“Well, I think it will help, but the applicants weren’t the greatest. I thought of someone else who would be a better fit. She would only be temporary, though.” I bite through the soft, buttery sourdough, chewing slowly so I can figure out how to phrase the next part.
“Oh, I’m sure whoever you get will be great.”
I nod, staying quiet, and push my food around my plate.
She stops eating and faces me. Her eyes scan me, and she nods slowly. “It’s Rylee, isn’t it?”
I nod again, swallowing my food and feeling like it's stuck in the back of my throat.
“I see,” she says quietly. “I’m surprised you thought of her.”
“Yeah. I’ve seen her several times within the past week.” My gaze lowers to my plate, and the urge to eat disappears. I don’t know how Rylee and I will work together. I’d love to move past our history, but each time I look into her eyes, it feels like it’s fresh on her mind. I’m not sure she can move past it.
“Is she going to?”
