She wanted to say that it looked like stolen glances, comfort hugs, and rabbit therapy. It looked like her checking out of her peephole every day to see if his bike was parked out in the hallway, or like her feeling a queasy mix of excitement and relief when she saw he’d scheduled another basketball practice during her rehearsal time. It was confusing as hell.
Until a couple of weeks ago, she’d been ninety percent sure she didn’t like him. But now, the percentage was dropping fast, and she couldn’t even pinpoint what had changed between them.
All she knew was that twice she’d launched herself at him with no warning or context, and twice he’d caught her and given her what she needed. The feel of his strong arms holding her was a sensation that lasted long after he let her go. Even now as he swung her around, celebrating her excitement even though he had no idea who Cassidy Moore was, or how big a deal it was that she’d been selected to walk in her show.
As far as she was concerned, that was all the more reason for her to leave town. Because she did not need to catch feelings for that man.
Finishing her coffee, she picked up her phone and headed for the bedroom. “Look, Lu, as much as I love our early morning sisterly chats, I need to get ready. I have to go build this freaking stage Dad sent.”
“Oh my Lord, the way he’s been bragging about that stage, Ness.” Lucy snorted. “He’s so proud, he actually texted me about it. Dad. Texting.” She drew out each word. “I almost had a panic attack thinking he’d do something crazy and come out of retirement because you put the itch back in his fingers.” Lucy leaned back, her hand instinctively resting on her baby bump. “Thanks for giving him a project,though. He’s missed the shop. Mom’s happy he’s distracted, so seriously, send him more. Does the new gym at The Link need custom double doors?”
Vanessa laughed. It was true. Their father lived and breathed his trade. Retirement was a struggle for someone like him. He’d been working since he was sixteen. When he immigrated to the States, he worked for almost nothing, from the bottom up, seven days a week, building his company, and half of San Francisco with it.
Barone & Sons became a huge part of his identity because woodworking gave him purpose. As long as he was building, for pay or not, he was content. Fulfilled.
She used to feel that way about modeling. But now, working with the girls on the fundraiser, she was starting to understand what real purpose felt like. Not long ago, even a few weeks ago, she’d tied her worth to the attention she received. How many eyes were on her, how many likes a post or video got, how many shows she was booked for, howin demandshe was, were her measuring stick for a purposeful life.
But the last few weeks at The Link had changed her perspective. She didn’t mind taking a backseat on the runway. She honestly couldn’t wait to see the girls shine. They’d worked so hard and deserved all the attention that was coming their way.
They were going to die when they saw the stage.
“K, I have to run. Say hi to Joel, give the bump rubs for me, and have a Nutella gelato in my honor.” She made kissy-face noises and ended the call.
After hanging up, she rushed through a shower, blew through a quick makeup routine, and tugged on her favorite black leggings that she paired with a fitted, baby-pink cashmere sweater and her comfiest Manolo Blahnik boots. Theheel was three inches, but she could walk a marathon in them.
By the time she was sitting in the back seat of Anderson’s SUV, it was 7:15 am.
The drive over the Broadway Bridge was becoming familiar, and she relaxed against the soft leather seats, enjoying the view of the Willamette in the morning winter light. Door to door, the trip from her apartment to The Link in the Lloyd District, was less than ten minutes. She could’ve walked.
Maybe she’d make it a goal before she left this city. Walk across one of the bridges during the evening when the whole city was lit up. She put it on her mental Portland bucket list.
Anderson pulled up in front of The Link, and she hopped out with a thanks. As always, he waited until she was safely inside the building. Not until she waved through the window, did he drive away.
This little ritual was one she treasured. A moment of comfort in the routine of her uncertain days.
When he was out of sight, she sighed contentedly. Who knew she’d love going to work this much?
Work. There was a word she hadn’t used in a while. It might not pay, but it was still fulfilling. Something she could see herself doing when her modeling career was over, because she had to face it, she was twenty-five, and she had maybe another two years left before retirement. In some circles, she was already a has-been.
As for her acting career, that ended in Vancouver, and she was never going back to it.
She headed toward the gym, the clicking of her heels echoing in the empty hallway. The building was eerily quiet. The janitor was probably somewhere, so she wasn’tcompletely alone, but she’d feel better when the kids and Jordan arrived.
The sensation of being watched prickled across her skin and made her glance over her shoulder. The hall was empty. The glass doors were shut tight.
But what if someone was lurking there? Would she have time to scream to get someone’s attention?
When her heart started hammering, she reminded herself of what a therapist back in New York had told her when she was catastrophizing: Most of the time, the worst was not happening.
No one was watching her. She shoved the thought aside and started back down the hall. Her anxiety had stifled her enough. She didn’t want it to ruin all the work she’d put into the big show. With renewed determination, she pushed open the door to the gym.
Then gasped loudly as she stepped inside. The stage, her stage, was built, standingfinishedin the middle of the gym. She dropped her bag and made her way forward, her mouth hanging open. She felt like a kid on Christmas morning. A kid who still believed in Santa.
“How did this happen?” she whispered.
“You like it?” Jordan’s voice came from behind her, and she nearly jumped out of her skin.
With a squeal, she spun around, her hand flying to her chest.
