“At the risk of embarrassing myself even more,” he starts. “I ordered all the best-rated decaf coffee and then tested each one. That was my favorite. But if you don’t like it, I kept all the others. We can redo the test and?—”
I place my hand on top of his that’s resting on his thigh. His body tenses at our connection, but the second I say, “It’s perfect. Best decaf I’ve had yet,” he relaxes. “Thank you for being so thoughtful.”
“It’s not…I wasn’t…”
“Anyone would think that you were planning on moving me in.”
“Oh no, that’s not…I didn’t?—”
I can’t help but laugh at the tight, panicked expression on his face.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt through my laughter. “I know you’re not moving me in, that’s crazy. I really do appreciate the escape, though. This morning hit me out of nowhere. I’m praying it isn’t a new regular thing. I can’t spend all my mornings hugging the toilet, I have clients booked in and?—”
“Sienna can move them. If you’re sick, you’re sick. You’ve got to look after yourself,” he says, cutting me off. “You and”—his eyes drop to my stomach—“our baby are more important than your clients.”
I open my mouth to respond, but he beats me to it.
“Wait, no. I didn’t mean that. Your clients and your business are really important. I just meant that…” I squeeze his hand.
“I know what you meant,” I assure him. “There might be many people out there who think being a beauty therapist and owning a salon is a laughable career choice, but I know you’re not one of them.”
Anger passes through his expression, his eyes darkening and his lips thinning as he thinks about my words.
“Who thinks that?” he demands, the creases in his forehead deepening.
I shake my head, regretting saying anything. “No one. It’s nothing. Just stupid stereotypes.”
He stares at me, his chocolate eyes bouncing between mine as if he’s searching for the answers.
I know the moment he figures it out. His shoulders tense and his grip on his mug becomes so tight I’m sure he’s about to shatter it all over his lap.
“Your parents,” he mutters.
Pain rips through me. “My mom,” I correct. “My dad died long before I decided what I wanted to do with my life.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I don’t really remember him. I was six.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah,” I agree, thinking back and wondering just how differently my life would have turned out if he hadn’t been taken from us too soon. “Mom…she became determined to do right by him, to make him proud. All credit to her, she took over at the firm, and they’ve grown and become even more successful. He would be proud of that achievement. But I can’t help wondering what he’d think of the cost of it all.
“From what I’ve learned, he was a family man. He always put us before work. But Mom never did. My brothers are older than me. They’d already decided to follow in Dad’s footsteps, and they’re proud to do so. Maybe it would be different if they had a choice. Maybe they’d have taken their lives in a different direction. But it was too late.
“Mom expected me to do the same. Go to Berkeley, study law, and join the family firm.”
“But you didn’t,” he guesses.
“Nope. I never wanted to. From as early as I can remember, I wanted to do beauty. Dad would have supported me; I know he would. But instead, Mom gave me an ultimatum, and well, here I am,” I say, holding my arms out.
“You’re incredible.”
“Awesome and incredible. You really think highly of me, huh?” I tease, unable to stop myself.
He shakes his head, rubbing at his rough jaw. “You’re never going to let me forget you overheard that, are you?”
I click my tongue. “I gotta tell you, it’s highly unlikely.”
