“Aw, hon, you’ve done such a good job here. The best job.”
“I’m not so sure about that.” Releasing her, I let out a watery laugh and wipe my eyes. “I’m always behind, always chasing something with this place. I have no clue what I’m doing most of the time, even after a few years. I kind of hoped I’d…I don’t know, grow into it here. Mom always seemed so on top of it.”
“She clearly wasn’t.”
“That’s what I mean,” I say, looking at her. “What if I don’t want to live the next twenty-five years of my life chasing a perfection that my mom didn’t even achieve, and for a dream that isn’t really mine?” My voice goes quiet, because I hate to admit this out loud. “But if I do something else…I can’t stand losing this place. It’s like losing her again. Losing that connection.”
Stacey grabs my hand, squeezing my limp fingers. “You’ve made The Mirage what it is, hon. Look around.” She gestures to the lobby, a space I designed and decorated to feel like a second living room for guests—one where the desert meets their doorstep. It’s filled with trinkets and gems, harsh shadows from the afternoon sun, and the dull echo of brass wind chimes. “This is you, and it always will be, no matter what. What you’ve done with The Mirage…I know she’d love it because it came from you.”
“Even my busted heat pump?”
“Busted heat pump and all.” She slaps my thigh. “You’ve done your best here, and it was damn good. Your mama lives on in this place because she lives on in you. You take her anywhere you go, and nothin’s gonna change that.”
“I don’t know what I would do if I gave up The Mirage.”
“You don’t need to yet. But…it’s as good a time as ever.” She smiles at me, something like pride in her eyes. “In the past few months alone, you and Max’ve turned this place around.”
My shoulders sink at the mention of him, and Stacey is too wise and eagle-eyed to let that slip.
“No good there?”
I shake my head.
“Thebastard.” She tuts. “I wondered when I didn’t see his pretty little face around. What happened?”
Instead of answering, I blow air out of my lips. I don’t know why I panicked. I couldn’t bear the thought of Max making himself small for me—of the bitterness that would bring. Ava told me he flew to London, and he’s probably signing the contract right now. He’s left a few messages, but I haven’t had the heart to listen to them. He must want to figure out when he can empty the storage room in the barn where his belongings are, and then he’ll be gone for good, again.
“I’ll spare you the details,” I say, “but he’s—Max is out of the picture.”
“I’m so sorry, Daisygirl. He’s an idiot.”
“I’m fine.”
Stacey hushes me, then wraps me up in a massive hug. I repeat the words that have gotten me through tear-filled nights, long years, and all the lows.I’m fine.They’re just not enough this time.
Chapter Forty-Three
Max, Now
Since landing two days ago, I’ve met every employee at Tate Modern, from the conservators to the gift shop cashiers. I could walk around the museum blindfolded at this point. My visit included discussing the job and how they hope to expand their traveling exhibits, and during any spare moment, the recruiting team packed in activities throughout the city for me to get to know London better. Through the travel exhaustion, the time difference, and the nonstop meetings, I’ve been moving on autopilot.
I think you’d be a fool not to go.My chest constricts as I picture Daisy saying those words—urging me to grab this opportunity—when all I want is for her to let me love her.
Antoine coughs, bringing me back to the trendy wine bar. He stares at me.
“Sorry, I—what did you say?”
“That we will pay for the hotel in New York and the priority visa, so you should receive the required documents in a matter of a few days. In the meantime, my assistant will integrate you into our technical side of operations.”
“Perfect.” I don’t have the energy for more than one word.
“Is everything alright?”
“Yeah. Jet lag.”
Antoine swirls his glass of wine and eyes me. My flight leaves London in a few hours, and after a frenzy of a trip, he suggested a drink before departure, one-on-one. He selected an upscale place that has too-dark lighting for the time of day, atmospheric jazz playing a fraction too loud, and chic but uncomfortable bistro chairs. I almost laugh at how opposite this bar is from Sal’s.
“Did you enjoy your brief stay in London?”
