“None of that was necessary,” he says. “Shit, Dara.”
“Don’t get in my car and act like I’m not a race car driver. That’s rude.”
He looks at me, shocked. “You aren’t a race car driver. You’re a … photographer, if I’m not mistaken, and one who clearly has no professional driver training under their belt.”
I flip on my turn signal, grinning. “Want to know what I have under this belt?”
He looks at me warily.
“A need … for speed,” I say and tromp the gas again.
The car lurches forward. The engine roars but I let off the gas before we exceed the speed limit. Only when I’m sure everything is under control do I look at Wade.
He’s eyeing me carefully, a finger stroking his bottom lip.
“This bothers you, doesn’t it?” I ask, flipping my attention back to the road.
“What part?”
I shrug. The fact that I don’t have specific ideas for my own home? That I’m a little sassier than I think he’s used to? That my driving skills are on point—even if he disagrees?
“I don’t know. All of it?” I offer.
His gaze lingers on me for a long moment. Its weight is heavy on the side of my face. Finally, he settles back in his seat and picks up his coffee.
“You have no idea,” he mutters. “No idea at all.”
ELEVEN
DARA
I kill the engine.
A stillness settles over the car—over me and Wade—as we look across the property. Stately, oversized trees surround us, the morning sunlight filtering through the branches. A path was made at some point long ago, leading deeper into the forest. It’s magical.
“Wow,” Wade says, sweeping his gaze over the expanse. “This is incredible.”
“I know.”
“Can we get out? Walk around?”
“Sure.”
We climb out of the car and shut our doors behind us.
Birds chirp overhead, singing songs and alerting each other of our presence. The blue sky peeks through the leaves and it feels like we are truly tucked inside our own little cocoon.
“How much land is here?” Wade asks as he walks to the front of my car.
I shrug. “I don’t know. A lot. If you follow this path, it leads to a lake. It’s pretty special.”
His brows raise and he points that direction. “Could we walk that way?”
“Yeah. Definitely.”
Our shoes pad along the trail cut through the trees. Wade walks beside me with his hands in his pockets.
“Is this where your home will go?” he asks. “Or is this just an option?”
My heart tugs in my chest. “I believe it’s an option. Grandpa brought me here a while back and said how he always thought this would be a great spot, but his new wife, Tyra, hated being so far away from the city. He thought maybe I’d like it.”
“So do you?”
Wade’s question sounds simple enough. But there’s something heavy laced in his tone. When I look at him, I can see a skepticism in his eyes that I feel deep in my soul.
“Yes,” I say, forcing a swallow. “Of course, I like it. What’s not to like?”
“I was getting the feeling that you weren’t sold on it.”
“Eh.”
He narrows his eyes as if he’s deciding whether to poke at me about this or not.
My brain wars over how honest to be with him, how transparent. Yes, he said we’d need to work closely together, but he’ll also be working with my grandfather on this project. That means that Wade isn’t my friend. He’s not automatically on my side.
“My grandfather and I …” I sigh, reaching for the words. “I just met him almost a year ago.”
Wade lifts a brow. It’s clear he didn’t expect this bit of information.
“My biological father was his only son,” I say. “I never knew him.”
“I’m sorry. That must’ve been difficult.”
“It’s not difficult when it’s all you know.”
Our pace slows and turns more into a meander. The rhythm settles my nerves with its consistency and ease.
“I hate to make judgments about my father,” I say, choosing my words slowly. “I’ve hated him, loved him, idolized a version of him that I completely made up in my head. My mom said that he came around a few times when I was a baby but never for long.”
Wade swallows hard. “I don’t mean to pry and you can absolutely tell me to fuck off and I won’t be offended. But your father was a Bowery. He had money. He had … the world at his fingertips.”
The thought feels unfinished and, when I look at Wade, it confirms my suspicions. He’s watching me with a hesitation that I’ve never been able to escape about my past.
“I guess he did.” I kick at a rock on the ground as we walk. “I know the story my mom told me and I believe it. I believe her. But I’m sure that if he were around, he’d have another version or at the very least his side of the story. So, as far as I know—what I’ve always been told, is that he wanted no part of having a child. And my mother, coming from a lesser socioeconomic background, would’ve humiliated him and his father. My granddad.”
Wade’s brows pull together into a furrowed line. His jaw sets.
“Mom got pregnant—he left. He didn’t want children, least of all by a woman with debt up to her eyeballs and no obvious way out,” I say sadly. “He thought she was digging her claws in for his money.”
We stop next to a pile of sticks. They’re on top of one another in a triangular shape. Wade inspects them as if his life depends on it.
“But it’s fine,” I say, my voice rising over the lump in my throat. “I’m fine. I had a great childhood without the Bowerys and I wouldn’t change any of that for the world.”
He walks to the other side of the pile and looks up at me. I can’t read the look in his eyes but whatever it is has me holding my breath.
The space between us feels vacant and uncomfortable. Something happened as I told him this story—one he was a partner to just a few seconds before. I wipe my hands down my jeans and take a step back, unsure how to navigate this awkwardness.
“What happened to your father?” he asks, his gaze both intensifying and softening at the same time.
“He died a few years ago. I got a notice in the mail. There was a clause in his Will that said he acknowledged a claim of fatherhood—which was weird because my mother never made any claims against him or put him on the birth certificate or tried to get money from him. Anyway, it said he acknowledged my existence, basically, and left me nothing.”
My voice is steady, my words even-keeled. It’s just facts. I’m sure it would hurt a lot more that I was acknowledged in a legal document had I ever known the man. But it doesn’t. What hurts is that he never wanted to know me.
“Shit,” Wade rumbles.
Yeah. That about sums it up.
Wade picks up a stick off the top of the pile and twirls it around his fingers. Finally, he tosses it aside.
“I’m sorry you’ve gone through all of that,” he says.
“Yeah. Me too.”
He nods as if that somehow tidies up the conversation. “Can we walk down to the water? I’d like to see it in case you choose to build there.”