“Tell me what you need.”
“Between us, something came up that requires me to move next month, so I need to restructure the company in a way that allows it to operate without me being present.”
His brows rise while Dahlia’s scrunch.
“You’re moving?” Ryder asks.
“Yes. Even though I’ll attend meetings virtually and fly back every two weeks to physically check on everything, I need your help with the day-to-day operations and keeping an eye on things.”
Dahlia’s lips part.
Ryder nods. “Of course.”
“Great. Here’s what I was thinking…” I review my idea with Ryder while Dahlia watches. He gives his input and offers plenty of useful advice, and I adjust my plan based on his expertise. Dahlia gives a few pointers I take into consideration.
After an hour of restructuring Lopez Luxury’s operations, Ryder stands and claps me on the back. “I never thought I’d see the day you finally decided to do what was best for you rather than the company.” He glances over at Dahlia. “And I probably have you to thank for the promotion and raise.”
Her cheeks are tinged a soft shade of pink. “I didn’t have anything to do with this.”
“Right.” Ryder nods.
Stubborn, I mouth.
Ryder gives me a thumbs-up.
We both know Dahlia is the only person who could convince me to change the entire structure of my company, yet she won’t accept the possibility because it would only threaten her weak argument.
Ryder walks out of the conference room, and Dahlia gets up to follow him, but I cage her against the door before she has a chance to escape.
“I’m not done with you.”
She makes a show of dragging her eyes up toward my face. “What do you want?”
“Your opinion is a good start.”
She fidgets with one of her rings. “You’re really thinking about moving to San Francisco?”
“Did the last hour give it away?”
She glares.
I sigh. “How long do you plan on fighting me on this?”
“For however long it takes to convince you that this is all a big mistake.” Her glassy eyes are full of uncertainty, and it wrecks me to know how much she silently suffers from her anxiety.
“You want to talk about mistakes? Fine. Let’s talk about them.”
Surprise flashes across her face.
“There were a few reasons I pushed you away all those years ago. Grief. The stress of running a struggling company. My fear that we would never survive long distance and all the other obstacles standing in our way. But the biggest mistake I made was believing you were better off without me because I wasn’t good enough. I let my low self-esteem and insecurities stand in the way of what I wanted with you, and I’ll be damned if I let you make that same mistake. In fact, I forbid it, because I refuse to spend another ten years waiting for you to come to your senses.”
She blinks a few times.
“I will always fight for what’s in our best interest, even if it means fighting you in the process.” I kiss the top of her head and exit the room before I find myself unable to, leaving the woman I love behind to come to terms with what I said.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Julian
I decide to stay away from the office and the Founder’s house, both because I want to give Ryder a chance to run Lopez Luxury’s daily operations without me micromanaging, and so Dahlia sees I’m serious about taking a step back.
I try to burn some nervous energy off by working out, making a few playlists, and having lunch with my mom, but relief doesn’t last long, especially after Dahlia sends me a message with her San Francisco travel itinerary.
Soon enough, I find myself pacing the long halls of my house while my thoughts spiral.
When I told Dahlia I would always fight for what’s in our best interest, even if it means fighting her, I meant every word.
But first, I need to finish the fight against my past. I have been battling my insecurities for years, and it’s time to face what I’ve put off for far too long…
Accepting that I am good enough—not only for Dahlia but, most importantly, for myself.
So tonight, I head over to the one place I never imagined entering again.
My dad’s woodshop.
I’ve tried to return over the years, but the task seemed impossible every time, with me quickly fleeing the scene before ever walking inside the place he and I spent years working out of, carrying on the Lopez tradition that started with his great-great-grandfather.
There was one major reason I avoided it, and it has everything to do with the tools hanging on the back wall and all they signify.
My hand trembles as I slide the key into the lock and turn it. The click of the lock and the creak of the door sound far away due to the rushing blood pounding in my ears.
After five deep breaths, I reach for the light switch and flip it once I’ve taken a step inside. My feet remain glued to the concrete floor as I look around. Thanks to my mom’s routine dusting, the shed appears clean enough to eat off every surface, including the floor.
My dad would hate it.
I take another step inside the shop despite my feet feeling as though they are attached to cinder blocks. Too many memories fill the space, making my heart heavy and my breathing laborious.
Te extra?o, Papi.
I walk to the back wall where my dad’s tools remain hung the way he liked it, making it seem like he might return at any moment.
God, I wish that were true.
A second set hangs beside his.
A Lopez family heirloom, he said with a small smile as he pointed out each tool that was passed down from generation to generation.
I grew up asking my dad when it would be my turn to receive the tools, and his answer never changed.
When you prove that you’ve earned them.
I might have missed out on my chance the day he died, but I’ve done everything possible to make him and the Lopez family proud as I took on the family business despite my lack of experience and college degree.
The dull ache in my chest intensifies, and I grip the counter with a chokehold. My itchy eyes have nothing to do with allergies or any lingering sawdust in the air. Neither does the tightness in my throat nor the pounding of my heart.
A drop slides down my cheek, and I swipe at it before staring up at the ceiling in search of a leak. Except my cloudy eyesight makes it impossible to see much past the tears clogging my vision.
They roll down my skin like raindrops, falling in quick succession. The last time I cried like this, my dad was being placed in the ground. While the hole in my chest has healed since then, the dull pain has never left, returning at the most inconvenient times.
Te extra?o, Papi: I miss you, Dad.
My shoulders shake.
Take five. My dad would grip my shoulders and force me to copy his movements.
Again, he would say when the original five-count didn’t work. The tears don’t stop, but my panic lessens with each exaggerated breath.