She put the plushie back in the bag, eyes widening. “Did you just say Nina?”
“Yep,” I confirmed.“Are you two...?” she trailed off, her curiosity clear.
“Nope,” I answered, the word heavier than it should’ve been. “We’re getting there, but it’s a work in progress.”
She sighed, her gaze distant. “Five years is a long time.”
“Maybe,” I said, voice steady. “But I’d wait forever for her.”
Azzaria looked at me, surprised. “You love her that much?”
“I love her more than that.”
After lunch, we parted ways. Azzaria headed home, her steps slow and thoughtful, the weight of our conversation hanging in the air. I watched her leave, a bittersweet feeling in my chest, before heading home myself.
As soon as I walked through the door, I called Rachel. “Clear my schedule for the rest of the day,” I instructed, my voice firm but exhausted. I needed space to process everything, to let the emotions settle.
Rachel’s response was immediate. “Consider it done. Anything else?”
“No, thank you—actually, yes,” I said, sinking into the nearest chair. “How far along is the boutique?”
There had been issues with the wall structures requiring a specialist, which halted progress.
“I sent you the pictures, sir,” she replied. I switched the phone to speaker and opened the photos. It was exactly as I had envisioned, needing a few final touches.
“Looks great. Will it be ready by Friday?”
“Absolutely. The interior designer will be back at two today, and the deliveries for the furniture, tools, flowers, and appliances are being offloaded now. We’re working around the clock, and it should be finished by tomorrow.”
“Thank you, Rachel.”
“It’s my job,” she said, her tone professional but warm.
“It is, but I appreciate the extra effort. Your hard work means a lot.”
“Thank you,” she replied, before hanging up.
I glanced around my home—a sanctuary of sorts—but today it felt empty. My thoughts turned to Nina, wondering if she was thinking of me too.
Determined not to let the day be consumed by sorrow, I stood up and headed to my study. There was something therapeutic about organizing, about putting things in their rightful place. As I moved books and papers, I found an old photograph of my parents. Their smiles were frozen in time, a stark contrast to the pain their absence still caused.
I ran my fingers over the photo, a bittersweet smile tugging at my lips. “I’m doing my best,” I whispered, as if they could hear me. “I hope you’re proud.”
The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of mundane tasks, each one proving to be a distraction from the emotions churning inside me. I also found solace in a small crocheting project I had started. The rhythmic motion of the yarn moving through my fingers helped ground me, offering a quiet comfort in a chaotic world. By the time evening rolled around, I felt a bit more centered, ready to face whatever came next.
My phone pinged. It was a message from Nina.
Tesoro:
Totally forgot because the past weeks have been a lot, but that box, you are something else.
I smiled, remembering the most recent package I sent with the Chanel book.
Me
Good something, I hope.
Tesoro
