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I snap and turn to him. “Yeah, the one that was right next to my first apartment up there. I loved that area.”
I turn back to look at the design. “With this area, you can have landscapers create some beautiful gardens.”
“That’s the plan.”
“You’re so talented,” I tell him while continuing to look over his design. I know a little about design considering my father is a real estate mogul himself and my best friend is a top-notch architect.
“This is your art,” I say just above a whisper.
“Hm?”
I run my hand over the design, again smiling at what he’s created. “You’re an artist, Diego. Instead of paint and canvas, the city is your background. Phenomenal,” I whisper as I study the design plans. “I knew your talent would be limitless. I can’t wait to see this design in person.”
“I’m not the only one who worked on this plan,” he reminds me.
I shake my head. “Doesn’t matter.” I turn and run my hand through his hair. “You came up with it. I know you did.”
He dips his head in the incredibly cute way he does whenever the compliments become too much.
“Why did it take you so long to go over to Townsend?” I ask because I need to know. Something held him back for years.
He meets my gaze. “My past.”
I lift an eyebrow.
His eyes drift upward to look at something over my shoulder. “I needed to make it on my own before I went to work with my family,” he responds.
“Now was the right time?”
He nods.
“Why?”
The truth is, he made something of himself long before now, but I choose to listen instead of countering his belief.
“Gabriel Garcia died.”
It takes me a minute to place the name. When I do, my eyes go wide. “That Gabriel Garcia?”
He nods slowly.
I obviously don’t call that man Diego’s father, even though, biologically, he is.
“When?”
“Four or five months ago.”
“Right before I decided to move back.”
“It was then it felt like the past that’d been hovering over me for so damn long was gone. For the most part,” he adds.
My heart sinks at his last comment. “I’m sorry,” I mumble. “You shouldn’t have ever felt like you had to wait to live your life because of my actions.”
He wrinkles his forehead.
“Gabriel Garcia might’ve been part of the reason you felt like you weren’t Townsend enough to work there but that’s not all of it. I know it,” I tell him. “It’s because of the record you carried because of me.”
I can’t hold back the guilt that has lingered all of these years over that situation.
