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I have no idea where she’s taking this. “Yes.”
“And you love it?”
It’s totally a trap. “I wouldn’t saylove. It’s fine.”
“Well, the Gemma I know would hate working for someone else. She’s ambitious and smart, so I’m very curious to hear why you pursued that job.”
She doesn’t ask an actual question, but it’s clear from the eyeballs she’s giving me that it’s now my turn to fill in the blanks. She will be sorely disappointed when she hears there was no big drama behind my decision. Yes, four years ago, I thought of starting Wilde Beauty. I had a little bit of money tucked away, a smallinheritance from when Aunt Livi’s older sister passed away. Then the job offer came along. I remember feeling uncertain about it. I only applied because one of Stuart’s friends worked at the company and offered to put my résumé on the top of the pile. I interviewed for the experience, and it went well. Then I guess I decided it was a better idea at some point.
“I applied, I got the job, and I thought it would be a good investment in my future.”
Kierst raises her brows half an inch. “You thought it would be a good investment.”
I think back again. That’s exactly what happened. Stuart was so excited for me when the offer came in. We went to a fancy dinner in Toronto. He thought it was the right move for my future. They had a solid benefits package and a generous annual allotment for retirement savings. I wrote the acceptance email during our Uber ride home.
I look up. Kiersten’s eyebrows are still doing their thing. Okay, fine. She might be onto something. Stuart may have slightly influenced me to accept the job, but it’s not like it was a bad idea.
“Can I tell you the story of the night you decided to open Wilde Beauty?” Kiersten asks.
I nod, my curiosity greater than my desire to continue the argument.
“We were over at Aunt Livi’s for margaritas. You had one too many and started spilling all your innermost secrets, one of which was Wilde Beauty. I could tell by the look on your face that you loved the idea. But in typical Gemma fashion, you were freaking the fuck out thinking of all the things that could go wrong. I know you, Gems. I appreciate that you like having all your ducks in a row and your future on solid ground. Lord knows our childhood wasn’t exactly stable. But I could also see how much the idea ofyour own store excited you. All the things you could make it. Aunt Livi and I could tell you wanted to do it; you just needed a little bit of encouragement to make that leap of faith. So the next morning, I gave you my realtor’s phone number. Aunt Livi gave you the names of her lawyer and account manager at the bank, but then you took the wheel from there. You made Wilde Beauty happen.”
Kiersten’s story sparks a new memory from the night in my timeline. When Stuart took me to dinner, I had two full flutes of champagne, and, just like the margaritas, they acted as a truth serum. I told Stuart about my dream to open my own store. It’s not like he laughed at me or told me it was a terrible idea. He just pointed out all of the risks of owning your own business. Kierst is right. I hate not knowing how things will turn out. I check with Dax before starting a new series on Netflix to make sure I’ll like the ending. I read romance books because I want the guarantee of a happily ever after. I’m low risk. I appreciate predictability.
Kiersten uncovers my phone and hands it to me. “Call Dax if you want. All I’m asking is that first, you take a moment to breathe and think about what you want. Then look around this store and remind yourself that you’re the GOAT.”
“The goat?”
Kierst rolls her eyes. “Riley says it all the time. It’s a good thing.”
Her phone chirps loudly in her purse. She pulls it out and looks at something on the screen.
“I gotta run to an appointment, but call me later so we can talk about this more, okay?”
As soon as she’s out of sight, I pick up my phone to call Dax.
But unfortunately—or I guess fortunately—my door opens, and my store fills with patrons demanding skincare.
It’s another busy day.
A blur of moisturizers and cleansers and SPF 50. The closest I get to telling Dax is aBig news! Talk later?text, to which he replies,Can’t wait to hear it.
My feet ache by six o’clock, but my cheeks also hurt from smiling because the few spare moments I had in my day were divided between thinking about Dax and contemplating Priya’s offer to make more little baby Wilde Beauties happen.
Despite my weary legs, I practically skip down the sidewalk to Dax’s store.
All the Other Kicks is still brightly lit when I reach Dax’s block, making me wonder if he’s got some straggling customers.
I reach for the front door but pause at the sound of voices inside. Angry. Male. Arguing. One is most definitely Dax. I’m torn between feeling like I’m eavesdropping, standing there on his front stoop, and not wanting to barge in and interrupt something I shouldn’t. My debate is cut short when the door flies open, and the unidentified male storms out, nearly body-checking me onto the sidewalk.
“So sorry, miss.” He grabs me by the shoulders to steady me, or maybe him—either way, he keeps both our bodies firmly rooted on the ground.
“I think the store has closed up for the day,” he says. “You might need to come back another time.”
With that, he steps around me and takes off down the sidewalk. I rack my brain to place his face. He’s middle-aged and white, with light-brown hair that’s thinning on top and a nondescript white button-down covering a pronounced beer belly. I swear I’ve seen him before but cannot place where.
Ignoring his warning, I step inside. The main area of the store is still lit but empty.
