The next month flew by. Farrah still hadn’t landed an interview at any of the design firms she’d applied to, not even after she’d dropped off copies of her resume and cover letter in person and called to follow up.
As a result, she’d started looking for more individual clients, à la her previous arrangement with Blake. It wasn’t ideal—she wasn’t ready to go full-time freelance yet—but it gave her a sense of purpose amidst rising panic over her career.
Meanwhile, Blake helped distract Farrah from her nagging worries. Their night at the garden, post-Sammy’s barbecue, proved to be the first of many non-carnal activities Blake persuaded her to indulge in. Farrah didn’t know how he did it, but she found herself picnicking in Central Park, taking day trips to Coney Island, and going on midnight strolls across the Brooklyn Bridge with the man she’d once sworn she’d never allow back into her life.
What was worse, Farrah enjoyed their non-dates. Very much. Each one aimed some sort of special Godzilla ray gun at the butterflies in her stomach, causing them to grow larger and larger until they threatened to take over her entire body.
“How long are you going to be in Miami?” she asked, shivering as the night chill skimmed over her skin.
August was the hottest month in the city, but it was eleven p.m. and they were 100 stories above the ground. Farrah wished she’d worn a jacket over her dress and sandals. Then again, she hadn’t planned for their lunch date—er, non-date to stretch this late into the night.
“A week. Lots of meetings and walkthroughs planned.” Blake pulled her to his chest and rubbed her arms, flattening some of her goosebumps. Warmth trickled into her stomach and she shivered again, this time for a whole other reason than the cold. “Don’t miss me too much.” His voice contained his signature cocky, teasing lilt.
“You wish.” Farrah buried her face in his chest and breathed in his crisp, citrusy scent. “You better bring me back pastelitos or I’ll be pissed.”
Blake’s chuckle vibrated through her. “Noted. How’s the job search going, by the way? Liv mentioned you’ve been dropping off your resumes in person?”
Blake and Olivia had reached a truce in the past month. Apparently, that truce had evolved from Olivia not killing him on sight to divulging information about Farrah’s professional woes.
Farrah didn’t want to hide her job search problems from Blake; she just found it embarrassing. She’d charged him a ton of money to design his apartment, and now she couldn’t even get a phone screen from a reputable firm. Or any firm, for that matter.
“Not great, but I’ll keep trying.” Farrah pulled back and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “In the meantime, I’m looking for more clients so if you know anyone whose house needs an overhaul…”
“I’ll let you know.” Blake examined her with a sober expression. “I wasn’t kidding when I said you have what it takes to go it on your own. Fuck these studios who aren’t smart enough to hire you. They’re a few knives short of a full set, and you’re better off without ‘em. You can use all that time you spend chasing down those idiots to start your own firm. You have the talent, and you have the contacts. Look how good a job you did on my place. Everyone that comes by loves it.”
Farrah raised her eyebrows. “How many people come by?”
Blake ticked off his guests on his fingers. “You, Landon, Justin, Pat, Sammy, and…” He frowned. “That’s not the point. The point is, there’s no set timeline for chasing your dreams. There’ll never be a day when you wake up and see a flashing neon sign that says, ‘This is the day to go for it.’ You have to make that choice on your own.”
Farrah knew he was trying to be supportive, but annoyance heated her skin, nonetheless. “I told you, I’m not ready. Stop pushing it.” She turned away from Blake and walked toward one of the angled glass partitions. They were at The Edge, an outdoor sky deck suspended mid-air above Manhattan. Included in the price of admission: 360-degree views of the city and a healthy dose of vertigo for those who weren’t fans of heights—Farrah included.
Her moodiness didn’t deter Blake. He followed her, grasped her chin, and forced her to look at him. “Do you know many branches of Legends there are in the world today?” he demanded. “Twelve. Austin, L.A., Chicago, New Orleans, Seattle, Houston, Dallas, London, Boston, Dublin, Barcelona, and Madrid. Fourteen, if you include New York and Miami. And I plan on opening many, many more.”
“Congrats.” Farrah tried to tear herself from Blake’s grip, to no avail.
His fingers burned into her skin, and the intensity of his gaze scorched her soul. “Do you know how many I had five years ago? Zero. I would still have zero if it weren’t for the girl who told me to fuck the haters and go for my dreams. She believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself, and I wouldn’t be anywhere near where I am today if it hadn’t been for her. She made me into who I am, and I owe her everything.”
Farrah’s pulse careened out of control. An unseen thread stretched between them and tugged at her heartstrings every time he looked at her the way he was looking at her now, like she was the sun to his earth. She was sure Blake could feel her shivers travel across that thread and into his body because he was trembling too, his eyes as dark as the night sky that hung above them.
“I don’t remember using the term ‘fuck the haters,’” she rasped.
Blake’s teeth flashed white in the darkness before he turned serious again. “Maybe not in those exact words, but the sentiment was there. You can do anything. Believe that.”
The sincerity in his voice sent her pulse from careening to crashing straight over the cliff toward a place she never thought she’d go again.
“I know you’re scared. I was, too. I still am. Sometimes I wake up, thinking I don’t know jack shit about what I’m doing, and terrified everything will crash around me. That feeling never goes away. But it’s the ones who push past the fear that succeed.” Blake released her and spun her around to face the city again. He rested his hands on her hips and his chin on her shoulder. “Remember the last time we stood on top of the world?” he whispered. “Macau. Courtney’s birthday. We went bungee-jumping, and you were so scared you tried to back out multiple times. I thought the bungee operator was going to kill us.”
Farrah’s soft laugh mingled with the night air. “I remember. You gave a motivational speech worthy of Tony Robbins.”
“Please. I’m better than Tony Robbins,” Blake scoffed. “The point is, you faced one of your biggest fears and punched it in its ugly face. You can do that again. Whatever your fear is, or however far you fall—you’ll survive. And I’ll be there to catch you.”
Farrah’s breath whooshed out of her. Manhattan lay sprawled at her feet, a glittering, tangled web of lofty dreams and promises. Some broken, some fulfilled, all searching for a sense of purpose in the unforgiving concrete jungle. Nothing except a pane of glass separated her from a thousand-foot tumble over the edge.
Despite the glass and Blake’s secure grip around her waist, Farrah was terrified—because she was already falling. And no matter what Blake said, she wasn’t sure she’d survive if she hit the ground.
Blake flew to Miami the next afternoon, leaving Farrah alone with her thoughts.
Her inner voices were like weeds—expected, fine in moderation, but if there were too many, they’d choke and paralyze her.
Olivia was on another date, and instead of stewing in the silence, dwelling on her dwindling career prospects, and agonizing over her feelings for Blake, Farrah called her mom.
“Follow up with the studios again if they haven’t replied to you by Friday.” Cheryl Lau’s voice crackled over the phone. “Some people are so lazy they probably haven’t gotten to your resume yet. You’re a NIDA competition winner. You graduated top of your class from CCU. They should be beating down your door.”
“I know, I know.” Farrah painted a fresh coat of red polish on her big toe. She’d rather not spend money on professional pedicures until she secured steady employment. Or you could start your own design studio, one of her stray inner voices whispered. Farrah squashed it. “Where are you?”
She could barely hear her mom over the sound of waves and people chattering in Cantonese in the background.
“I’m in San Diego for the association’s annual retreat.” Cheryl sniffed. “So much drama. The membership chair’s wife filed for divorce right before the trip, and he drank so much yesterday he passed out on the beach. So stupid. He’s lucky he didn’t get mugged.”
“Wow. You’re living on the wild side,” Farrah teased.
“Hmph. I should’ve stayed home. All people do here is gossip, gossip, gossip.”
“You say that every year, yet you go on the retreat every year.”
Her mom had a love-hate relationship with the local Chinese dance association she’d joined right after Farrah graduated high school. As in, she loved to say she hated it, but Farrah knew it was all for show. The association provided a much-needed source of entertainment and company for Cheryl, who’d lived alone since Farrah moved to New York three years ago.
Guilt prickled the back of Farrah’s neck. She should call and visit more often. Even though her mom had a robust social life, Farrah worried she was lonely. Cheryl hadn’t dated anyone since her divorce, and she was only in her fifties. Still plenty of time for a second chance at love.
“Well, I come for the food and dancing.” Cheryl yelled at someone in the background, “Be quiet, I’m talking to my daughter!”
Farrah laughed. “It’s okay. Enjoy your trip. I can call you later.”
“No, it’s fine.” Cheryl hesitated. “You’re coming home for Christmas, right?”
“Of course. I always come home for the holidays.”
“Good, good.”
Farrah’s spidey senses tingled at Cheryl’s tone. “Mom, what aren’t you telling me?”
“Nothing. I was just thinking.” Cheryl cleared her throat. “Anyway, will you be bringing a boyfriend with you? A son-in-law would be the best Christmas present, but I have to vet him first. Moms can always tell if someone is a good egg or bad egg.”
As subtle as a sledgehammer to the head. Cheryl’s gentle nudges about settling down, getting married, and birthing lots of grandbabies had evolved into outright shoves, and Farrah was only twenty-five.
“There are no eggs, good or bad. I’m not dating anyone.” Technically true. Right?
“No one?” Disappointment seeped through the phone into Farrah’s ear. “Not even a date? You’re young and attractive. Maybe you’re not going to the supermarket often enough.”
Ok, the egg analogy was getting weird. “I’ve been on dates.” Farrah chewed on her bottom lip, wondering whether to disclose her sort-of dates with Blake. “I’ve been, uh, hanging out with Blake.”
“Blake? The boy from Shanghai who broke your heart?”
Cheryl had been there, tissues and ice cream in hand, to comfort her daughter when Farrah returned home from Shanghai and collapsed into tears whenever she saw or heard something that reminded her of Blake—a movie they’d watched together; a song they’d danced to; her set of Kelly Burke limited-edition Pantone markers, which he’d gifted her for her twentieth birthday and which she couldn’t bring herself to throw away until they ran out of ink.
“Yes.” Farrah gave her mom a quick rundown of what happened, minus the sex part. She’d already told Cheryl about Blake’s design project—she just hadn’t named him as the client. “Before you say anything, I know I’m being reckless. Given my and Blake’s history, I shouldn’t even be talking to him. Right?”
“Not necessarily.” Farrah knew her mom so well she could hear her shrug over the phone. “He sounds like he’s changed and wants to make things work. Besides, you were so smitten with him. Maybe this is your second chance.” She sounded wistful. “Grudges are the worst thing to hold on to. No matter how bad someone hurt you, you can’t heal until you forgive. Sometimes that means moving on. Other times that means giving things another shot.”
Farrah tightened her grip on her phone. “You think I should give Blake another shot?”
Two months ago, she would’ve scoffed at the idea, but now, a strange warmth filled her at her mother’s advice.
“I think you should do what your heart tells you. We can be so afraid of getting hurt we lock it up in a fortress, but hearts are meant to roam free until they find what they’re searching for. Let yours lead you to where you need to go.”
