Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 133682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
He seems to give that some thought as he tilts his head, looks my way. “I do like to.” He pauses, then pushes forward. “What’s yours?”
I go still for a long beat, feeling more vulnerable and exposed than I ever have been with him. I flash back to the day of the wedding shower at his house. I tested the waters, telling him a sliver of my hopes. Well, that’s not true. I hardly admitted a thing. He guessed, asking if I had an Etsy shop as a side hustle.
And I held back, keeping parts of myself close to the vest. Out of fear. Fear he’d think I was a disloyal employee. Fear he wouldn’t want to know I had dreams beyond the Renegades. But mostly the fear of opening up and someone trouncing on my feelings.
I opened up earlier to my sister, though, and she’s squarely on my side. Wilder’s been my biggest supporter for the last few weeks. He’s been my protector. He’s been my encourager.
I don’t have to hide pieces of myself from him. I’m safe with Wilder.
I take a steadying breath. “I want to open an eco-friendly jewelry store someday. In the city. Maybe even a line of them. A handful, then keep growing and bringing my designs to more and more people across the country. I want to change the industry. Make it green. Revolutionize my slice of the fashion world.”
I feel so raw. So exposed. So vulnerable. Especially since he’s quiet for a beat. Unreadable. He just nods, as if he’s taking that in. Then he shifts closer, his eyes locking with mine, holding my gaze. “Made By Fable is a big dream.”
“Yes,” I say nervously, twisting my fingers under the covers. “Do you think I’m a disloyal employee?”
He shakes his head. “No. Not at all. You’re one of the most talented people I’ve ever worked with. You should do it. I know it’ll be a hit. It’s an exciting possibility, and I believe in it.”
Relief washes over me. Pride, too, from his certainty. His confidence. And once again, his support. “Thank you. I appreciate you saying that. Really, I do.”
His lips quirk up. “So a little more than an Etsy shop, Fable?”
“Just a little,” I admit, but I’m smiling, maybe even enjoying that he’s caught me in that tiny little lie that was hardly a lie.
“I knew there were bigger things in store for you. Now tell me more about it. What do you envision? What do you see? The Santa cufflinks were just the beginning.”
I share more of the type of necklaces I like to make, how I source materials, where I’d want to open the first shop—in Russian Hill. “My favorite place in the city,” I say.
His brow furrows. “There’s a good block for shops right there on Polk.”
I swat his shoulder. “Hey now! Don’t go surprise me with a jewelry shop for Christmas,” I tease. The man is a real estate magnate too. I need to rein him in.
He cracks up.
“I mean it. Just because I told you, you can’t go out and buy me one, like it’s fuzzy socks or ice cream. I mean, to you it would be.”
His laughter burns off. “I wouldn’t treat it like fuzzy socks.” Then he holds my gaze. “Thank you for sharing that.”
“Thanks for making it easy.” I pause and then, not wanting to end this conversation, I say, “What’s your dream?”
He smiles, rests his head against his pillow, and parks his hands behind his head. “Being the best father I can be.”
My heart catches. My throat squeezes with emotions. Tears prick my eyes. “I think it already came true.”
He looks to me, a softness in his mouth, a tenderness in his eyes. “I have to make it come true every day.”
“And you will,” I say, then settle into my pillow too.
We’re quiet for a long moment.
I glance around the suite, drinking in the woodsy decor with exposed wood beams, the Douglas fir tree rising to the ceiling with its strands of colorful lights blinking on and off as we chat late into the night, then a fireplace just for us. It’s not crackling tonight but maybe we’ll light it tomorrow. Peaked windows offer a view of the glittering mountains. Earlier, I discovered that the bathroom is well-appointed, with a rainfall shower. The carpet is so soft your toes sink into it. The bed is out-of-this-world comfy.
“Wilder?” I whisper.
“Yes?”
“Here’s one thing we won’t fight about.”
“What’s that?”
I sweep my arm out to the side. “These are definitely chalets, not cabins.”
A smile tips his lips. “You’re right, Fable. They are.”
32
A HOMEMADE THANK YOU
Wilder
Here’s another reason we could never work out—Fable is an inveterate bed hog. She’s a dragon hoarding her gold, amassing pillows and sheets and mattress square-footage. She’s cocooned in the blankets, lying on her stomach in the middle of the king-size bed, leaving me with a sliver of space.