“Technology law, which is why the Bay Area is my stomping grounds. You can say a lot of things about Silicon Valley, but it’s never boring.” Jessica smiled.
Kris yawned. “Fascinating.”
Farrah snuck a peek at Olivia. She’d wiped the expression from her face, but Farrah could read the tense set of her shoulders and the way she fiddled with her watch strap. Olivia was pissed.
Nate cleared his throat. “Hey, why don’t we eat before the food gets cold? Hot dogs are on the grill, but the burgers are done. Let’s dig in.”
The clatter of plastic utensils and light chatter broke the tension, but an undercurrent of unease remained.
“Looks like I’m not the only person Olivia wants to drop into the middle of an axe-throwing competition,” Blake murmured. “I thought she and Sammy have been over for a while.”
“It’s complicated.”
Olivia was not the type who liked to discuss her feelings in public, so Farrah spared her friend the third degree for now.
Reminder: stock up on Ben & Jerry’s before I go home.
“Complicated, I get. But you know what’s simple?” Blake wiggled his eyebrows. “A nighttime walk through the Brooklyn Botanic Garden. Not a date, I swear. Just two friends with floral benefits, smelling roses and shit.”
Maybe it was the sunshine, the giddiness of being surrounded by old friends, or Blake’s boyish smile. Either way, Farrah threw caution to the wind.
What could it hurt?
“Okay,” she said. “Let’s go to the garden.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
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.