Page 63 of Passion and Privilege

“The job is done, and my apartment will be ready soon,” I said, smiling.

“I don’t want you to go,” Paisley murmured, stepping into the room, her hands fidgeting nervously with the hem of her shirt. “You are the closest thing to a friend I have.”

I felt a pang in my chest. “Paisley, you have friends. But I am happy to call you my friend too.”

“Why are you leaving? It’s not like there’s not enough room here. Just because the job is done doesn’t mean you can’t stay here. You said your apartment wasn’t livable.”

“But I have a house now,” I told her gently. “I can’t stay here forever. It was only temporary.”

“But my dad loves you,” she blurted out.

My chest tightened at her words. “He doesn’t, Paisley. This isn’t about that. Your father and I had a good working relationship. We got along well, but that’s all it was.”

Paisley refused to accept my explanation, attempting to highlight Timothy’s positive attributes. “But he does,” Paisley insisted, a stubborn tilt to her chin. “He talks about you all the time. You’re all he ever wants to discuss at dinner. And when he found out that guy was bothering you, he went crazy. He wouldn’t do that for just anyone.”

“Paisley,” I began, but she cut me off.

“No! I know he seems like a cold stiff, but he’s not. He’s just really, uh, distant. He’s nice once you get to know him. And he can be really funny when he’s not scowling.”

“Paisley,” I tried again, my voice trembling. “It’s not about whether he’s a good man or not. I know he is. But I can’t stay here based on what could be. You understand that, don’t you?”

She was quiet for a moment, her lips pressed into a line as she studied me. Then, with a gulp, she nodded.

“I understand,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

I reached out and hugged her tightly. “You’re a wonderful girl, Paisley. Never forget that.”

I released her as Paisley wiped away the tears streaming down her cheeks.

“I wish you wouldn’t go,” she whispered.

I had to cut her off, the pain in my chest too raw to keep talking about Timothy. “He wants to be alone, Paisley. That’s it. This isn’t my home. I need to make one for myself and move on. Your father isn’t ready for a relationship. One day he might be, but after going through what he did, there’s a lot of healing that has to happen.”

Paisley’s eyes brimmed with unshed tears, and her voice was shaky. “But you’ve done so much for this place. And for him. You can’t just leave.”

A lump formed in my throat as I continued packing, the room closing in on me. “I have to. It’s not my place. It’s time to go.”

Paisley stormed out of the room, leaving me alone with the echoes of her pleas. I zipped up my suitcase and quickly left my room. I walked through the hallways of Gloriana Manor one last time, a silent farewell to the house I had poured my heart into.

I didn’t see him again. I walked to my truck and threw the suitcase in the back. I sat in my truck for a minute and stared up at the house. I allowed myself a moment to reflect on the summer. It had been transformative for me and the house. I felt a sense of pride at the transformation I had brought to Gloriana Manor.

I started my truck and pulled away. My heart hurt. I glanced in the rearview mirror and felt like I was leaving a lot more than a house behind.

I couldn’t help but feel a sense of finality as it became smaller and smaller in my vision. I sighed deeply, my mind flooded with memories of laughter and a few arguments and, of course, Timothy.

The night in the kitchen was something I would never forget. I truly did wish Timothy the best. I knew he had gone through hell with his ex. Maybe if we had met a year or two down the road, we might have had something. But timing, as they say, was everything.

I found myself wondering about Timothy’s reaction to my departure. Would he regret not saying goodbye? Or had he simply felt relief when I left?

I gripped the steering wheel tighter. My heart was heavy, full of wishful what-ifs and pondering regrets.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Timothy

I WANDERED THROUGH the house, appreciating new details I hadn’t noticed before. Amber and her crew bustled around, putting the final touches on the mansion’s transformation. The furniture had been carefully selected. It now filled the rooms, creating an air of elegance that reminded me of the days my grandparents lived in the house.

The house looked like a real home. I was thrilled with how it all turned out. Amber was a very skilled designer and had managed to source antiques and furniture that brought it all together. Everything was perfect. It was the dream I had been harboring for years. To see it come to life was satisfying.