Page 9 of Taurus

“No,” I cut her off. “It’s not stupid. It’s human.”

“What do you want out of this?” she asks me, and honestly, it catches me off guard. I didn’t think she’d even care.

“I want Pesca to thrive. Obviously, I’d love for that to include me because I’ve put years, blood, sweat, and tears into this place. I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make that happen.”

“Even if it means working side by side with me for the next few weeks?”

“It’s hard work, horrible even,” I smirk, “but someone has to do it. Who knows. At the end of it all, you may want to stay here and run this place yourself.”

“I’m happy in D.C., Austin. I have friends, a job I love, a cute apartment in a great area…”

“But are you happy?”

“Yes, of course I am. I just said—”

“No, you know that’s not what I mean. I asked if you’re happy. Deep inside, where it counts. You forget that I’ve seen you happy. I’ve seen your smile, heard you laugh, spent time with you when you were so happy you were glowing. Do you have that in Washington D.C., home of habitual liars and scumbag politicians?”

She doesn’t answer me. She just stares at me for a moment then reaches down and plucks her own dandelion. I watch as she closes her eyes and blows the seeds into the wind.

“I’d like to see every side of the day-to-day process here,” she says. “I know it’s changed leaps and bounds over the last decade. I’ll stay here for the required amount of time, do my due diligence, and then when the time is up, hopefully, I’ll know what to do.”

She pushes to her feet and climbs the stairs back toward the front door. “And for the record,” she says with her hand on the doorknob. “I am happy in D.C. My happiness doesn’t begin and end with you in Summer’s Grove.”

“No one said that it did, Park. You said that all on your own.”

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