Page 21 of SALT

"Tell me about the shop."

"What exactly do you want to know?" I ask as I pour my orange juice.

"Everything. What you designed, your plans for more, all of it. I'm certain you've been writing down ideas in your journal to throw at Connor the next time you get him on the phone."

"I designed almost everything. I changed the shade of blue from sapphire to cobalt, updated the lines on the logo so that they are double stitched and thicker, making them stand out more on the apparel, and I designed all the fan gear. The hats, hoodies, tee shirts, that's all me," I say proudly. I never saw myself designing sportswear when I decided I wanted to pursue a career in fashion, but because I'm doing it for Connor's team, a small part of me feels like I'm doing it for Everett too.

"And this will help your resumè? I know it's experience, but is it the right kind?"

"Does it bother you that much that I'm working there?"

He shakes his head. "That's not where I was going. I'm just trying to understand. Fashion is not my wheelhouse, but I don't need a degree in it to understand the importance of internships. I could pull strings and get you internships with fashion houses on the East Coast."

My stomach twists as my mind hears something else. He wants to get me internships on the East Coast because he wants me gone.

"You said the end of the school year, right?" He furrows his brow. "I get to live here through the end of the year?"

He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Cameron, stop trying to twist my words."

"But—"

"Don't try to tell me otherwise. I'm not trying to make you leave. I'm simply trying to understand your goals. I have yet to truly ask you what they are. This is me asking. This is me trying to help."

He's not wrong. I'm choosing to hear the negative, to hear him pushing me away instead of pulling me close because that's all he's ever done. I've never been anything more to him, and the idea that maybe that's changing doesn't feel real.

"Does designing baseball uniforms and team gear get me anywhere with fashion houses? Doubtful. But we all have to start somewhere, and what I'm doing for the Bulldogs... designing a brand is a lot more than most of my peers who are fetching coffees and pushing pencils."

His eyes are on me when I look up, and I can tell he's thinking. "Why do you have to work for a fashion house?"

"I'm not sure I'm following," I say before I take a bite of my eggs.

"Why can't you start your own business? Take Mackenzie, for example. She didn't finish school. She started her interior design business by becoming an influencer and posting before and after pictures of gigs she was getting. Now, almost two years later, she's landed one of the biggest jobs of her career. The private villas she's designing for Montage Resorts will put her on the map. It's going to open every door she could ever want."

I stare out the back window as I think about his words. I never considered doing it on my own. I always assumed I was going into a career where I needed to put in my time and earn my stripes like everyone else trying to become a designer. Plus, Mackenzie didn't just post a couple before and after pictures.

"What are you thinking?"

"That Connor built Mackenzie a house and let her design it from top to bottom, and she vlogged about it daily." While they live in Everett's old house, Connor built her mother and brother a home on their property so she could have her family close.

"Okay, so start vlogging your experience at the field. Uniforms arrive this week. Do some live unboxings or?—"

I can't help but chuckle, and he raises a brow at my burst of emotion. "I'm surprised you know what a live unboxing is, that's all."

"I'm a lawyer. I'm very familiar with social media. Almost every case that comes across my desk deals with it in some form. Every post and comment someone shares online can be used as court evidence. I've done my fair share of scrolling."

"That makes sense. I'll have to think about it. I haven't considered doing something on my own. I'm not sure if showing the baseball stuff would be on brand, and if I go boutique, I need to find models?—"

"You don't need models. If you do this, you are the brand. You're the model, your designs. Trust me, people will buy them."

His eyes drop to his plate the second he feels his words cross a line, but I don't want to lose the momentum I feel is being gained. So I change the subject. "You don't like the eggs?"

His eyes float back to mine. "I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to. You're pushing them around the plate."

He rolls his lips and taps his fork. "They were ready before I got in the shower, weren't they?"

"No… they were almost ready." It's the truth, they weren't completely done. I take another bite and slide him the ketchup bottle. "If you dip them in ketchup, you don't know they're a little dry." He looks slightly mortified by my suggestion. I point my fork at him. "Don't tell me you've never dipped your eggs in ketchup."

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