Page 53 of Broken Daddy

“It’s been a little rough. But my lawyers are on it and it should be resolved soon.” His jaw clenches for a moment, and then he confesses, “It’s putting me way behind. I’ve had to push a lot of personal work to the side, and a few company projects are on hold while we reassure our investors. The money will be fine in the end, I’ll finance things myself, if I have to, but it’s stressful.”

Curiosity piqued, I focus on the little tidbit he tossed out there.

“Personal work, like the things you make in the barn?”

I watch it happen as the words come out of my mouth. Nate’s face closes off, goes emotionless. He faces forward, arms held close to his sides, a little ridiculously defensive looking for a guy holding an ice cream cone.

“Yes,” he grunts.

Trying to act nonchalant, I play with my sundae and continue the line of questioning. “How did you get into that kind of stuff? Carpentry, I guess.”

There’s that same look I’m sure I gave Eva only a few minutes ago when my own defenses crumbled. Nate gives in, his shoulders loosening.

“My grandfather. He was a carpenter but he made furniture. Not the contractor stuff that goes on today. Everything was handmade, durable, and solid when he made it. I wanted to be like him.”

Rapt with his story, I press for more details.

“So that’s what you were into before you started Ironside?”

I get a shrug in reply. “Yeah, for a little while. I did odd jobs here and there. When I was in college, I worked under a general contractor, and it was good money. Their admin had surgery, and I covered for her at the time. Started to learn the ins and outs of the business. Once I finished school, I started my own company, and…”

He gestures in the direction of where the company must be, buried somewhere in this city where everyone is constantly competing and stressed.

Frowning, I ask, “Why do you bother?”

Nate looks at me in surprise, mirroring my knit brow. “What?”

“Why do you bother with…with the company, I guess, when that’s not the work you love?”

For a moment, his eyes look far away. It’s like he’s looking through me, and the expression drops from his face. On one of the boulders, Eva shouts triumphantly, playing a game of hide and seek with a small group of kids. Ice cream drips slowly down Nate’s hand, and then he’s back.

“It’s what makes money.”

With an eye roll, I turn away. “Hmm. Why am I not surprised?”

“What exactly is that supposed to mean?”

“Just that you’re taking the same route everyone else is. Focusing on money instead of what makes you happy.”

Nate stares at me incredulously. A few women in the area are checking him out, but he doesn’t notice as he scoffs.

“Oh, because money hadnothingto do with it when you started a restaurant with your ex?”

Caught off guard, I stare at him as his neck and then cheeks flush pink. He clears his throat awkwardly.

“You know about that?” I try not to say my ex’s name whenever possible.

“Russ mentionedthat something didn’t work out.”

I laugh, and it lightens the mood. “Well, a few things, actually. My engagement for one. But yeah, the restaurant, too. And no. I wasn’t in it for the money.”

I send him a sidelong glare, tossing my empty cup into a trash can.

“Really? So head chef doesn’t make good money at a place like The Black Fig? Michelin star, getting recognized on the street?”

Shaking my head, I explain. “No, actually. I was at about seventy grand a year. Which wasn’t bad. But up until last year, I was still paying off my loans for culinary school. And there was all that money I tanked in the partnership with my ex…and it took most of my career to work up to that seventy grand.”

With sincerity in my eyes and voice, I state, “I can honestly say I did it just because I love it.”

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