Chapter 10
I sat by the window of the apartment I had rented–a cozy corner studio in the heart of Paris–and stared at the business card Riley had given me days ago. My fingers traced the edges absentmindedly. I had been turning it over for hours now, like the answer was somehow tucked in the ink or the paper stock.
It felt surreal.
A chance to start over. A real one.N
Was it foolish to believe the universe had finally handed me something good? After all the years I spent giving and losing, could I really take this for myself now–without guilt?
I exhaled slowly, the quiet hum of Paris traffic drifting in from the street below. And then I said it aloud, as if to seal the decision: “I’m doing this.”
The next morning, Riley met me at the entrance of Atelier d’Horizon. The building was modern, tall glass panels with vines trailing over one side, and a minimalist gold sign above the door. Inside, the place was buzzing–models, fabrics, creative staff, and designers moving like a synchronized dance.
But Riley? He was waiting with a coffee in hand and a warm grin. “Welcome to your new playground.”
I smiled as I took the cup. “Playground?“N
He leaned in. “Designers don’t work. They play with vision.”
I laughed. “That’s dangerously poetic.”
He winked. “Dangerously charming too.“N
Irolled my eyes, but the flutter in my chest was undeniable.}
Riley led me through the studio–introducing me to the team, showing me the fabrics, pointing to the collection board. He didn’t hover, but somehow, he was always there when I needed help. And so I started.}
At first, I was rusty. My hands hesitated over sketch paper. My eyes second–guessed every color palette. But Riley never rushed me. He just encouraged.
“Stop overthinking,” he said one afternoon, leaning over my shoulder. “You’re Erika Dela Cruz. I’ve seen what you can do.“}
“You saw what I did,” I muttered. “Years ago.”}
“And now I’ll see what you’re about to become.“}
With him around, I remembered what it felt like to create without fear. The feeling of fabric between my fingers. The rush of sketching an idea at midnight. The satisfaction of seeing a dress take shape from nothing but pencil lines and instinct.
One evening, we stayed late, the whole studio quiet except for the sound of my pencil and his music playlist playing softly in the background. I stood by the dress form, pinning lace along the bodice of my first piece.}
“You’re in your zone,” Riley said, sipping his tea.}
I looked at him. “I haven’t felt like this in decades.“}
He stepped closer. “Then stay here. Not just in Paris. I mean here–this version of you. The one who lights up when she creates.”}
His words hit deeper than I cared to admit.
After that, we began spending more time together. Sometimes we’d grab lunch at a quiet cafe around the corner. Sometimes, we’d just sit at the rooftop terrace, sipping coffee and watching the Eiffel Tower light up at night. He was thoughtful in ways I hadn’t known I’d missed -pulling chairs for me, listening when I spoke, noticing when I looked tired and handing me chocolates without saying a word.”
One rainy afternoon, I sneezed in the middle of a fitting.”
“Cold?” Riley asked, brows furrowing.
“It’s nothing.”
He disappeared for fifteen minutes and came back with a box of chamomile tea, honey, and a pack of throat lozenges.
“Too much?” he said with a sheepish smile.
I smiled, touched. “Just enough.”%
Somewhere in those quiet moments, I realized something dangerous.”
I felt safe
I felt cared for
And I didn’t know what to do with that
Because safety leads to comfort. And comfort, when left unguarded, turns into feeling. And I couldn’t afford feelings. Not again. I’d barely rebuilt myself. I wasn’t ready to hand the pieces to someone else.”
But that didn’t stop me from noticing the way Riley’s eyes crinkled when he smiled. Or how he always smelled like cedar and clean linen. Or how he somehow always said the right thing &
I caught myself staring too long once
“You okay?” he asked, raising an eyebrow
“Year” I said quickly, turning back to my fabric swatches &
Too close, Erikaz
12:32 PM
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Still, at night, I found myself thinking about him.§
I remembered having a crush on him back in college. We all did. He was smart, handsome, always walking around campus like he knew exactly who he was. I was just the design girl then–quiet, always sketching on the benches under the mango trees.
It was foolish. A silly memory.§
But now? Now he was real. He was here.
And he made me feel something I hadn’t felt in years: wanted.
Still, I told myself it was nothing. A healthy little crush. A fleeting thing. I was too old for this. We both were. He probably didn’t even mean anything by it–just being kind, just being Riley.
So I smiled, thanked him for the tea, focused on my work.
Because I had chosen myself.”
And right now, I wanted to fall in love with my career again. With my art. With the version of me that I lost somewhere between motherhood, silence, and sacrifice.}
I had no time to fall for anyone else.
Not yet.
2/2
