Chapter 12 - THE MAN WHO NEVER ASKED ME TO SHRINK
Julian Cross became a regular visitor to the studio.
At first, our conversations were strictly professional.
Supply chains.
Product standards.
Investment structures.
Then one evening, after a twelve-hour meeting, he brought me a sandwich.
I looked at it.
“What's this?”
“Dinner.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Very romantic.”
He laughed.
“I'm not trying to be romantic.”
“Good.”
He smiled.
“Noted.”
We ate at the drafting table.
For the first time, I asked about his life.
He told me he had grown up in North Carolina.
His mother taught art history.
His father repaired musical instruments.
He had spent his childhood surrounded by beautiful things people rarely noticed.
“Maybe that's why I like your work,” he said.
I looked at him.
“Why?”
He studied the Marigold chair beside my desk.
“Because it doesn't need to announce how expensive it is.”
I laughed.
“Hudson would hate that description.”
Julian smiled.
“I suspected.”
Then he grew serious.
“Serena, you have an extraordinary eye.”
I looked down.
“Thank you.”
He leaned forward.
“Don't do that.”
I frowned.
“Do what?”
“Make yourself smaller when someone compliments your work.”
My throat tightened.
For years, I had deflected praise.
Given Hudson credit.
Explained that I was just helping.
Just sketching.
Just doing what needed to be done.
I looked at Julian.
Then smiled.
“Thank you.”
He nodded.
May you like
“Better.”
And something inside me began to heal.
