A week later she returned with a proposal. Sterling Living was creating a formal record of the designers and craftspeople who contributed to its enduring collections, and Daniel's name would appear wherever documentation supported the attribution. Beyond that, Victoria wanted him to become a creative consultant, advising the company on furniture repairability, materials, and products intended to last for generations. The salary was generous, the title substantial, and the position could be structured around his own schedule. She thought she had finally found an offer he might welcome.
Daniel listened without interrupting. They sat at the workshop table with cups of tea cooling between them, sunlight falling across the drawings. When she finished, he asked several thoughtful questions about the role, the expected travel, the work he would be asked to review, and the people who would report to him. Victoria answered honestly, taking his interest as a promising sign. Then he folded his hands and told her he could not accept.
"It's not the money," he said quickly when she began to respond. "And it isn't because I don't respect what you've built. I do. But that job would ask me to spend most of my time in meetings deciding what other people should make. I've done that. Right now I want to be the person who makes and repairs things."
"You could change how our products are built," Victoria argued. "You could help thousands of people buy something that won't fall apart after a few years." He nodded. "Maybe.
And that's a worthwhile job for someone who wants it. I can suggest names of people who'd be excellent. But I'm not looking for a doorway back into the life I left."
She looked down at the contract pages, disappointed in a way she had not anticipated. For a moment she wanted to negotiate, to increase the salary, to promise that he could maintain his workshop and work only when he chose. She recognized the familiar impulse from every deal she had ever closed. Usually it served her well. This time it would mean refusing to hear the answer Daniel had plainly given.
"I thought I was offering you something you'd lost," she admitted. Daniel's expression softened. "You're offering me an opportunity. That's generous.
But the younger man who drew those sketches isn't standing here waiting to be restored to his old position. I'm glad I was him. I'm also glad I survived becoming someone else." He glanced toward the photograph of Claire. "I don't have to go backward to prove those years mattered."