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“Maybe. But you had to build something successful enough for all those people to notice you in the first place.”

She paused with a piece of cucumber stabbed onto her fork halfway to her mouth. His tone held no flattery. He simply stated it as fact, then took a bite of his salad, and something about that affected her more than it should have.

“Yeah. I guess I did.”

“So where’d you learn all of it? The decorating and crafts and everything else you started the channel with?”

A smile pulled at her lips. “One of my nannies, mostly. Her name was Rosa. She could make something out of practically anything. Sewing, painting, refinishing furniture, wreaths, flower arrangements, cooking—you name it. She was always working on some project and started letting me help when I was little.”

“Sounds like you two were close.”

“We were. She took care of me for almost ten years.” Amanda moved a cherry tomato around her plate with her fork. “I had a few nannies growing up, but Rosa was with us the longest. She taught me most of the basics. I learned more as I got older and figured out what I liked, but it started with her.”

“What about your parents?”

The question didn’t bother her, although the answer was more complicated. “They’re both still in Sacramento. My dad’s an attorney, and my mother’s a lobbyist. Both very successful, driven, and busy.”

Something in her tone must have caught his attention. “You’re not close?”

She tilted her head from side to side. “We’re not estranged or anything. We talk on the phone and see each other occasionally. But we’ve just never been one of those families that calls each other every Sunday and spends every holiday together.”

She could have left it there, but his expression held curiosity without pity or judgment, so she continued. “My parents love me. I know that. They just love their careers, too, and those took up most of their time when I was growing up. There were always meetings, clients, dinners, trips, something. That’s why I had nannies.”

“So Rosa was the one you spent most of your time with.”

“Yup. When I wasn’t in school or doing homework, we did crafts, baking, shopping, and all sorts of other stuff. She taught me how to sew on a button and use a glue gun without burning off a finger.” A smile pulled at her lips. “She also let me redecorate my bedroom about a hundred times. My parents probably would've put a stop to that if they'd realized how much paint I went through.”

He chuckled. “Did you keep in touch with her?”

“Yeah. She moved to Mexico to live with family after I graduated from high school, but we stayed in touch. Christmas cards, emails, and monthly phone calls.” It struck her that her relationship with Rosa had become much like the one she’d had with Aunt Edith—regular contact from a distance, but never enough time together in person. The realization added another layer to the guilt she already carried. “She passed away about five years ago. I still miss her.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thanks.” A small smile touched her lips as she thought about the woman who’d played such a huge role in her childhood. “She got to see what I did with everything she taught me, though. She used to tell me it was crazy that people paid me to show them things she’d taught me to do when I was eight.”

He rested his forearms on the table. “I bet she was pretty damn proud of you.”

“She was.” The certainty behind the words brought a lump to her throat. Rosa had told her often enough, especially once Amanda’s career took off. “She never let me forget it.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke, but the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. The music drifting in from the bar filled the space between them until she glanced up again.

“So, what kind of books do you write? I bought that one yesterday, but I didn’t get much further than the back cover.”

“Interior design, entertaining, cookbooks, life hacks, organization. I’ve done a few that combine a little bit of everything.” She took another bite of her salad. “Basically, if I can show someone how to make something prettier, easier, or more functional, I can probably turn it into a book.”

“How many have you written?”

“Seven so far. Number eight is the manuscript I’ve been working on at Edith’s.”

His eyes widened. “Eight? Damn.”

“It sounds like more than it is. Some are pretty specialized. I did an entire book on small-space decorating a few years ago, and another one was nothing but entertaining on a budget.”

“So, the books, the show, and everything you put online are all connected.”

“Pretty much. Sometimes something starts as a video and eventually turns into a book. Other times, I’m working on a book and realize part of it would make a good segment for the show. My team is constantly stealing ideas from one thing and using them somewhere else.”

“Your team?”