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“What’s the alternative?” Dianne asks when I say as much.
She’s right. Again. I owe it to myself—and to David—to live again, to allow myself to be happy. I’ve been living in what feels like a waiting room, never being called for my turn at love again. And it’s time I change that.
In theory, it’s much easier than making it happen, though.
“I don’t know how,” I admit.
“Just chew on the idea for now,” Dianna offers. “Get used to the thought, mull it over until you’re comfortable with it. Then we’ll talk about the next step.”
I nod. Thinking about it—that I can do.
The conversation shifts away from the topic, and when my session is over, I drive to the school to pick Kylie up.
She bounds to the car, her dark hair streaming behind her. She looks so much like David it makes my heart constrict. She inherited his dark hair, and her eyes are icy blue, like his.
“Hello, sweetheart,” I say when she climbs into the car. “What happened to your shirt?”
Her Fairy Marla shirt is covered in glitter glue.
“We did art today,” she says and fishes in her backpack for a half-eaten sandwich.
“I see,” I say. “I hope we can get that out.”
Kylie chews her sandwich as we drive home and chatters about what happened in class, talking about her friends. She’s growing up so fast. She’s almost nine, and I need to start thinking about a birthday party for her. I already know what theme she’ll choose, and I have a few things packed away from last year I can reuse.
When we get home, Michelle’s car is in my driveway.
“Michelle!” Kylie cries out and runs to my boss, throwing her arms around the woman.
Michelle laughs and hooks her short auburn hair behind her ear. “Hi, Ky.” She offers an exaggerated wave. Kylie giggles at Michelle’s standard greeting for her. “How was school?”
“The best,” Kylie says.
“I wasn’t expecting you,” I say to Michelle. “Were you waiting long?”
“No, I thought you’d be here any minute so I stopped by. Bad time?”
“Not at all,” I say and invite her in for coffee. I send Kylie to her room to change into clothes not covered in glitter glue.
Michelle sits down at the breakfast nook while I put the coffee machine on.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
“Perfect,” she says. “I’m here with good news, not bad.”
I don’t express my relief. It’s been eight months since I started working at Ruby Blue and my probation period is long over, but I still worry sometimes that I’ll lose all this again. It seemed too good to be true when I got the job.
“What is it?” I ask.
“We have a new line we’re working on and Raven wants you to spearhead the designing process.”
“What?” I ask. “I’m not a designer.”
“No, but you have a good eye. You’re beyond artistic, don’t think I haven’t noticed.” She smirks at me. “She’s sending over the woman she hired with a few ideas and she wants you to approve them for the fall line we’re showing at London Fashion Week next year.”
My stomach twists. It’s a big deal. Raven and Michelle both said they weren’t going to aim for another Fashion Week until they’re ready to open a new branch. What if I screw it all up? The coffee machine finishes and I fill two cups, adding sugar and cream the way I know Michelle likes it. She runs her hand through her hair and takes the cup from me.
“Stop looking so worried,” Michelle says with a laugh. “You’re more than capable—Raven knows exactly what she did when she hired you, and she knows what she’s doing now. You’re good at your job.”
