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It’s a new life that feels unfamiliar, but good. Yes, I can have family time with my kids and they can have time with their father, and it’ll be okay.

I’m stepping into my life with my eyes wide open. There’s no more void beneath my next step, no fear of what comes next. I don’t think too closely about that corner of my heart that still aches when I look at that misshapen bowl in my cupboard, or the fact that maybe I did meet a good man so soon after my divorce—then lost my chance.

It ends up taking me a week to find my third client. I do about a dozen free styling consultations that turn into a dozen rejections, but number thirteen ends up being lucky, for once. It’s a woman in her late twenties who’s starting her first corporate job after the holidays. She needs a professional wardrobe that still has personality, and our sessions together end up being a blast.

It’s more affirmation that I’m doing the right thing. When the young woman sends me photos of her planned outfits for her first week of work, my heart feels so light I might burst.

I’ve never felt like this, ever. Like I have gifts that are worth something. I can make money and serve other women and make them feel good. I can be as girly as I want, and it’s not sneered at.

In the days before the kids leave for Seattle, Katie comes into my room on a Saturday morning and climbs into bed with me. I wrap her in my arms and kiss her silky hair, loving the way she nestles against me.

With her head on my shoulder, my daughter grabs my hand and looks at my nails. “You need a manicure,” she announces.

I look at the regrowth on my shellac. “You’re right.”

Katie lifts her head and looks at me. “Can I come too? I want red and green nails.” She wiggles her fingers and beams at me, hopeful.

I don’t know why that fills me with joy. It’s just my daughter wanting to do something with me, but it’s more than that. She’s not ashamed of liking pretty things. She’s not looking down on me for wanting to do something girly. So, I smile and nod, and take her to a nail salon in town for a mani-pedi. We only give her normal polish, obviously, since anything else would require upkeep and could damage her nails, but my daughter is wide-eyed and giggly the whole time.

“Look, Mommy!” She thrusts her hand at me, and I see the red and green alternating nails with tiny snowflakes dotted on each finger. She brings her hand up to her face and beams. “So pretty!”

My heart is overflowing. When we’re done, Katie walks with her nails fanned out as she struts down the street. When we meet my mother and Toby at the café, Katie runs up to the counter and shows Sven, Fiona, and Candice, who all ooh and aah over her hands.

“She’s her mother’s daughter.” Candice winks.

I grin. Six months ago, if Kevin had said that to me, I wonder if I would’ve taken it as a compliment.

Things are good. Really, really good.

Then Mac walks through the door with a box of pottery, and my heart nearly bursts out of my chest. His eyes zero in on me, sweeping from head to toe. I immediately combust.

Hmm.

Maybe things could be better.

“Mr. Blair!” Katie sprints toward him. “Look at my nails!”

Mac puts the box down on a table and crouches down, inspecting Katie’s hands and nodding appreciatively. “Wow. Did you do that yourself? It’s very good. I love the snowflakes.”

Katie rolls her eyes. “No, of course not.” She flicks her hair over her shoulder. “Mommy and I went to the nail salon.” She wiggles her fingers, then prances back to her table.

I bite back a smile as Mac glances at me, laughter dancing in his eyes.

Fiona comes around the counter and shakes his hand, and they both peer into the box.

“That’s everything you’ve ordered,” Mac says. “I’ve included the final invoice in the box. If there’s anything you’re not happy with, just let me know.”

“It looks lovely,” Fiona says, unwrapping a large plate. It’s the same peach-and-gold of the rest of the order, and as I drift closer, I can’t help the tightening of my chest. Fiona hums. “We’ve gotten so many compliments on our mugs, Mac. You should leave some business cards, or even put a few pieces on display here. We’d love to help you sell them.”

Mac’s gaze is on me, those honey-colored eyes hungry as they roam over my face. “Sounds good,” he tells Fiona without looking at her. Then, with a shake of his head, he says a few quick goodbyes and walks out of the café.

I feel like I just ran a marathon.

Candice catches my eyes, arching a brow. “Still sure about that decision of yours?”

She’s being vague because my little sponges are sitting at a table beside me. She means my decision to push Mac away, to focus on myself.

I let out a breath and nod. “Yeah,” I say, “I’m still sure.”

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