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On the way to the office, I make a pit stop in town. First, I stop by Ansley’s coffee shop and grab two lattes and a bag of muffins, and then I swing by The Artistic Dreamz Studio to pick up the proofs I ordered.
“Hi, Weston,” Suzy chimes as I enter.
Suzy owns the studio and is Balsam Ridge’s resident hippie artist and also one of Balsam Gold’s best customers.
“Hi, Suzy. How are you this Monday morning?”
“Fantastically serene,” she sings.
I set the bag I carried in from my truck on the corner of the counter where she is seated.
She grins and takes a peek inside. “Are these the samples?”
“Yes, ma’am. One of each,” I confirm.
She immediately opens the small tub of lip balm and applies a thick coating to her lips.
“Heaven,” she sighs.
“Are my samples ready?” I ask.
She jumps to her feet. “Oh, yes. I’ll get them.”
She prances into the back and returns with a portfolio.
“Here you are. Once you have a chance to look them over, you can message me with any changes or additions you’d like, and we’ll adjust them for you.”
I take the strap from her fingers and kiss her cheek.
“Thank you. And I expect a full review on the new products from you too.”
“Of course,” she agrees.
I get to the office before Anna and place our coffees and pastries in the break room.
Moving to the conference table, I remove the prints from the leather portfolio, spread them out, and take a look.
I commissioned Suzy, one of the most creative people I know, to do the renderings last week after Anna and I discussed the rebranding of Balsam Gold. I simply gave her a few ideas, and she took them from there and created magic.
These are awesome.
The “professional glow-up,” as Anna called it, sure does make a difference. I never thought that the quality of the package the product came in was just as important as the quality of the product itself, but clearly, I was wrong.
I hear the door open and shut as Anna enters. Kaela is gabbing gibberish.
Music to my ears.
“Good morning,” she chimes.
I watch as she juggles Kaela from arm to arm to remove her jacket and hang it on the hook by the door.
She’s so damn beautiful. Even with the telltale signs of a rushed morning—her hair in a ponytail down her back; her face makeup-free, except for the blush gloss on her lips; Kaela still in pajamas; and the fact that she is wearing two different-colored pumps on her feet.
“Good morning. How are my favorite girls?” I ask.
“Running late. My alarm didn’t go off. I usually have a built-in one, but the little stinker actually slept in today. I’m sorry,” she says.
“Don’t be sorry. I’m glad you got a few extra winks.”
