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“What?”
“Well…they laughed. And someone said something along the lines of ‘Sure, why don’t we just hand them a bunch of paint brushes and have them go nuts.’”
My eyes brighten at the idea.
“Charlie…it’s a joke.”
“It’s brilliant. They can make it their own. And just think about how unforgettable their first experience will be at the new space.”
“There is no new space.”
“But there could be, especially if we’re cutting the cost of painters.” I nudge, and she thinks I'm joking.
She glances down at my laptop, bitterness washing over her face. “Yeah, Charlie. Maybe. You keep doing what you’re doing. Who knows. Maybe one day.”
My face falls.
I know what she’s doing.
She thinks this is a distraction from my pain, a way to mask the chaos that is overtaking my life right now. She doesn't understand that I've been working on this for several months. Not since Mom died.
From sketches to budget, to vendors, to a workable timetable—I've thought of everything. All they have to do is say yes. Well, that and fund it, but I’ll take the yes for now. Hell, I’ll figure out a way to raise money for it.
“Thanks, Em.”
She nods thoughtfully. “See you tomorrow.”
I stare at the plans I’d printed. My enthusiasm somehow weakened. Suddenly, I don’t see an initiative I’d put months of considerable thought and effort into. Something I planned to execute cost-effectively, efficiently, and beautifully.
All in hopes of a wonderland for children. An escape for some, a safe haven for others.
A purpose for me.
Suddenly, it’s a folder of nonsense. A meaningless diary entry. Something I’ve conjured up to escape my reality.
That can’t be why I want this. Can it?
My phone pings with an Uber notification and I shut my laptop and pack up my tote bag before checking to see how far my driver is. I’ll need extra time to hobble down to the lobby.
I look at the notification that says my trip was successfully…
“Canceled?”
A frame appears in front of me, pulling my gaze. Noah is wearing slacks and a polo. The same bored expression I'm used to only…there's a hint of something…devious behind it.
I cock my head and hold up my phone. “Did you get rid of my driver again? You’re messing with my rating.”
He looks completely uninterested in my rant. “Car is running. Let’s move.”
I sit back down. “No.”
He sighs. “Charlie.”
“You don’t get to cancel my ride, then storm in here like I’m a chore and snap your fingers.” I fold my arms like the stubborn brat he says I am. “I’m staying.”
His head drops slightly before looking up again. A wave of guilt hits me as I find his tired blue eyes because I know it has to do with him sleeping on the couch. “You’re right,” he says, taking a breath. "Whenever you’re ready, I’d like to give you a ride home.”
He sounds sincere, but I’m not easily swayed. “I have more work to do, so you go ahead. I’ll call another Uber later.”
