Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 138881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 694(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 694(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
I tuck it back into its paint-chip home, then grab another. “This?”
“It looks like bubble gum,” Remy says, as if that disappoints her.
“It’s called Bubble Gum,” I point out, reading the name on the card.
She taps her chin. “I don’t like bubble gum.”
“You are so picky,” I say.
“Which is exactly how I found Jameson,” Remy says proudly, adjusting the messy bun that holds her lush, chestnut hair. “By being picky.”
“I thought you found him because he works at the arena too?” I have to give her a hard time, of course.
“Among other factors. And I was picky when he said he’d seen me several times walking past his craft cocktail bar and did I want to finally go out with him,” she says.
“You should be picky when it comes to craft cocktails and dating,” Skylar says, “and also to the colors you’re going to paint your new business.” She leans closer to the shelf and studies the paint chips, then hums in concern. “Actually, these are all a nope.” I don’t have time to ask why before she whips out her phone and quickly looks something up. “The brand’s not cruelty-free. I just checked.”
“Oh, thank you,” I say, genuinely grateful she thought of that. She’s an eco-friendly designer and tries to source secondhand, recycled, and ethically made items. “I hadn’t thought of that with paint. But I’m glad you did.”
“Happy to help.” She peruses the information on her phone, then nods. “Let’s try this brand.” She points to a nearby sign, and we head that way, debating paint colors for another thirty minutes before we settle on a handful of finalists. Even though I’m ready to move full speed ahead with my favorite, I have to slow down. I’m not the only one making the decisions. It’s a weird feeling for someone who’s used to being utterly independent.
“I should show these to Corbin,” I say, adjusting to my new reality of having a partner. “Along with pics of the furniture and stuff. I don’t want him to feel like I’ve been making all the decisions.”
“By all means,” Remy says, and I fire off a text.
Mabel: I have fun things to show you! I can text you gobs of photos, or we can try to find time to meet? I’m in the city.
Corbin: Same here. Just arrived early at the arena. Charlotte’s doing homework, and I have a game tonight.
Mabel: So, later, then?
Corbin: Come by now. I’m just working out.
Oh. That means I’ll be talking to him while he’s…lifting weights. I’m both thrilled and worried.
But mostly thrilled since having a hot business partner has its perks.
I hop off the bus near the arena. As I walk, I rummage in my bag for a handful of the postcards I keep with me. I pull them out whenever I wish I could talk to my grandmother, which lately feels like all the time.
And it definitely feels like now. Maybe because I’m a little nervous heading to see Corbin while he’s at work? No, excited is more like it.
I flip through the eclectic half-dozen cards, including one she sent when I was in college. The illustration of New York City on the front is in a playful and exaggerated style, and on the back, Grandma had written: “Did I ever tell you about the year I lived in New York City? It was harrowing and wonderful. Everyone—but especially a young woman with big dreams—should live in a city at some point. You’ll learn so much about yourself and about the world.”
The next week, I’d written back to her on a postcard I found with an image of Paris at night: “So you’re going to send me to Paris for a year to eat crepes and drink espresso by the Seine? Thanks, Grandma!”
The next week, she sent me a vintage postcard of San Francisco. “Or the city just over the bridge. I hear it’s nice there too.”
And it was closer. That was always one of my favorite things about living in San Francisco. It was close to her.
I frown as I tuck the cards back into my bag. Grandma and I talked a lot about how much I loved living in the city. But I wish I could talk to her about what I’m doing with the firehouse she left me, or tell her about the guy I kissed impetuously and then even more impulsively opened a shop with. I want to ask her if this is what she wanted for her independent, wild child of a grandkid. But mostly I want to ask what she’d think about mixing business with pleasure.
Those questions will have to remain unanswered.
I walk past the fox statue outside the arena, heading to one of the main doors.
I’ve been here plenty of times. Having a big brother who was obsessed with sports law, sports management, and sports deals meant I was in and out of rinks and stadiums a lot growing up. Worked for me, because while Theo shouted at refs and umpires, I watched videos about food styling, detailing how to present food in the most visually appealing way and how to take photos of it too. I taught myself all about the color wheel and complementary hues, and what looks good together.