Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 87513 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87513 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
“Thank you so much for telling Gloria Madden about my work,” Rosie said, her eyes glimmering with gratitude.
“I love to share great art with my friends and clients.”
Rosie blushed. “Thank you for saying that. Gloria even wants to introduce me to other art patrons she thinks will enjoy it.”
Michaela squeezed her hand. “That’s wonderful.” And it was exactly what she’d hoped would happen. “She’s very influential.”
“I know.”
Michaela couldn’t be sure, but she thought tears glimmered in Rosie’s eyes.
“After my show back in January,” Rosie went on, “and having Dane commission my work for his resorts, and now this, things are really moving for me. So, thank you.”
Michaela didn’t stop to think—she hugged Rosie. This was why she loved being a matchmaker.
Then it was time. Seventeen foster kids sat on sofas and chairs, eating popcorn and drinking sodas, ready for Troy.
This was no formal lecture with rows of folding chairs, and Troy didn’t use a microphone. He sat on a stool before his audience, one foot hooked on a rung, the other planted firmly on the floor.
Michaela wore leggings and a long-sleeved shirt against the cool San Francisco night, which was foggy even in June. She sat next to Rosie on one of the couches.
It had been four days since their Saturday hike, and Troy hadn’t pushed her with a bunch of texts or phone calls, just a note saying how grateful he was for her analysis of the boots.
That was all. A note.
His smooth, deep voice filled the room; even the old-timers seemed to listen. “Swimming and diving were always my passions. And I was lucky enough to have a family who supported me. Who believed in me. They helped push me to fulfill the dream I had of competing as an Olympic diver.”
One of the kids, a burly boy with a scar along his jaw, said, “Right, you’re one of the lucky ones with a family who could support you.”
Troy didn’t let the heckling faze him. “That’s exactly what I wanted to talk to you about,” he said, pumping his index finger in the air. “Not everyone is as lucky as I was.” He looked the boy straight in the eye. “I know many of you have had a tough life, that foster homes can often be filled with more kids than the adults can give their full attention to.”
A grumbling agreement ran through the room.
“But does that mean you don’t have dreams?” He waited a beat, and then he threw out, “Who has a big dream? If you want to share it.”
Dylan Beck was the first to answer. “I’m going to be a great street artist like San Holo.”
Michaela remembered Gideon talking about Dylan at the gallery, the foster kid who was being mentored by both Gideon and Troy’s brother Clay. Troy had told her more on the way up. The boy’s artwork was phenomenal.
“Tell me how you can make that dream become a reality,” Troy said.
Dylan shrugged, shoving his longish brown hair out of his eyes. “I dunno. I’m just doing it.” His gaze on Gideon, he added softly, “But I have help. Gideon—” He chin-jutted at his mentor. “—and Clay.”
Though Dylan didn’t name-drop, Michaela knew Clay was also in love with Saskia Oliver, the famous San Holo. Now Dylan had her in his corner too.
Troy said, “They believe in you wholeheartedly, don’t they?”
Dylan nodded, then he grinned at Gideon. “Yeah. They do.”
“That’s what I’m talking about,” Troy said, his gaze moving slowly over the group of young people. “My family was my support system. But here’s something important you all need to know. You can create your own support system, people who believe in your dream, people who believe in you.”
The burly boy snorted. “And, like, exactly how are we supposed to do that?” Disdain dripped off every word. “You had money. You had a family.”
Troy didn’t let the boy’s animosity stop him. “And you have this place. You have a man like Gideon Jones. You have people here who can be your friends. You have teachers at school. You have your foster family. You probably have coworkers. If you want to believe in yourself, you will attract people who want to believe in you too.” Holding the boy’s gaze, he asked, “What’s your name?”
The boy said, “Nathan.”
“Do you have a dream, Nathan?”
Nathan shook his head viciously. “What’s the point when you come from nothing, when you have nothing, when you will never have anything?”
A wave of sympathy for the young man rushed through Michaela. She wanted to say something that would help him, but she knew Troy would find the right words.
Then Troy turned to her. “I didn’t introduce Michaela Killian over there.” He pointed at her curled against the arm of the sofa. “Do you mind if I tell them a bit about you, Michaela?”