Page 22 of Four Dates and A Forever
Huey’s gaze quickly skittered to the nine-bean salad, which he was stirring. It seemed that Huey and Elsie could agree on one thing: this was the worst first date ever.
“This isn’t working,” she said.
“The date?” Harriet asked.
Elsie looked around. “All of it.”
Harriet’s face softened and she placed a hand on Elsie’s shoulder. “I know this year has been hard on you.”
“Which is why this is such a great opportunity,” Faye said. “Claire’s budget is more than your wedding was.”
That wasn’t a high bar, since Elsie’s wedding had been a drive-through window with an Elvis impersonator as the officiate. She and Axel had been young, and it was before his career had taken off, but it wouldn’t have mattered. Axel was cheap on things that didn’t interest him. Like a wedding where his dad would show up with his twenty-something girlfriend. Funny how Axel’s apple practically kissed the tree’s trunk.
Talk about another red flag Elsie chose to ignore.
“Mom, I don’t do parties anymore.” That had been her first job, which she’d worked tirelessly at to save up for her own fledgling one-woman firm, which she’d lost right before Axel had filed for divorce. It was the first crack in what would become a broken marriage. The thought of going back to doing parties, starting over from scratch after she’d achieved her dream, tore at her. But if she was anything, she was relentless. If she did it once, she could do it again.
“What’s the budget?” she asked, and her mom rattled off some insane number. “And your cut is ten percent.”
It wasn’t enough to refurbish the bungalow, but it would definitely help. But—
She looked at her grandma. “Why does it feel like a step back?”
“It’s a step forward toward your new life. So you do a few parties or design a family room here and there. Use those experiences to build on! Use them to float you until you land your first big client. As ridiculous as the party sounds, that’s a hundred people, who are at the first-house-buying age and will see what you can do. You might gain a new client,” Harriet offered.
“Plus, one of the guests is fromModern Masterpieceand according to Claire, they’re looking for houses in Portland for next year’s Pacific Northwest edition.”
Elsie’s heart came to a hard stop. “Are you serious?”
“Can’t you just see yourself on one of their shows?” Harriet asked.
“It’s a magazine.” And yes, yes she could. It had been her dream since college. She had taken a class on Frank Lloyd Wright and early modern architecture and fallen in love.
“Which is why I told Claire you’d take the job.”
Her mouth fell open, then snapped shut. “You did what! You haven’t even talked to me. What if I don’t have time?” Not only was her house in mid-renovation, thanks to Axel it technically was only her house for another few weeks. And that wasn’t enough time to finish what needed finishing.
She couldn’t fix what went wrong in her marriage, but she could fix every crack and scratch in her house. She was two rooms from perfection, and she’d be damned if another man stole her chance.
“I looked into it and the chosen house is featured on the cover and there’s an interview about the designer’s original point of view. Think of all the people who will see your work. It’s better than some sketches and drawings.”
A piece inModern Masterpiecemagazine had catapulted careers. A trampoline would be awesome, but a catapult? That could change her life. She had every edition going back a decade. Had studied them. Even followed the careers of the designers who’d been featured. Being inModern Masterpiecewasn’t just a dream of hers, it was at the top of her list.
Except there was the embarrassing snafu. “I won’t have a house to showcase.”
According to her lawyer, she didn’t have a house at all. Not that she was going to worry her grandmother with that fun fact. Harriet would force Elsie to move in, and, not wanting to upset her grandmother, Elsie would agree. Then she’d be a big fat failure who slept on her grandmother’s couch.
“I’m sure Axel would be supportive,” Faye said.
“Are we talking about the same Axel?” Elsie asked.
“He might have gone through a mid-life crisis—”
“He’s thirty-one.”
“Age is but a number,” Huey said, staring at Faye with lovesick eyes. “Wouldn’t you say, Ms. Dodd?”
“Indeed,” Faye said with a wink, and Huey practically fell out of the chair.
