Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 50759 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50759 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
I pushed that thought away.
“I’m not calling about that,” I cleared my throat. “I’m calling to let you know I’m alive, to check up on you, and to let you know I’m designing again.”
I said the last part timidly, but my best friend was far from timid.
She let out another squeal.
Before we were friends, she was the publicist for my brand. One of the best in the city. And she’d worked her ass off to get me talked about in the right ways, doubly so when I was being talked about in the wrong ways.
As powerful as Avery was, even she couldn’t stop the storm that came my way. But she had tried to convince me to stay with her, to not give up on my brand, to keep going. She’d believed in me when I hadn’t.
The truth was, I’d given up a long time before my brand went under. Right when my father died, my heart and soul went out of my craft. Every time I tried to design something, I saw my father’s hands working metals, gently and patiently teaching me the same.
Then I saw my father dying in that forge, the one that had led to the life I had created in L.A..
I’d lost my spark, my muse.
“It’s nothing big. In fact, it may not be anything,” I hedged. “But I’m designing, and I’m going to go to the forge today.”
I heard Avery’s swift intake of breath. She knew what that forge was to me. What my father was.
“Then I’ll start drafting the press release of WWW ‘s return,” she chirped enthusiastically.
“No,” I half shouted into the phone. “No.” I repeated, calmer this time. “Not yet. I’m not ready to return like that. I’m just designing.”
There was a pause then the clicking of laptop keys. “Mm-hmm, yep. Sure, babe,” she muttered, not convincing me at all.
“I’m serious, Avery.”
“I know, and I totally agree.” More clacking of keys.
I swallowed a smile.
“I’m just happy you’re getting back to your passion, Willow,” she said, quietly and more seriously.
“Me too.” I’d felt like I was sleepwalking through these past two years, swimming through my grief, drowning in it. And I hadn’t had the escape of my designs, hadn’t felt alive.
And now, well, I did.
“WWW will be back,” Avery proclaimed.
“Maybe.” I bit my lip, not ready to hope that big.
WWW.
My brand name, the letters interlocking in a long and elegant script. One of my signature pieces was a delicate necklace with the simple logo sweeping through mixed metals.
No one knew what the third W meant. Willow Watson was my name, two made sense. Three didn’t.
You wouldn’t know the meaning of the third unless you went to high school with me.
Weirdo Willow Watson.
The name that defined my high school years also defined my adulthood.
But for the third time, I was redefining it.
I just wasn’t sure what it meant yet.
TWO WEEKS LATER
I was avoiding Brody.
Which was going pretty well since he had a demanding job, it was the busiest time of year for New Hope, and I was screening all calls, spending pretty much all of my free time in the forge or sketching. Inspiration had hit me these past few weeks.
Inspiration that had nothing to do with the steamy night I’d had with Brody Adams.
Nothing at all.
My new pieces were hard edges, smooth and hammered metal meeting as if in conflict. Gold and silver clashing angrily in pendants that became fluid.
Wide rings that were both delicate and tough at the same time. I’d set some of the crystals from my mother’s store in them. Burnt copper stones—a great color to work with. It was just a coincidence that they were the color of Brody’s eyes.
It was also a coincidence that the first time I stepped foot in my father’s forge, I was wearing Brody’s jacket, the one I had yet to return. And that I wore every time I’d been in there since.
I was getting coffee. Just getting coffee. Minding my own business. I needed the coffee because I’d been working nonstop, barely sleeping.
Plus, my mother had informed me that the chocolate muffins here would make me sell my soul to Hades.
I was in a chocolate mood and had planned on getting extra for my mother. Things had been getting better between us. Not that they were ever bad from her perspective. But now I was letting her in. Letting her be my mom. My friend.
It felt nice.
With my brother, it’d take a little longer. We’d had more dinners, brunches since the ill-fated Thanksgiving dinner. He was still cool toward me, but most of his grudge had melted away. He wasn’t able to hold on to bad feelings; he was his mother’s son.
Life was, in general, looking up. Of course, I was still broke, forgoing working in mom’s store because I was too busy making jewelry. Plus, the chances of Brody finding me there were just too high.