Page 51 of Hope After Loss

She sets Kaela in the playpen and drops her bag and thermos on her desk.

“Come here,” I beckon.

She walks around and clicks her computer on before joining me at the conference table.

“What’s all this?” she asks.

“They’re mockups for the new line. What do you think?”

She takes a closer look at the marketing prints in front of her.

“You went with the logo we made,” she says as she runs a finger over one of the posters that shows an amber apothecary bottle with the foil-embossed wordsBalsam Goldon the sage label with a hunter-green mountain ridge in the background.

“I did.”

“And you are doing glass jars for the lip balms and salves?”

“Yeah, I agree with you. It looks more high-end than the plastic ones, and it’s environmentally responsible.”

“You used clear glass, and you should do different shades on the label for the spa products. Same branding, but something a bit softer. Maybe a light teal for the background. It’ll brand them separately from the medicinal line,” she suggests.

“You think so?” I ask as I look at the draft over her shoulder.

She nods.

“They’ll stand out on retail shelves in spas and boutiques. The aesthetic will appeal to women.”

I didn’t consider that.

“Yeah, I can see what you mean. I’ll have some of these redone. What about the CBD oils and sleep gummies?” I ask.

“Leave those. They’re perfect. They look like real medicine. That’s what you want.”

“They are real medicine,” I say.

“Exactly. They need to look the part,” she affirms.

“I’m excited about this. I have a meeting with Langford and his investors on Monday to discuss a deal for them to use our products exclusively in the spa. I’m going to inquire about storefront space in the village at the ski resort as well.”

“That’s wonderful, Weston. You’re chasing your dream. It’s inspiring,” she says.

She makes her way back to her desk, and I follow.

“What’s your dream?” I ask.

I watch as the question catches her off guard.

“My dream?”

“Yeah, I’m sure you didn’t dream of becoming a secretary for a hemp farm in Tennessee when you were a little girl.”

“Oh, I, um … I don’t know.”

“I didn’t mean to pry,” I tell her.

She shakes her head. “It’s not that. I honestly don’t know what my dream is anymore. When I was young, I wanted to go into interior design—I love to decorate—or maybe become a hairstylist. I have a degree in business management. I got it when Mike was in fire school. I could take most of the classes online, and I figured if I ever did get the chance to go to cosmetology school, I’d want to open my own salon one day, and I’d need to know how to operate a business.”

“Beautification,” I mutter.