Page 19

Chapter

Eleven

Nearly two months into my funemployment, I’m finally ready to admit that I’m bored out of my mind.

Just a few weeks ago, getting out of bed before noon was a Herculean task. Brushing my hair on any day other than Sunday seemed unnecessary. Running Liam’s errands, given to me with good intentions, felt like a complete burden.

Now I sit in a corner booth at Busy Bean—my assigned seat, at this point—for the fourth time this week, laptop, tablet, coffee, and caprese panini spread out in a ritual circle of productivity before me.

My hair is still damp after my post-run shower.

For the last few days, I managed two miles each morning before the heat became unbearable, and this morning alone I already did two loads of laundry and vacuumed the whole damn house.

Liam had run out of side quests for me days ago.

I trace my finger along the tablet’s dark screen, and it lights up with my last commission—until more requests come in, at least. It’s a pet portrait, and I glance at the reference picture.

God, it’s the ugliest little dog. One of those tiny yappy white ones with crusty red eyes.

But I’ve done my best to make him look cute.

I splash in a few extra details to the leafy background, and then that’s finished, too.

Idly I pull up the proposed sketch I’d put together for Alchemist’s mural, a project I’d tried not to throw myself too deep into considering Dan’s weekslong silence about it.

Even though Noah and I have established a daily, easy banter over text and spend evenings virtually watching anime together or playing online games with Liam, he hasn’t brought up the mural again. It isn’t his decision anyway.

There’s a small ache under my ribs as I set the tablet aside and drag the laptop forward. It hurts to let the mural go for now, but I’ve still got an itch to occupy myself with something. And with only a month or so left in the summer, it’s time to get more serious about planning.

It’s time to start applying again.

The panic comes, and I let it—but this time, it’s only a cold, nervous lapping at my feet, as opposed to the riptide that used to viciously sweep me out to sea every time I thought about approaching the job search.

I brace myself against the pressure that builds in my chest then let it out in one long, slow exhale.

I can do this. I already sent in one application—what’s ten more?

While researching opportunities and writing cover letters don’t fill me with the same inspiration that the commissions do, I have to admit that there is something soothing in the familiarity of the exercise.

As I scroll through options—a marketing position at a cute pet insurance agency, another at an athleisure company, one as a video game studio’s community manager—the words flow easily enough.

A cover letter is just another kind of campaign pitch, isn’t it?

Only this time, the product I’m selling is me.

Granted, it’s a product I don’t have a lot of confidence in yet, but risk is always part of the marketing game.

I zone out as I type away, not lifting my head until my phone vibrates with a text, minutes or hours later.

Noah:

sadie! can you come by the brewery?

I glance at the time—only 2 p.m. —and huff a laugh.

bit early for a drink, isn’t it?

lmao yeah, but it’s not for that. I want you to meet dan.

it’s good news:)

he really likes your work, wants to talk about it more

For a moment I can’t tell if the electricity spiking down my skin is my second afternoon coffee or genuine elation. It feels like light.

YES.

can I come by in about an hour?

no rush, we’ll be here all day!

I try to fire off one more app, but it’s useless—I’m too distracted.

With little shame, I pick up the tablet again.

After forty minutes of urgently adding broad strokes and excited lines to the sketch for the mural, I get to my feet and power walk out to the car.

I don’t wait for it to cool off before I jump in and gun it to Alchemist.

It takes me two heaves on their door handle to realize that it’s locked because the brewery’s not even open yet.

I peer inside to where Noah stands in the taproom with his back to me, energetically waving his arms and talking to a familiar short, mustachioed man—I recognize him from my first visit with Liam.

The man has on a thoughtful frown that tugs his mustache down hard toward his jawline, but as soon as he sees me through the door, he gestures for Noah to let me in.

Noah greets me with his usual beaming smile before unlocking the door and pushing it open.

“Sadie! Great timing.” He places his broad palm on my back— how are his hands always so warm? —and steers me forward. “Dan, this is Sadie, the artist and friend I’ve been telling you about.”

Dan reaches out to shake my hand pleasantly. Although I know he and Noah went to college together, I can’t help but think that the bags under his eyes and the strange choice of facial hair make him look a few years older.

His hand is cold, but his smile is genuine. “It’s a real pleasure, Sadie. Thanks for coming by.” He’s officially the first Texan I’ve met with such a thick country twang. I struggle not to glance down to see if he’s sporting a pair of cowboy boots.

“Noah tells me you’re looking for someone to paint a mural,” I say.

“Yeah…” Dan turns to study the forest-green wall across from the bar, the electric fireplace cold at its base. “The color looks nice and all, but it’s a bit plain. Not very memorable, y’know?”

I rock forward on the balls of my feet, trying not to look too eager. My tablet feels like it’s burning a hole through my tote bag. “What do you have in mind?”

“I’m open to suggestions,” Dan says slowly. Noah stands behind him with his arms crossed. When he catches my glance, he gives me a subtle thumbs-up.

“I’ve done a little research on my own with the help of the other bartenders,” Dan continues, “but we haven’t come up with a whole bunch.

We thought it might be fun to have the high schoolers come in here and go wild with it, but with Alchemist being a bar and all…

” Dan smirks, the mustache wiggling like an inchworm on his upper lip.

“And then the other artists we looked into were just too sparkly, or too cartoony, or too religious.” He shrugs, and then his expression relaxes into a hopeful half smile.

“But I like your stuff—especially the forest bits. I want this place to have that old-school tavern feel, right? A little magical, a little funky.”

I nod and lean casually against the bar to distract myself from excitedly tapping my foot. Sheepishly, I say, “If it’s not too presumptuous—I-I understand you’re still looking into your options, of course…but I already sketched out a vague idea. Can I show it to you?”

“Of course,” Dan says at the same time Noah enthusiastically adds, “Please!”

I pluck out my tablet and pull up my sketch from earlier today.

Noah had assured me that it wasn’t necessary to arrive with a pitch ready to go, but who am I kidding?

I’ve been excited about this opportunity for the last couple weeks, secretly sketching and hoping and wishing.

I have plenty of ideas ready, but this is the one I love best. After a quick breath in and out, I maximize the picture so that it fills the screen and hold out the tablet toward Dan and Noah.

“It’s just a sketch,” I hurriedly assure them.

“And if you’re not connecting with this direction, I can return to the drawing board.

It was just a feeling, a scene that came to my mind after I visited Alchemist for the first time…

I’m not sure. Maybe it’s not what you’re looking for…

” I trail off, suddenly aware of my rambling.

Goddamnit. My manager at Incite used to praise me for my confident assurance and bright enthusiasm in my pitches. I’ve really lost my touch.

Or maybe this is just the first project in a while where I actually care about the stakes.

I carefully watch Dan’s face as he regards the glowing screen with a squint. Behind him, Noah covers his mouth with his hand; his gaze keeps darting from the tablet to my face and then back again. His eyes are lit with honest admiration.

But he’s not the one I have to convince.

Something in Dan’s expression softens, and the tiniest corner of his mouth curves upward. He looks up at me.

“When can you start?”

After another half hour talking through the details of the piece (adding in certain elements), the payment plan (holy shit, Dan insists on paying me way more than I bargained for), and when I will be working on the mural (all day on Mondays and maybe some weekday mornings before Alchemist opens), we finally say our goodbyes.

Noah walks me out, and as soon as we get to my car he gathers me in his arms, lifts me off my feet, and twirls me around in two laughing circles. “Sadie! You did it!”

“I barely did anything!”

“You did it!”

I’m smiling so wide that my face feels like it’s splitting in two, and when he sets me back on the ground, I distract myself from the giddiness by adjusting my glasses where they skewed off my nose from Noah’s enthusiasm. He holds me at arm’s length, gripping my shoulders excitedly.

“God, I’m so glad you’ll be around on Mondays! It gets so dull here. It’s usually just me and the brewing and the cleaning. ”

It’s good for me that I hadn’t known Noah spent his days alone at Alchemist on Mondays, or I might have done the project for a whole lot cheaper.

Already Dan has transferred money into my account so I can shop for supplies next week.

“I’ve got so much to do,” I say, my pitch high.

And not much time to do it, doubt echoes in my mind.

But it’s the first solid plan I’ve had in months, and it’s calming to have an actual purpose and routine, even if it’s temporary.

“Do you want me to go with you to buy stuff?” Noah offers.

I smile. “Yeah, if you’re up for it. I could use the extra pair of hands.” Hands that are still on my shoulders, lingering, fingers curling around my upper arms. “And your reach.” I’ll never get over the way he towers over me. “And your van, probably.”

“Of course.” I can see his dimples through his beard as his gaze shifts toward the tablet I tucked back into my tote bag. “Sadie, if this turns out anything like what you’ve drawn…Seriously, it’s going to be incredible. It’s perfect.”

“I’m glad you liked it. I’m really excited for it.”

Noah finally lets his arms fall, shakes his hands a bit, and then wraps me in another hug. This one I return, circling my arms around his waist. Every time he hugs me I marvel at the warmth of it, secretly delighting in the way my head tucks right underneath his chin. I want to stay here.

“I’m really excited for you, ” he says, his words vibrating through his chest.

Finally I let him go, and after a wave and a promise to let him know when I’m ready to go shopping, I unlock my car and slide into the driver’s seat.

After I turn on the ignition and queue up a song, I allow myself an excited, full-bodied wiggle, stamping my feet hard on the floorboard.

Art has always been something I’ve done for fun, and though I take payments for small projects, this is the most money anyone has ever invested in me.

I’m shot through with confidence, inspiration, and tingling enthusiasm.

It’s almost enough to make me forget about the cluster of applications still open on my laptop.