Page 18 of Sunny Skies Ahead (Watford Sweethearts #2)

“I’m gonna grab my laptop so I can start working,” Imogen said, brushing her fingers along my brow. I opened my eyes to meet hers, and I swear, butterflies took flight in my freaking stomach at her gentle gaze.

I knew I had a habit of staring at Imogen. I’d tried my hardest to make people see I wasn’t doing it in a creepy way, and half the time, I wasn’t even staring because of my growing infatuation.

Imogen’s energy was infectious. She was bright and sunny beneath that shy, inquisitive exterior.

She brought a warmth to my life that I’d long since written off as nothing more than childhood nostalgia or distant memory.

Imogen had been through one of the worst things that could happen to someone—surviving an abusive relationship—and she somehow came out on the other side, still radiating sunshine.

She took my damn breath away.

I said nothing as she eased my head from her lap so she could stand up, grabbing her laptop from her bag and returning to the couch.

“You can stay lying down.”

“It’s okay,” I said with a gentle shake of my head. “I’ve been curled up on the couch all morning. It would be good to be vertical for a while.”

It wasn’t technically a lie. I’d been curled up on the couch since in the morning. It was also a convenient excuse to put some distance between the two of us before I did something truly insane like confess my feelings for her.

“Suit yourself,” Imogen said, sitting down on the couch beside me. I sat up, leaning my head against the back of the couch. I stared at the ceiling of the farmhouse and listened to the gentle clacking of Imogen’s fingers on the keys.

“Anything interesting?”

“Not so far,” Imogen said. I looked at her laptop, awestruck, as I watched her deftly archive, delete, and organize the twenty emails sitting in our inbox.

“That will never not impress me.”

Imogen shot me a wry smile.

“It’s easy to make a system and stick to it. Don’t Marines love their organization? ”

“The institution does. Individual service members? Not so much. The Marine Corps likes to develop the most convoluted systems that ‘make people’s lives easier’, but the exact opposite is true in practice.”

Imogen shrugged. “That makes sense, actually. You can have good intentions, but the impact isn’t always what you designed it to be.”

I bit the inside of my cheek as a question popped into my head. It was risky to ask Imogen anything about her past, but I needed to know.

“What did your ex-husband do? In the military, I mean. What was his job?”

Imogen stilled, and I inwardly cursed myself for opening my mouth.

“I don’t know the MOS number or anything like that.

I just remember how much he’d go on and on about how important his job was, how Marines would die without him, yada yada.

I think it was water related. Honestly, it’s a wonder I remember anything about him at this point.

The only things I do remember are the things he used to remind me of all the damn time. ”

“How long was he active duty?”

“He was a year older than Connor, Abbie, and I, so maybe six years? I don’t know how he split his enlistment, what portion of time he spent active versus the reserves. And obviously I don’t talk to him now, so. . .”

Imogen trailed off, and I knew we were approaching the natural end of this conversation. There were more questions I wanted to ask, but this morning had already taken a strange turn, between me waking up sick and trauma dumping on an unsuspecting Imogen.

“Oh my God!” Imogen exclaimed, sitting up straighter.

“What? What?” I said, my head whipping towards hers.

“We’ve advanced to the next round for the Warrior’s Grant,” Imogen said excitedly. “They’ve narrowed down the applications to a hundred and the committee is reviewing them. The next step would be a video interview with the grant proposal committee to learn more about Winding Road’s mission.”

The mention of the Warrior’s Grant cut through the sickly haze clouding my mind.

“The Warrior’s Grant is the big one,” I said, trying to wrap my mind around it. “It’s the one I applied to on a whim. I didn’t think we’d get it, but then Connor told me I should just apply anyway to see what happens. I barely got the application in before deadline.”

“That’s the one,” Imogen said, beaming at me. “The email says we’ll hear something about scheduling the interview in the next week, if we’ve been selected to continue on. Kam , this is incredible.”

Imogen excitedly scrolled through the lengthy email. My head was spinning with a new sense of dread.

The Warrior’s Grant was the one grant I hadn’t expected to hear back from. I’d already received dozens of rejections from various smaller grants, and I’d gone back and forth on whether or not to even apply for the Warrior’s Grant, because that’s how much of a long-shot it was .

Now, they wanted to know more about Winding Road. They wanted to know more about the work we did with veterans and first responders.

The Warrior’s Grant could sustain Winding Road for the next five years, longer if the barn venue took off in the way I hoped. This grant would allow us to expand and do things like build on-site housing for cohorts, which would further reduce the overall financial burden for the non-profit site.

“I might throw up.”

Imogen looked at me incredulously. “Kam, this is a good thing.”

It’s only a good thing if I don’t screw it up, is what I wanted to say, but I was too scared to open my mouth for fear that my sickness and anxiety combination would lead me to projectile vomit all over the coffee table.

“You’ll have plenty of time to recover.”

“Can I pay you to do the interview for me?” I whispered. Imogen shook her head.

“The email specifies that they’ll want to talk to the executive director directly. It makes sense, because you have the most intimate knowledge about how everything works.”

I closed my eyes against the rising tide of emotion.

This was a good thing. This was a bigger chance than I’d ever had.

We hadn’t technically moved on to the interview round, but I couldn’t stop myself from imagining that we did.

The festival last year had put us on the map, but nothing compared to having the support of a massive organization.

The connections alone would be worth their weight in gold for a small, start-up nonprofit like Winding Road .

Selfishly, the possibility of a team supporting us also excited me.

That was the other part of the Warrior’s Grant that made it so appealing: they didn’t just cut you a check and send you on your way.

They offered consulting on proper money management for nonprofits, offered guidance on planning for the long-term success of the nonprofit, and provided referrals and recommendations to people to partner with for expansion.

So far, everything that had gone into Winding Road had been done because of my or Connor’s research.

I didn’t have any formal education in the nonprofit sector.

Before establishing Winding Road, I’d never even been part of a nonprofit.

Everything I knew about running a nonprofit came from talking to people more knowledgeable than I, and doing an insane amount of Googling and reading.

“Hey, look at me.”

I looked back at Imogen, and she reached for my hand, squeezing it gently.

“We’ve got this. We’ll make sure you have everything you need to smash the interview, and if the journey ends here, we’ll keep applying. You’re not alone.”

You’re not alone . How many times had I repeated those same words to various people over the last few years? And how often did I have those words reflected back to me by Connor and Lucas?

Yet somehow, the words felt different coming from Imogen. They felt grounding. Encouraging. Hopeful.

“Thanks, Im.”

She pulled her hand back, and I snagged her wrist gently. She blew out a quick breath, lips parting around a gentle gasp .

“Thank you for everything,” I said earnestly. “I don’t know what we’d do without you. This place would probably fall apart.”

I would fall apart is what I wanted to say, but I held back. The last thing I wanted was for Imogen to get it in her head that I wasn’t serious and write off my comment as nothing more than me being delirious while sick.

Something flashed through Imogen’s eyes that looked suspiciously like disappointment, though it was gone too quickly for me to say for sure.

“Always happy to help. It’s my job, after all.”