Page 14 of Pin-up Girl

We reached Haddarville, and within moments, Clint was parking in front of a house a few blocks over from his own. “Be right back…. Wife.”

I laughed awkwardly with him, and he headed inside.

A moment later he emerged with a ten-year-old version of him at his side. Dee ran ahead of him and climbed into the truck through the driver’s door, to sit on the bench next to me.

“Hi, Bree.” She grinned, and grasped the sleeve of my top. “You look really pretty today.” She was always complimentary of my clothes, and one of her favorite things to do in my shop was mix and match items to make her own outfits.

I didn’t blame her—that was one of my favorite things too.

“Thanks, Dee. I like your bag. Did you do this?” I pointed to the new embroidery on the backpack she had in her lap. It was an intricate flower design.

She nodded. “I was bored at Mom’s. It’s the flowers growing outside my window.”

“It looks incredible.”

Dee’s smile grew.

Clint rejoined us, and pointed the truck toward their place. As he drove, he asked Dee about her day, and she gave him all sorts of details.

Watching the two of them together, it was clear how much he adored his daughter, and that she loved her dad. He’d raised a bright, kind child, and Dee was going to be a force for good in this world.

I’d made the right choice doing this.

5

brodie

There was a comfort in the routine of waiting at an airport gate, waiting for my flight to board. When I started this company, years ago, all of this was new to me. I rarely left Haddarville growing up.

Taking my textile idea to Montana, because that was where I could find land to build a manufacturing plant, was a terrifying idea. But I’d managed to talk my way into an investment, and things just never stopped from that point.

Now it was flights every week or two, always first class, to meet with businesses and governments around the world.

I’d spent the last few days wrapping things up locally. I was sent on sabbatical on Monday, and it was Friday now, and today I was going home. Not Big Sky, Montana, but the town I’d grown up in. The place I hadn’t been back to since I left.

An odd blend of trepidation and excitement thrummed in my veins as I boarded, and settled into my seat. I wasn’t surprised when an older woman wheeled a small carry-on bag to the set next to mine, and stopped. These flights were always so full.

“That’s my seat,” she muttered.

I slid easily from my window chair. “Can I put your bag up for you, ma’am?”

“Thank you.” She gave me a tight smile and stepped aside, so I could lift her carry-on into the overhead bin.

We settled back into our seats without much more conversation.

She looked maybe thirty-five or forty years older than me, with silver hair, and signs of age lining her face and neck. Her age didn’t seem to slow her down, though. She’d strode over here with an easy gait, and moved about the same.

I’d let her be the one to decide if she wanted to be chatty or not. I wasn’t a small talk person. Which made things rough the first several years of working with investors and potential clients.

I’d learned to talk about the most banal bullshit, but if I didn’t have to, I wouldn’t.

I pulled my tablet from the pocket of my laptop bag, along with the digital pencil, and set to work on the logistics of my new fabric design. I needed a material I didn’t have yet, but I was determined to figure it out.

“Are you an artist?” The woman asked. Was that a sneer in her tone? If so, it was subtle, so I may be imagining it.

No one sneered at my work. “In a way, I suppose. I’m a CEO, but I used to be an engineer. There’s an art in that type of creation.”

“Really?” A cautious curiosity slipped into her reply. “What industry are you in?”

---