Page 44 of New Hope, Old Grudges

“It’s not a Hallmark movie,” I argued. “First off, Hallmark is PG at most, and this was definitely R-rated.”

Avery let out a squeal of delight, but I spoke before she could get too excited.

“And unlike a Hallmark movie, we’re not having a happily ever after. That was the end of our story.”

The words tasted sour in my mouth as I said them.

“I smell bullshit,” Avery scoffed, but being the true friend she was, she didn’t push it. “At least you got laid, and Geoff wasn’t the last man you screwed… Cleaning out the pipes is good for the soul and the pussy.”

I grinned at how crude my friend could be, but she wasn’t wrong. I’d definitely needed a palate cleanser. Except I worried that Brody feasting on me had ruined me for all other men.

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 ofWWW‘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.

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