Page 4 of Game Changer

She lets out a shaky breath, and for a moment, I think she’s going to tell me no. But then she nods, just barely, and it’s like the world’s weight lifts off my chest.

“I’m not in love with Scott. I, um, I tried but …” She looks down at her lap. “I have to figure that out, but when I do, then yeah, okay,” she says quietly. “We’ll try.”

I take her hand, squeezing it gently. “We’ll make it work, Re—” I pause and correct myself—she’s no longer coloring her hair red; she’s gone back to blonde, “Linds. I promise.”

Chapter 1

Sugar Rush

Sydney

Ipush open the door, and the sharp bite of a Central New York morning greets me like a slap of reality. My breath fogs in front of me in puffs, dissolving quickly into the crisp, icy air. The week between Christmas and New Year’s is like a strange limbo where time seems to lose all meaning. It’s hard to tell what day it is, and everything feels slightly off-kilter, like the world is on pause but life is still happening.

With the mix of exhaustion from the chaos of Christmas and anticipation for the New Year’s fresh start, the community fitness center was empty. The old me would have fully leaned all the way into relaxation—living in my pajamas, nibbling on leftover cookies as I made a huge breakfast for anyone who was around, while basically waiting for the ball to drop and the New Year to officially reset the rhythm of life. But Sydney 2.0 is doing things differently. This year, I am determined to tick boxes and get everything buttoned up before the calendar flips and my first official year of the new me begins.

The new me is self-aware enough to get a jumpstart on my anti-New Year resolution, which is called such, knowing that any New Year resolutions I make might as well be called things I am never going to finish and would be broken January first. There’s no way I’ll be exerting any physical energy after our annual New Year’s Eve / Uncle Lucas’s birthday celebration.

The salt on the ground crunches beneath my sneakers as I hurry to my Jeep, trying to ignore the sting as the wind cuts through the wide-open space that should be available for parking yet isn’t, and force myself to believe there’s something invigorating about this kind of cold, like it’s waking me up from the inside out. It’s as lovely an idea as ideas come.

It’s not like I don’t love this time of year, because I do. There is nothing worse than a green or brown Christmas in Blue Valley, and right now, it’s white. The air smells clean, sharp, and faintly metallic, like snow and ice mingling with the promise of more.

I look up and see the sky is a pale gray, heavy with clouds that hint that more snow is coming. Beautiful when you’ve got the time to enjoy it. Today is not that day.

There’s already a thin layer blanketing my Jeep that will take a couple of minutes to clean off, or I could just sit inside, crank the heat, and wait for it to warm up enough to melt, but that would be counterproductive as I attempt to get in ten thousand steps, on top of the amount I have from my elliptical warmup before hitting the weights and machines.

“You love snow,” I remind myself.

I tug my jacket tighter around me; the warmth of my workout has already faded, and the chill is quickly seeping into my bones. I attempt to ignore it as I hit theunlockon my key fob, open the door, start the Jeep, grab the snow brush, and remind myself how much I love the winter. This is home, after all.

Blue Valley in December might be harsh, but it’s familiar, full of family, and there’s a kind of comfort in knowing exactlywhat to expect—icy winds, gray skies, and that freezing cold that makes you feel alive … despite the fact you could easily freeze to death.

I pull up into the alley and around back to the parking lot, park the Jeep, grab my keys, and hurry toward rear entrance of the building.

At the top of the stairs, I toe off my sneakers so I don’t track any salt into my freshly renovated wood floors, unlock the large whitewashed wooden door, turn the knob, push it open, and inhale the warmth of my home that still smells a little like paint, yet I love it. It’s open and airy, the kitchen cabinets are a soft, creamy white with gold hardware, and the countertops gleam with smooth white surfaces delicately veined in gold. The backsplash is pale pink subway tile. It would have been the same in the shop, but everyone said that was just too much for a commercial space. Gold pendant lights hang over the island, casting a soft yellow glow that reminds me of candlelight when it’s dark out.

The focal point in the space is the gas fireplace that my cozy, pale pink loveseat, with way too many pillows scattered on it to make any man feel comfortable, which is, in fact, the point. This place will not be shared with any male, not ever.

I miss the smell of burning wood, but the convenience of pressing a button that brings to light the dancing flame, and my beautiful new fireplace makes much more sense than carrying wood up a flight of stairs. With two jobs, I simply don’t have time for that.

Smiling, I look at the little breakfast nook and the bay window facing the street. This is where I’ve sat for the past twomornings, having coffee as I watched the snow continue to dust the sleepy little streets of Blue Valley. The small white table with gilded legs, a thrift find that Mom and I scored, along with the oversized, cushioned chairs we recovered in a pale pink canvas type of fabric, with seats large and comfortable enough that I could sit crisscross for hours, if I, in fact, had hours to do such a thing. The curtains frame the windows and, when closed, give a bit more privacy, which I really don’t need because no one lives above the printery across the street.

On the left side of this spacious apartment is yet another floor-to-ceiling bay window and the spot I have decided to end my day. If I’m home in time to watch the sunset, this is the perfect place. My laptop sits on the white desk with just a pale pink pencil holder and my chargers, which is where I will add any pertinent information into my accounting app. A chair matching the one at my breakfast nook acts as my desk chair. I love it.

As much as I would love to turn on the fireplace and make a warm cup of cocoa, I simply don’t have time to do that, as Saturdays have become my busiest days yet.

As I head up the stairs, I pull my hoodie over my head, because why not? There’s no one who will see me, and God does it feel good to be free to run around naked without watchful, judgmental eyes.

The staircase leads to the third-story loft, half of which looks down over the kitchen below. My bedroom is big enough for a queen-sized bed with plenty of space to walk around to make the bed. It could have been bigger had I not chosen to make the ensuite bathroom and the closet larger.

The bed’s tufted pale pink headboard is paired with silky white bedding. A crystal chandelier sparkles, casting dancing prisms on my wall as sunlight kisses it, making me smile as I head into the ensuite bathroom. It’s not huge, but it’s set up in away that doesn’t make it feel like there’s too much inside of the room. The walk-in shower is where I’m heading, but to get to it, I have to pass the soaker tub. Oh God, how I would love to soak in it all day.

“Tomorrow,” I promise myself. “Tomorrow is all you.”

Once I’ve shed my clothes and started the water, I stand in front of the mirror, brushing my teeth as I look my body over with far less disdain than I once did.

Pointing the toothbrush at the mirror, I tell myself, “I’d do you.”

I look at the little clock and realize that I may just have time to fulfill that promise.

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