Page 87 of The Lies I've Told
“I’m so sorry, Rita,” I apologized. “Time got away from me. I just heard about the shop,” I said.
Her face dropped. “I know; it’s a shame. But it really is time. I can’t keep up anymore, and the truth of the matter is, I don’t want to. I just want to be on the beach, drinking mai tais and not having a single care in the world.”
I laughed. “Well, Florida is the place to do that.”
“That’s what I’m counting on,” she said, patting her short, dark curls back in place. “But enough about me. Tell me all about you. I hear Florida has been treating you well.”
I tried not to let the smile currently plastered on my face falter. “Um, yes,” I said. “Very well.”
“Well, I expected no less, sugar. I still remember you coming in here, grabbing pieces off the rack and making them your own. Remember that dress you bought, the same one as—”
“Suzy Mathers?”
She grinned. “Yes, wasn’t it for a dance?”
“Homecoming,” I clarified. “I asked her to take it back since I’d bought it first, and she refused.”
“So, what did you do?” she reminded me.
“I redesigned it,” I answered, remembering how many hours I’d put into that dress. By the end, it was unrecognizable and a hell of a lot better-looking than Suzy’s.
“I hope you’re still impressing people with those skills,” she said, giving me a final pat on the back as a group of tourists came through the door.
I swallowed hard, looking up at the wall of dresses and skirts she had, and thought back to the tired, old sketchbook on my office desk—the one that held my original sketches and designs.
The one I hadn’t touched in years.
Maybe it was time I dusted it off again.
I’d left my sketchbook in Florida.
Of course I had. Because, for the better part of the last seven years, I’d been helping other people succeed while I patted myself on the back and tried to convince myself a life of travel was indeed the life I had intended for myself.
I mean, who wouldn’t want to live out of a suitcase, have a closet most people would die for, and go to fabulous locations, day in and day out?
Sounds amazing, right?
It had been. For a time.
But I had been so busy, so completely immersed in what I was doing, that I didn’t realize everything I’d sacrificed for that amazing sounding life.
My family, friends, an actual existence outside of work.
And my dreams.
That sketchbook had begun to collect dust on the office desk I never sat at, and soon, I’d celebrated others’ success and forgotten about my own.
I’d forgotten about the girl who stayed up all night, redesigning a simple dress for homecoming into something extraordinary. I’d forgotten that sketchbook and all the wonderful ideas it had nestled inside. And I’d forgotten the woman I wanted to be.
But not anymore.
Marching back to the inn, I didn’t let my misplaced sketchbook deter me. Grabbing a blank notebook I found lying around the inn, I took it to the empty parlor and got to work.
Yep, I got right to work.
With a sharp pencil in my hand and a blank notebook, I let the designs flow.
“What the hell?” I said out loud.
