Page 39 of Game Changer

When my sister called and found out, she insisted on flying to Boston to help me fix it. She was dealing with extra projects at work but didn’t say anything about the promotion.

Harlan goes on, oblivious. “I was hoping to get your input on what I’ve put together. Not from a programming perspective, just quick reactions and if there are any opportunities I’ve missed that might have special meaning for Mari. I’d also like to consult with Robin, who runs our children’s camp for the Kodiak Foundation, but I haven’t had a moment.”

I don’t want to be something Mari has to fix. I want to helpher.

The MOH job might be taken, but I can do this.

“Let me help.”

His brows lift in surprise. “Are you sure? You’re doing more than enough.”

“Nonsense. I’d be happy to take a look, and I can also run it by Robin if you send me an introduction.”

He nods, looking as if a weight has been lifted from his tailored shoulders. “Mari’s lucky to have you.”

Pleasure courses through me.

“Maybe you could send pictures from the fitting?” he goes on.

“Don’t press your luck,” I call as I shift into the Volvo.

* * *

“What’re you drawing?”

Brooke’s voice makes my head snap up, and I cover my sketchbook.

She tugs it out of my fingers and her mouth drops open. Her dark eyes sparkle with delight. “This is really good. You’re an artist.”

“Thanks. I need more source material to finish it.”

Brooke’s lips curve. “I bet.”

This morning, I pulled out the sketchpad I haven’t used since I arrived in Denver and started drawing.

Back in art school, we’d start with a project in mind, an intention. Today, I let myself draw whatever came to me.

Guess I shouldn’t have been surprised by the result.

The guy is up over a basketball rim, dunking. I haven’t started to add the tattoos, so there’s no way she can tell it’s Clay—I hope.

But having the pencils and paper in my hands again feels right. Even before this trip, I hadn’t drawn since Brad left. Maybe for a while before, actually.

Art has always been my way of connecting with the world. Now, it’s as if I’m picking up the phone and dialing a friend I haven’t spoken to in too long.

“Nova, you’re up.” Mari looks over from where she’s inspecting the fit of Chloe’s dress.

Chloe stands on the pedestal, looking stunning in a soft-pink gown that sets off her skin and dark hair.

“What’re you doing?” Mari asks.

“She’s daydreaming,” Brooke drawls, shooting me a little smile as she passes back the sketchbook.

I tuck it into my purse and get ready to try on my bridesmaid's dress.

“I wish you’d do your hair a natural color,” Mari says as I slip into the dress.

“Hot pink is found in nature. There are anemones that are exactly this shade.” I try to reach around but can’t find the zipper. “Can you—”

---