Now I sit in a corner booth at Busy Bean—my assigned seat, at this point—for the fourth time this week, laptop, tablet, coffee, and caprese panini spread out in a ritual circle of productivity before me. My hair is still damp after my post-run shower. For the last few days, I managed two miles each morning before the heat became unbearable, and this morning alone I already did two loads of laundry and vacuumed the whole damn house. Liam had run out of side quests for me days ago.
I trace my finger along the tablet’s dark screen, and it lights up with my last commission—until more requests come in, at least. It’s a pet portrait, and I glance at the reference picture. God, it’s the ugliest little dog. One of those tiny yappy white ones with crusty red eyes. But I’ve done my best to make him look cute. I splash in a few extra details to the leafy background, and then that’s finished, too.
Idly I pull up the proposed sketch I’d put together for Alchemist’s mural, a project I’d tried not to throw myself too deep into considering Dan’s weekslong silence about it. Even though Noah and I have established a daily, easy banter over text and spend evenings virtually watching anime together or playing online games with Liam, he hasn’t brought up the mural again. It isn’t his decision anyway.
There’s a small ache under my ribs as I set the tablet aside and drag the laptop forward. It hurts to let the mural go for now, but I’ve still got an itch to occupy myself withsomething.And with only a month or so left in the summer, it’s time to get more serious about planning.
It’s time to start applying again.
The panic comes, and I let it—but this time, it’s only a cold, nervous lapping at my feet, as opposed to the riptide that used to viciously sweep me out to sea every time I thought about approaching the job search. I brace myself against the pressure that builds in my chest then let it out in one long, slow exhale.
I can do this. I already sent in one application—what’s ten more?
While researching opportunities and writing cover letters don’t fill me with the same inspiration that the commissions do, I have to admit that there is something soothing in the familiarity of the exercise. As I scroll through options—a marketing position at a cute pet insurance agency, another at an athleisure company, one as a video game studio’s community manager—the words flow easily enough. A cover letter is just another kind of campaign pitch, isn’t it? Only this time, the product I’m selling isme.
Granted, it’s a product I don’t have a lot of confidence in yet, but risk is always part of the marketing game.
I zone out as I type away, not lifting my head until my phone vibrates with a text, minutes or hours later.
Noah:
sadie! can you come by the brewery?
I glance at the time—only 2p.m.—and huff a laugh.
bit early for a drink, isn’t it?
lmao yeah, but it’s not for that. I want you to meet dan.
it’s good news:)
he really likes your work, wants to talk about it more
For a moment I can’t tell if the electricity spiking down my skin is my second afternoon coffee or genuine elation. It feels like light.
YES.
can I come by in about an hour?
no rush, we’ll be here all day!
I try to fire off one more app, but it’s useless—I’m too distracted. With little shame, I pick up the tablet again. After forty minutes of urgently adding broad strokes and excited lines to the sketch for the mural, I get to my feet and power walk out to the car. I don’t wait for it to cool off before I jump in and gun it to Alchemist.
It takes me two heaves on their door handle to realize that it’s locked because the brewery’s not even open yet. I peer inside to where Noah stands in the taproom with his back to me, energetically waving his arms and talking to a familiar short, mustachioed man—I recognize him from my first visit with Liam. The man has on a thoughtful frown that tugs his mustache down hard toward his jawline, but as soon as he sees me through the door, he gestures for Noah to let me in. Noah greets me with his usual beaming smile before unlocking the door and pushing it open.
“Sadie! Great timing.” He places his broad palm on my back—how are his hands always so warm?—and steers me forward. “Dan, this is Sadie, the artist and friend I’ve been telling you about.”
Dan reaches out to shake my hand pleasantly. Although I know he and Noah went to college together, I can’t help but think that the bags under his eyes and the strange choice of facial hair make him look a few years older.
His hand is cold, but his smile is genuine. “It’s a real pleasure, Sadie. Thanks for coming by.” He’s officially the first Texan I’ve met with such a thick country twang. I struggle not to glance down to see if he’s sporting a pair of cowboy boots.
“Noah tells me you’re looking for someone to paint a mural,” I say.
“Yeah…” Dan turns to study the forest-green wall across from the bar, the electric fireplace cold at its base. “The color looks nice and all, but it’s a bit plain. Not very memorable, y’know?”
I rock forward on the balls of my feet, trying not to look too eager. My tablet feels like it’s burning a hole through my tote bag. “What do you have in mind?”
“I’m open to suggestions,” Dan says slowly. Noah stands behind him with his arms crossed. When he catches my glance, he gives me a subtle thumbs-up.
