Page 52 of Derailed


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She shrugs. “I’m really bad at this. Talking about myself. I’d rather clip someone else’stoenails.”

“That’s quite honestly the nastiest thing you’vesaid.”

“It’s true!” She laughs and I have to join her; the sound isinfectious.

She leans back against the headrest of her seat, and turns her head to catch mestaring.

My gaze goes back to the road. “How about I ask you questions? Are you’re okay withthat?”

“We can try that.” There’s a trepidation in her answer that’s surprising, and maybe that’s because if she were to ask me anything, I’d answer without hesitation. It’s clear she doesn’t feel thesame.

I make it my sole mission to ease her discomfort around me. So she feels as though she can tell me anything. So she trusts me. “What would you do, Jess, like for a career, if you could doanything?”

“Design.” Her answer comes much faster than Ianticipate.

My brows rise. “Yeah? What exactly? Buildings?Websites?”

“Oh. Um. That’d probably be more practical.” She slinks back into theseat.

“We’re not talking practical. We’re talking dreams, Jess. I wanna know what you’d do every day, if money and failure weren’t an option?”If Coy weren’t in the picture.I don’t add that part, but it’s almost as if the thought lingers in the silence between us. I wonder whether she’ll answer. I almost give uphope.

“I would design clothes. Jewelry. Bags. Shoes. All ofit.”

“So, those magazines aren’t simply for entertainment.” I slide a glance her way and find hersmiling.

“Busted.” Sheshrugs.

“I think you should doit.”

“It’s just a dream, like you said. I have no business experience. No design skills. I don’t even know how to use a sewing machine. I wouldn’t know where tostart.”

“You can learn. Or hire help. If that’s what you want to do, that’s what you should bedoing.”

“You make it soundsimple.”

“I’m sure it’s not. It’s a lot of work, like anything worth having, but that doesn’t mean it isn’tpossible.”

She doesn’t answer, almost as if she’s considering my advice. I hope she is, because Jess deserves to chase herdreams.

“Maybe I will.” Her voice is so light it almost evaporates in the rush of air that flies through the open windows. But no matter how small her confidence, the conviction isthere.

I nod. “Someday, when you do that, I want to walk down some fancy red carpet in one of your designs. Swear it.” I grip the wheel with one hand to drag my finger over myheart.

“You might regret that promise.” She giggles, and it steals my eyes from theroad.

“Why is that?” I focus back on driving, but catch her wide smile from the corner of mygaze.

“Because it’d be a women’s line. That’s what I would design. At least when I think about it, thatis.”

“Yeah, okay. I guess you’re right. You’ll have to design something for a man, just for me, so I don’t have to attend the next Grammy’s indrag.”

“Okay. Deal.” She laughs and this time it’s clear she thinks my suggestion isridiculous.

“I’m serious, Jess. You should be designing clothes if that’s what you want. Dream big, but don’t let those hopes stay in that gorgeous head of yours. Take a chance. Fail. Then try again until yousucceed.”

The navigation on my dash steals my focus for the rest of the drive, and for the next ten minutes neither of us speaks. I keep my eyes on the road, and on the map that tells me where to go. Again, I don’t expect her to respond, and maybe I overstepped my boundaries in telling her what to do. I know as well as anyone that success isn’t instantaneous, and I probably came off an arrogant jerk insinuating otherwise. I open my mouth to apologize but she cuts me off, speakingfirst.

“Maybe. Someday.” Her lips lift in a natural smile and she stares out the window before meeting my gaze. “Thankyou.”

I nod and train my eyes back on the road. “For the record, I don’t think you should waste anothersomeday.”