CHAPTER EIGHT
HEIDI
Greta's knowing gaze examines my messed-up hair and wrinkled clothes. My lips are probably swollen and reddened, too.
“Hmm…” Greta drawls. “Somebody enjoyed the sewing room. I see you forgot my glasses as well.”
She winks, and I check my hands as if surprised.
“Um, yeah. I couldn't find them,” I lie.
“Probably because you were too busy with your shenanigans with Griffen.”
“Greta.”
“No need to be embarrassed. It's natural for two young people to let their passions rule. I'm happy that you and Griffen have come to an understanding.”
“I don't know what you're talking about,” I snip.
A couple of other seniors stare at me then Griffen, sly smiles on their faces. Clearly, it's no secret what we were doing in that room for so long.
Perhaps I should be more ashamed that the entire senior center seems to know that Griffen and I were making out and grinding like a couple of teens.
But I don't care.
It was too glorious to feel shame.
And, hopefully, this is just the beginning of something more.
***
Fallen leaves crunches beneath my car tires as I park in front of Kent Moreland’s house.
After several emails back and forth, he agreed to meet with me to discuss becoming his assistant—a step up from the unpaid intern position I was imagining.
Kent steps onto his porch and waves while I grab my portfolio from the backseat.
“You must be Heidi,” he says, offering his hand to shake in greeting.
“Guilty. Thank you for responding to my email. I’m sure you get a lot of spam requests to work together for a fee,” I joke.
Sometimes, Mike at Design Time has me post to the store’s social media feeds, and even his small-town operation fields messages from bots and scammers.
A warm chuckle transforms Kent’s austere features into a friendly welcome as he waves me inside. “I get my fair share, but it’s usually pretty easy to tell who’s real and who’s fake. My office is down the hall, so we can chat more there.”
A gray cat accompanies our trek to his office, and I bend to brush a quick pet over its head before it races ahead to weave between Kent’s feet.
Straightening, I glance over the walls. For a photographer, there aren’t many photos hung up. The decor is mostly wood or metal art pieces and colorful items that speak of his travels around the world.
Strange… or maybe he’s modest.
“Have a seat. I can take a look at your portfolio while you share what your goals are if I hire you as my assistant.”
An imaginary flag drops before me, signaling the start of what could be the job that launches my career into photography. Despite Kent’s isolation in Suitor’s Crossing, people still know his name. He’s a renowned photojournalist, even if he is retired.
I launch into my credentials and plans for the future. It’s been a while since I’ve had to sell myself and my photography skills. My retail position at Design Time didn’t require much more from me than assuring Mike I could work certain shifts.
To be honest, if that interview hadn’t worked out, I would have applied somewhere else, no big deal.
But this is a chance to work with Kent Moreland.
In his email response, he’d told me how he’d been considering hiring an assistant, and it felt like fate the moment I read those words.
And isn’t Suitor’s Crossing all about the magic of fate? I mean technically that applies to love and soulmates, or heart sparks, but in a roundabout way, this is still kind of connected.
Being set up with Griffen pushed me to reach out to Kent. Our conversation made me think about what I want from my life—a career to enjoy and a man to love.
I already have a head start in the love department, thanks to Greta and Mr. Caldwell’s interference, which just leaves my professional life.
If you were brave enough to kiss Griffen first, then you are definitely badass enough to ace this interview.
Meeting Kent’s kind eyes, I toss him a winning smile.
Hell, yeah, I’ve got this.