Chapter Eleven
Tessa got an early start in the morning, excited for one of her favorite days of the year.
She parked in the public lot, across the street from a recently erected Harbor Heights Eighth Annual Monarch Festival sign and smiled.
Her week’s trials and tribulations paled in comparison to her enthusiasm for Monarch Fest. Most things did.
She retrieved the foldable canvas wagon from her trunk, then filled it with gift bags and boxes from her car.
Josephine pulled into the space beside hers and climbed out with a cheery squeal.
Her strawberry-blond hair hung over her shoulders in waves.
Two butterfly-shaped clips gathered the strands into little bunches, one on each side of her crown.
Her monarch-print dress, black tights, and Mary Janes completed the heavily themed ensemble. “I love Monarch Fest.”
Tessa grinned. She’d chosen wide-legged black trousers and a sleeveless orange blouse to avoid battling the wind for her dignity, and paired the outfit with sneakers for the long walk ahead.
“Is it weird that I love this festival so much?” she asked.
“Nope,” Tessa said, closing and locking her trunk. “You are definitely not alone.”
Monarch Fest was a relatively new community event that celebrated the mass migration of monarch butterflies through the area. The migration happened twice a year, spring and fall, but the September movement often resulted in the landing of hundreds of the beautiful insects en route to Mexico.
When the festival launched during the early years of Tessa’s internship with Hello, Marketing, she saw an opportunity to connect with potential clients through the event, and she took it.
She created themed gift bags for local shops and hand delivered them with her business cards and pamphlets about her company.
Many of those owners later called or stopped by to ask about ad campaigns, and her initial list of boutique accounts was established.
These days, Tessa used the opening day of the festival as a time to visit clients at work, shake their hands, and thank them for being a part of her portfolio.
In more recent years, she added the tradition of delivering gift bags filled with products from those businesses and notes about the items’ origins.
Then she looked for ways the owners could bridge connections and partnerships between shops as well.
Spending a beautiful morning outside the office with Josephine was icing on the cake.
“I love that something you started as a brilliant marketing plan when you were a baby intern has become a tradition all your clients love.” Josephine continued, “Your referral rate is higher than anyone else at our company, Xavier included.”
“Really?”
Josephine nodded. “Haven’t you ever wondered why they’re all assigned to you?”
Tessa smiled. “I really love my job,” she said. “I’ve complained a lot lately, but it’s not about the work. I can’t imagine doing anything else. I wouldn’t want to.”
Josephine stopped at the open door to the shop on the corner and extended an arm for Tessa to enter before her. “It’s a darn good thing, because you’re terrific at it. You make each client feel like family.”
“They are, though. Aren’t they?” Tessa asked over her shoulder.
Josephine smiled. “They are.”
The familiar scents of herbs and spices engulfed Tessa, and she inhaled deeply through her nose.
Olive My Heart was a small first-floor shop in a three-story building otherwise converted into upscale condos.
The maroon-and-cream-colored walls and stands displayed endless bags and boxes of dry ingredients that shoppers could take home and add a little something to from their refrigerator, completing a delicious recipe.
Breads and muffins. Pancakes, cookies, and soups.
Central racks featured a wide variety of bottles of gourmet olive oils and vinegars.
The owner, Monique, spotted Tessa and Josephine immediately and moved in their direction.
“Oh! There you are,” she sang, hurrying around the counter, arms thrown wide for a group hug.
“Good morning,” Tessa said against the soft fabric of Monique’s blouse.
“Happy Monarch Festival,” Josephine added.
Scents of rosemary and vanilla wafted from the shop owner’s hair. She released the women with a wide smile. Her brown skin glowed with a youthfulness Tessa’s had lost in college, which Tessa feared no amount of product would ever restore.
“We brought you a little care package,” Tessa said, raising a bag from the wagon.
She’d purchased the brown bags with twine handles from a stationery store across the street and stamped them with the image of a large butterfly.
Inside, Tessa had written words of thanks onto a folded square of card stock.
She’d added a beeswax candle, a piece of fudge, a stained glass circle with Monique’s initials, and a number of additional small treasures, donated from other clients’ shops downtown.
She’d also included a list of fun ways the shops might work together this year to support one another and enhance sales through networking.
“Ohh,” Monique cooed, taking the bag gently, then clutching it to her chest. “Do you know how many people I’ve met through these little bags?
New customers appear all year long because other shop owners recommended me after receiving a little something from my shop in their bag.
A few of us meet monthly to talk about ways we can build on your ideas.
You added a new list?” she asked, hope rising in her voice.
“I did,” Tessa said.
“Bless!” Monique strode back to the business side of her counter and traded Tessa’s bag for two small maroon ones with cream-colored tissue poking from the top of each.
“A little something from me.” She delivered one gift to Tessa and the other to Josephine.
“I hope your days are filled with the abundance you provide all of us little shops downtown.”
Tessa read the letters in the image on the bag. Four capital letter H’s formed a tight row.
“Harbor Heights Helping Hands,” Monique said. “It’s the group of shop owners I mentioned.”
“You organized?” She smiled, marveling. “Impressive.”
“We’re planning to reinvest half of our proceeds from select sales and events into the HHHH. We’re working on a better name.”
Tessa laughed. “Thank you. I love everything about this.” Knowing she’d inspired the shop owners to connect and network gave her an unexpected thrill.
Tessa and Josephine said their goodbyes and headed back into the day. Their other deliveries went much the same way as the first, and they arrived at the office with full stomachs, thanks to generous café owners, and overflowing hearts for the same reason.
At her desk, Tessa switched gears smoothly and tackled her inbox before returning calls, a number of which had waited nearly twenty-four hours because she’d stuck to an eight-hour workday yesterday.
She felt a little guilty for not responding sooner, but she could do only so much between eight and five.
Hopefully none of her clients would leave when they stopped getting immediate priority treatment.
She worried that was the primary reason they chose her, because she gave around-the-clock attention and always put their requests above her need for sleep, food, self-care, or a social life.
It took every ounce of her limited restraint not to start each email with an apology and detailed explanation of why she possibly let them down by making them wait for her response. It’s not wrong to draw boundaries, she reminded herself. Even if it feels terrifyingly uncomfortable.
The heroine in her story definitely worked forty-hour weeks, not eighty.
She also prioritized self-care and protected her energy.
Tessa was shocked at how hard it was to do those basic things.
Tessa had spent far too long putting everyone else’s needs above her own, and so far breaking those habits felt a lot like breaking fingers.
Not fatal, but incredibly painful, nonetheless.
She sent the emails with her usual enthusiasm, professionalism, and kindness, after reciting the apology portion silently in her head. A compromise she could live with. “Baby steps,” she whispered.
When her coworkers packed up their things and made their way toward the elevator, she forced herself to close the document she’d been working on and follow suit.
“Hey, Michels,” Peyton called.
Her muscles tightened, but she pretended not to hear him as she rose to her feet. Who called adults by their last names outside a sports arena? She shouldered her bag, then turned to leave.
“Michels,” he repeated, louder this time. Quick footfalls punctuated his words. “Tessa, wait!”
Tessa turned toward him, chin up and shoulders square.
“I missed you at the morning meeting,” he said, slowing as he reached her side. “We talked about the L and L account and the pitch team.”
Tessa stared, waiting for the question.
He straightened to his full height. “So,” he said.
“So,” she repeated.
“Why weren’t you in the meeting? You know how huge this client is for us.”
“For you,” she said. “Lilacs and Lace is huge for you. It’s your account. I spent the morning making contacts with my local accounts, like I do every year on this day.”
Peyton pulled his chin back, managing to appear baffled. “What day?”
She rolled her eyes and turned away. “You are the literal worst,” she muttered, moving swiftly into the hall.
“What day?” he repeated, matching her, step for fleeing step.
The command in his tone stopped her short, and he rammed into her back.
“What are you doing?” he barked.
“Do not speak to me that way,” she said, forcing restraint into her tone. “You ran into me, not the other way around. And it’s five o’clock. I’m going home.”
“You’re so mad about the promotion, you can’t stay after five now?” He scoffed.
“I’m no longer working overtime for free,” she said. “I work hard when I’m on the clock, arguably harder than I should, and now it’s time to go home, so I’m going. You, of all people, should understand that. You’re usually the first one out the door.”
“And now we have the opportunity to pitch for the Lilacs and Lace account,” he said. “This is the biggest prospective client we’ve ever had. We need all hands on deck until the contract is signed.”
Again, Tessa waited, mentally counting down from ten in her head. At one, she was getting on the elevator.
“I need you on this team,” Peyton said. His gaze rose to the wall above her shoulder, no longer meeting her eye. “Xavier told me to pick the team, and I want you. We need a strong female opinion.”
“You mean you want me to do the work, so you can claim it as your own,” she said. “Because you’re leading the team? Pass.”
“You can’t pass,” he said. “It’s not an option.”
Tessa started walking again.
“I’m meeting with Xavier on this in thirty minutes,” Peyton said. “You don’t want me to tell him we had this conversation and you walked out.”
Tessa’s phone rang, and she snatched it from her bag.
Grant Gaines’s name and number appeared on-screen, and a smile curved her lips. He was fast becoming her cell phone savior.
“Who is that?” Peyton asked. “A guy? Is that the reason you can’t be bothered to work an extra minute now? The reason you don’t roll in until exactly starting time in the morning? The reason for all the dresses?”
“Good night,” Tessa said, raising the phone to her ear and turning back toward the exit. “Hello?”
“Tessa?” Hearing her name on Grant’s tongue sent a wave of nonsensical excitement down her spine. “I’m getting unhealthily attached to one of these potential office locations. Have you had time to look into them?”
“I have.”
He released a long guttural sound of relief. “Thank God. Are you available to meet? It’s short notice, but I might not be able to stop myself from signing this lease.”
She laughed.
“If you’re that attached, I’m certain it’s the right location. Which one is it? I’ll head in that direction now.”
“Michels!” Peyton called again. This time, the sound came from a distance.
At least he’d stopped following her.
The elevator doors parted, and Tessa stepped in. She raised a hand to wave over her head.
As the doors closed, she saw Peyton in the distance, arms akimbo, looking as if he’d lost a battle.
And he had.