Chapter 19 #2
“Rosie! God, I was hoping you'd pick up.” Lauren's voice burst through the speaker, warm and familiar and exactly as I remembered. “How are you? I've been thinking about you.”
“I'm—” I glanced back at Emily, who was already pulling vegetables from the basket. “I'm good. Really good, actually.”
“Yeah? Because the last time we talked, you were drowning in spreadsheets and corporate nonsense.”
I laughed, surprised at how easily the sound came. “That was a lifetime ago.”
“Tell me everything. What have you been up to?”
“I moved to Colorado.” I turned toward the mountains, their peaks catching the evening light. “Took over my uncle's farm. I'm running it now.”
“Wait, what?” Lauren's laugh was bright and infectious. “You're a farmer?”
“Apparently.”
“That's crazy. But you were always talking about those summers you spent there.” She paused. “Are you happy?”
The question caught me off guard. “I am. Yeah. It's chaotic and exhausting, but it's growing on me.”
“I love that for you.” Lauren's voice softened. “You always landed on your feet. I'm not surprised.”
The compliment warmed me more than it should have. “Thanks. That means a lot.”
“So, listen—” Lauren's tone shifted, and I could practically hear her sitting up straighter. “I'm not just calling to catch up. Though we absolutely need to do that properly.”
“Okay...”
“I'm leaving the festival. Taking a job in Portland with a design agency.” She paused. “Which means my position is opening up. Art Director.”
My stomach dropped.
“They're interviewing candidates next month, but I told them they'd be idiots not to consider you.” Lauren spoke faster now, excited.
“I understand you're running a farm now, but you were brilliant when we worked together, Rosie. Creative, organized, could handle the chaos. The festival needs someone like you.”
I stared at the mountains, my brain struggling to catch up.
“I know it's been a while since you did event design,” Lauren continued. “But your portfolio was incredible. If you've been keeping up with any creative work—”
“I have.” The words came automatically. “I've been doing branding for the farm. Logos, labels, marketing materials.”
“Perfect. Well if you're interested, send me samples and I'll forward them to the hiring committee.” Lauren's enthusiasm was infectious. “The pay's solid, benefits are great, and you'd be working with artists and musicians again. Remember how much you loved that?”
I did. God, I did. Those years working festivals had been some of the best of my life—surrounded by creativity, designing posters and merchandise, watching ideas become reality.
Before Aaron convinced me it didn't pay enough.
“Rosie?” Lauren's voice gentled. “You still there?”
“Yeah, sorry.” I rubbed my forehead. “Just processing.”
“I get it. Big decision.” She paused. “But this is the kind of work you were born to do, Rosie. The festival would be lucky to have you.”
The words settled over me, warm and suffocating at the same time.
“When do they need an answer?”
“Interviews start in three weeks. I'd need your portfolio by next week to get it in front of the committee.” Lauren's voice brightened. “But seriously, no pressure. Just... think about it.”
“I will.” My voice sounded steadier than I felt. “Thanks for thinking of me.”
“Always. Send me those samples when you get a chance, okay? I want to see what you've been creating.”
“I will.”
“And Rosie? It's really good to hear your voice.”
“You, too.”
The call ended, and I stood there staring at my phone. The mountains hadn't moved. The sun still painted everything gold. A breeze rustled through the wildflowers in the pasture, carrying their sweet scent.
Nothing had changed.
Everything had changed.
I walked back to the truck in a daze, my phone heavy in my hand.
Art Director. The words bounced around my skull like ping-pong balls.
My hands trembled as I shoved the phone back in my pocket, and I had to stop walking for a second to catch my breath.
The mountains blurred at the edges, and I blinked hard, trying to focus.
This was supposed to be my peaceful evening—checking on Emily, sharing farm goodies, feeling proud of how far I'd come. Now my chest felt tight.
Emily looked up as I approached the truck, her expression shifting from casual interest to concern. “What happened?”
“That was Lauren. My old boss from Seattle.” I climbed back into the truck bed, my legs feeling unsteady. “Before the corporate job. When I was doing festival design.”
“Okay…”
“She's leaving. Taking a new job.” The words felt strange in my mouth. “Her position's opening up. Art Director for the music festival.”
Emily went still. “And?”
“She wants me to apply.” I looked up, meeting Emily's eyes. “She's already talked to the hiring committee. Said they'd be crazy not to interview me.”
“Wow.” Emily leaned back. “That's... that's huge.”
“Yeah.”
The word came out flat, like I'd squeezed all the air from my lungs. I stared at my hands, trying to make sense of the chaos in my head. Three months ago, this call would have been a miracle. The answer to everything I thought I wanted.
Lauren offering me the perfect job. Everything I'd given up, wrapped in a neat little package with benefits and prestige and the validation I'd been craving since I was twenty-two.
So why did I feel like throwing up?
Emily was watching me, her expression careful. My chest felt too tight. The basket of farm goodies sat between us—evidence of the life I'd built here. The labels I'd designed, the cheese I'd learned to make, the flowers I'd tended since Walt had left.
“Rosie.” Emily's voice was gentle. “You look like you're about to pass out.”
I sucked in a breath, realizing I'd been holding it. “I don't know what to think.”
“That's okay.” She shifted, angling toward me. “It's a big offer.”
“It's everything I thought I wanted.” The words tumbled out before I could stop them. “A month ago, I would've said yes immediately. Dream job, creative work, everything I wanted before...”
“Before you moved to Alder Creek,” Emily finished quietly.
I nodded, my throat tight. “Before I realized I could be happy here.” I buried my face in my hands. “This is so messed up. A few weeks ago, I was panicking about property taxes and whether I could keep the goats fed. Now someone's offering me my dream job, and all I can think about is...”
“What?”
“Leaving.” The word came out barely above a whisper. “Leaving the chickens and the garden and the farmers market. Leaving the soap business I'm just getting started. Leaving—”
“Cal.”
“Cal.” I looked up at Emily, feeling lost. “I can't even imagine it. Three weeks ago, I barely knew him. Now the idea of packing up and moving back to Seattle makes me feel sick.”
Emily was quiet for a long moment, studying my face. “But you were good at that work, weren't you? The festival stuff?”
“I was.” The admission came easily. “I was really good at it. Lauren used to say I had an eye for what worked—could take a musician's vision and turn it into something people would remember. The posters I designed, some of them are still hanging in record shops around Seattle.”
“That's not nothing.”
“No, it's not.” I picked at a loose thread on my jeans. “And Lauren wouldn't have called if she didn't think I could handle it. She's not the type to offer charity jobs.”
“What would it mean? Practically?”
“Art Director is what I always wanted when I was starting out. Before I got scared and took the corporate job.” I could picture it clearly—the festival office with its cluttered walls of band posters, the controlled chaos of deadlines and creative briefs.
“I'd oversee all the visual branding. Work with artists directly. Design everything from stage backdrops to merchandise.”