Chapter 5
Lauren covered the two blocks from The Friendly Bean to K + L Interiors at a brisk pace, Pumpkin trotting at her heels.
Yesterday’s rain had washed the air clean, and now sunlight and blue sky broke through the thinning cloud cover in widening patches.
The forecast promised a weekend that would be, as Kathy liked to say, Chamber of Commerce perfect.
They passed the large picture window at the front of the studio, filled with sketches, photographs, and fabric swatches.
Lauren slowed for a moment, taking in the display.
She and Kathy had worked day and night to get the firm off the ground, putting in long hours, enduring lean months, and taking countless risks.
Their effort had paid off. The phone rang constantly now. Their services were in demand.
At least I have the career I always dreamed of, she thought, as she rounded the corner and crossed the small parking lot to the unmarked rear door.
On days when she wasn’t ferrying samples to clients for approval, Lauren and Pumpkin enjoyed the two-mile walk to work.
It grounded her and reminded her that forward motion still mattered.
Inside, Lauren locked the door behind them and went straight to the sink in the tiny break room.
She filled Pumpkin’s bowl with fresh water and set it beside the compact refrigerator.
Pumpkin took a long drink, then made a quick, methodical sweep of the space, checking for intruders or fallen crumbs. Satisfied, she hopped onto the settee beneath the window, circled three times, and curled into a tight cinnamon-colored ball.
Lauren logged onto her desktop computer and checked her email. The only message that wasn’t spam or a solicitation was from Susan Hunter. The subject line read simply: Update.
Lauren bit her lip.
Susan was decisive, until she wasn’t. Her frequent changes had already put them behind schedule. Lauren closed her eyes briefly and exhaled. If this was another round of revisions, she and Kathy would be burning the midnight oil yet again.
She clicked open the email. By the end of the first paragraph, a smile spread across her face, and then faltered. Susan and her husband, Tom, were expecting. She was in the twenty-first week.
Lauren leaned back in her chair and ran her fingers through her hair. She knew how long they’d been trying. Susan had confided in her about the IVF cycles, the miscarriages, and the heartbreak. They’d finally stopped hoping, and now, impossibly, here they were.
Of course, they didn’t say anything sooner, Lauren thought. They were protecting themselves. She leaned forward and kept reading.
The couple was leaving town in two and a half weeks to spend Christmas with Tom’s parents in Maui.
Susan laid out her thoughts for the nursery.
She wanted soft, neutral colors and natural textures, with a baby animals theme.
They had opted to be surprised by the sex, so everything needed to work either way.
Most importantly, they wanted the nursery to be the first room completed, and they wanted to approve everything before they left.
Lauren closed her laptop halfway and looked over at Pumpkin.
“So much for a relaxed afternoon,” she said. “Forget the fact that I stayed up half the night feeling sorry for myself about Darren. We’re shifting this into high gear.”
Pumpkin lifted her head and thumped her tail against the cushion.
“Kathy has her in-laws staying with her until Sunday night,” Lauren added.
“I’ll put together a preliminary proposal for her input on Monday.
” She turned back to her computer and typed a warm reply congratulating Susan, expressing genuine joy, and promising sample boards by the end of the next week.
When she hit send, emotion welled in her chest. She was happy for them. Truly. But the truth surged in.
She imagined a nursery—not Susan’s, but her own.
Pale walls warmed by filtered light. A handwoven rug soft under bare feet.
A crib positioned just right beneath a window.
She pictured herself choosing fabric with care, running her hands over wallpaper samples, imagining tiny clothes folded into drawers.
Lauren swallowed hard. Someday, she told herself, pushing the ache aside. “We’ll start with wallpaper,” she said aloud. “Three options. Muted, soothing. Then build from there.”
Pumpkin thumped her tail again.
Lauren pulled three oversized wallpaper binders from the shelves and slid them onto her desk. She retrieved her color deck from the bottom drawer and lost herself in the work, paring down choices, layering palettes, and imagining the room as a welcoming space for a new life.
Time slipped by unnoticed. When she finally leaned back and rubbed her tired eyes, Pumpkin jumped down from the settee and raced to the back door.
Lauren glanced at the window, startled by the settling dusk. “You need a comfort break, don’t you?” she said. “I’m sorry, girl.” She let Pumpkin out, watching as she trotted to her usual spot by the dumpster and returned promptly, business handled.
“I need to put all this into a proposal,” Lauren said, “but it’ll have to wait until tomorrow. My eyes feel like they’re about to fall out of my head.”
Pumpkin let out a soft, sympathetic woof.
“It’s time for dinner, too,” Lauren added, slipping on her jacket and clipping Pumpkin’s leash to her collar. “But what we need, more than food, is a vacation.”
Pumpkin tilted her head to one side as she stared at her mistress.
“I mean it,” Lauren said as they stepped outside and locked up. “I’d love to get away, like the Hunters are doing.”
They started the long walk home. “What do you think, girl?” Lauren asked. “Would you like to go somewhere new for Christmas? We usually go to my sister’s, and you have fun there. You’re happy everywhere.”
Pumpkin glanced back at her, tail swishing.
“It’s just … this year feels different,” Lauren continued, more to herself than to the dog. “Hannah and Paul and the girls are wonderful to me. But being surrounded by all that family happiness is hard during the holidays.”
Pumpkin stayed close, steady and warm at her side.
“We need a change,” Lauren said finally. “We’ll finish everything for the Hunters before they leave. And while they’re away, you and I will have our own adventure.”
She smiled as the idea took shape. “We’ll go somewhere cold. With snow. It’ll be cozy and quiet, walkable and dog-friendly.” She laughed softly. “Bonus points if there’s good architecture to appreciate.”
They turned onto Lauren’s street. “Let’s do it,” she said. “I’ll feed you, make myself a turkey sandwich, and we’ll pick a place tonight.” They sprinted up the driveway to the back door. Lauren slid the key into the lock and looked down at Pumpkin.
The little dog lifted her muzzle and wagged her tail, clearly in agreement.
Lauren gave her a pat and headed inside to put out some kibble.