Page 3 of Work and Play
“I know, Dad, yes. Yes, I’ll tell him you said hi. Okay. Thank you. Love you, too.”
I hang up the phone and brush away an errant tear rolling down my cheek. It’s dark and cold out here on the deck of the early morning ferry carrying me over to Vancouver Island, but I needed to get out of the noisy chaos of the full passenger lounge. And my father always knows what to say to help me center myself. After all, it’s been just the two of us for the last thirty years. He was there through my hormonal teenage years, the angst of first love and first heartbreak, the challenge of choosing which university to attend, and the ups and downs of starting my own business as an interior designer.
And Lord knows I’ve needed him even more lately, embarrassing as it is to admit. It’s been a spectacularly crappy two months, starting with my best friend Sarah moving to Toronto for her dream job, then a week later, I had the privilege of walking in on my boyfriend of almost two years fucking another woman in our bed. I probably should have suspected something when he wanted to move in together, but also asked for one night a week of ‘alone time.’ At the time it seemed like a great idea. A perfect opportunity for me to have some time with my dad, and for him to catch up with the boys. Little did I know that while Dad and I were having dinner or playing chess, Tyson was busy banging his way through the city of Vancouver. Granted, that relationship wasn’t exactly amazing…the sex was mediocre at best, and Tyson never did accept the fact that I’m not an openly affectionate person. I don’t run around hugging everyone immediately. He always accused me of being rude when his friends’ girlfriends would try to hug me, but for crying out loud, I didn’t even know them.
Anyway, finding him in our bed with another woman was almost a relief. It was the ending to something that I should have walked away from a lot sooner. Kicking him out was cathartic in a way. But one thing became abundantly clear, I had to move. No way could I stay in that apartment a moment longer, knowing he had done who-knows-what with who-knows-who there.
Dad was happy to have me move in with him, and I had hoped it would be a short-term solution while I looked for another apartment not tainted by Tyson’s activities. However, my search has lasted a lot longer than I wanted, thanks to the viciously expensive and competitive rental market in Vancouver.
To add insult to injury, business has been slow going on half a year now. It doesn’t matter that I have multiple awards behind me and several successful businesses willing to recommend me. The need for interior designers of my style is low right now. The casual, yet luxurious, boho-chic vibe that I am known for isn’t what the downtown clients want anymore. Which means my options are to either completely change my design style or look for work elsewhere.
Which brings me here. On a boat, headed to a winery that an old friend of my dad owns. I’ve spent my entire career doing everything I can to not accept help from my father. It’s not that he isn’t willing; quite the opposite. Dad has always tried to help, offering to refer me to some of the investment clients he works for. But the trust fund he insisted on setting up for me felt like enough of a handout. Having him send work my way just didn’t sit right. I needed to make my own way, not live up to the trust fund princess nickname the awful girls at my private school gave me. Still, after two months with no hints of work on the horizon, I was starting to panic. So this time, after saying no so many other times, when Dad offered to give my name to his friend Pierre, I had to say yes.
“You need a break, sweet pea. Some time away from this damn city and all the chaos. I see what the last few months have done to my beautiful daughter and I want to weep. Where is the gentle, fun loving, trusting soul you used to be?”
Dad’s words might have stung a little, but they weren’t wrong. The weight of the last few months was starting to drag me down, and I could hear a cynical, bitchy voice getting louder and louder, telling me I would never be successful, would never find real love, would never find a life that truly fit.
So I jumped on the opportunity to get away from it all. If the pitch goes well today, I could be moving to the island temporarily while I oversee the work being done. I’ve never pictured myself enjoying small-town life, heck, I grew up eating sushi and going to the Vancouver Symphony Orchestra with my dad. But maybe a slower pace will be good for a change.
I’m also ashamed to admit, I thought this would be an easy job for some easy money. Until, that is, I started doing my market research on tasting rooms. Because what I saw didn’t exactly inspire me. It seemed every other winery either embodied the old-world, heavy wood, traditional vibe, or a very upscale, trendy, minimalist feel. I can design just about anything, but those two aesthetics are not my preferred choice. Still, experience has shown me I need to give the client what they need, which isn’t always what I want. This is why my proposed design includes clean lines and a much simpler elegance than what I would prefer. It was painstaking to do, because every fiber of my design soul wanted to do something different.
I’ve also got a second design, not as well thought out, but far more in keeping with my typical style. The winery is called La Lune Rouge, and as soon as I heard that I was filled with ideas on how to bring that vision to life. The fact that this version will likely never see the light of day shouldn’t bother me; after all, at this point, a job is a job.
I let out one more deep huff of air then slide my phone back into the pocket of my winter coat. I need coffee and something sugary to get me through the rest of this day. When I head inside, I make my way to the line up for the café on board the ferry. Once I’ve got my coffee in hand, I eye the prepackaged pastries. Nothing seems very appetizing, but I guess I don’t have much choice.
“Don’t bother with those. Depending on where you’re headed, I can point you in the direction of the best muffins you’ve ever had.”
I turn to see a beautiful blonde woman standing behind me. Her long hair is twisted into a bun on the top of her head, and she’s got an air of elegance, despite her warm smile.
“I gotta admit, these look pretty gross.”
She nods sympathetically. “One of my best friends has a bakery. If you’re headed up island, swing into Dogwood Cove and look for The Nutty Muffin. Tell whoever’s working that Serena sent you, and they’ll get you one of the apple nut muffins Mila saves in the back for her friends. They’re to die for, I promise.”
“Good to know, thanks.” I put the muffin down and move to fill up my travel mug with coffee.
“So, what brings you to the island?”
Startled, I look up again, and the blonde — Serena, I guess — is still smiling at me as she fills her mug with an herbal tea.
“Oh, umm, a possible job.”
“Cool. I hope you get it, the island is an amazing place. I’ve lived in Dogwood Cove for the last ten years and I can’t imagine being anywhere else. Anyway, I better find somewhere to sit down, I’ve got dance videos to critique.” She rolls her eyes and walks over to the cash register with a backwards wave. “Don’t forget, visit The Nutty Muffin and tell them I sent you!”
“I will,” I call out as she leaves the cafeteria area. I’m not going to lie, I’m not used to strangers being that friendly. It definitely isn’t like that in the city. Vancouver might be known as a friendly place, but downtown where I live and where most of my work is, it’s a fast-paced hub of business. Not many people take the time to just chat with strangers like Serena just did. And ever since Sarah moved away, the city has felt even more lonely.
Once I’ve paid for my coffee, I make my way to a window seat, and for the next half hour, I manage to zone out, scrolling through my phone. I have a small obsession with professional athletes, and let me tell you, the Instagram feeds for the Nashville Fury football team and the Atlanta Rising soccer team are highly enjoyable. Whoever is running those social media accounts deserves a raise. Then again, maybe taking pictures and videos of sweaty, half naked athletes is bonus enough.
When the announcement comes for passengers to return to their cars, I reluctantly shut off my phone and gather my things. It’s a short drive to Dogwood Cove, and I factor in a few extra minutes to swing by the bakery that Serena, I think she said her name was, recommended. I could use a muffin. Or two.
As I drive off the boat and follow the long line of cars headed to the highway, I mentally go over my pitch for the winery. Even though dear old Dad organized this opportunity, I don’t consider it a done deal. I’ve still got to win over the winery owner and get him to approve the design.
It doesn’t take me long to reach the turnoff for Dogwood Cove, and even less time to find the bakery Serena mentioned. I’m charmed by the adorable small-town vibe the main street has with its well-kept store fronts, town square, with a freaking gazebo right in the middle. Seriously, it’s like Stars Hollow leapt off the small screen and into real life.
The door lets out a charming sound when I push it open, and the young guy behind the counter smiles in welcome.
“Welcome to The Nutty Muffin. What can I get you?”
I peruse the contents of the gleaming glass case that is filled with so many delicious-looking things my mouth is instantly watering. “I was told the apple nut muffins were the thing to ask for.”
