“You make a good point. Want the job?”
Morgan shook her head at her grandmother. “It’s not what I’m best at. What you need is a coordinator, a kind of utility player. You’ve got time to find the right fit. And once you have that in place, you really need to do a photo book, with recipes from the café’s kitchen and bar, with some of the arts and crafts included. Photos of wine, for instance, in glasses sold next door. The café’s coffee cake displayed on one of your dishes, biscotti arranged on another, and like that. You have a local photographer do the pictures—that keeps it with your mission statement—and you sell it here, exclusively.”
Olivia sat back. “Listen to you! I’m cursed with clever progeny.”
“You started it,” Audrey reminded her. “A photo book, like a coffee-table book. I can see it! You know who’d be great for the photos?”
“Tory Phelps,” they said together.
“Hive mind.” Olivia held up a hand. “The new hire first. Morgan’s right there. The days of either of us working eight to ten hours a day, seven days a week, are done, Audrey.”
“Agreed. But I can feel Tory out, just see how much she thinks she’d charge for something like this. That way we’d know if it’s even feasible. She’s good,” she told Morgan. “We carry some of her work in the shop, had a showing for her last year. She teaches photography at the community college.”
“Your mother does love a new project.”
“She does.” Morgan looked around the café. “This one turned out really well.”
“Can’t argue with truth.” Olivia gave her daughter’s hand a pat. “Now, let’s get our tired butts home. This one has a job interview tomorrow and needs a good night’s sleep.”
She didn’t get one, not when her mind refused to turn off.
What if she didn’t get the job? She could look elsewhere, of course she could. But …
Should she tell her ladies she’d take that coordinator’s job? She could handle it. She could learn about the arts, the crafts, the artisans and artists and craftspeople. She already knew how to manage staff, how to manage a business.
Maybe it was time to put away her goals and dreams and accept what stood in front of her.
But she wasn’t ready to, not ready to just bury everything she’d worked toward.
Still, if she worked five years, lived here and worked and saved, she might be able to really start again.
Maybe.
She fell asleep on the maybe, then woke early to lie in bed and go over it all again.
When she went down for coffee, her mother sat at the counter with her laptop. She’d braided her sun-kissed hair back this morning and wore a candy-pink robe.
“Good morning. I’m researching how to produce coffee-table books. It’s a lot!”
“I guess it is.”
“It’s such a good idea. Now it’s in here.” Audrey tapped her temple. “I can’t let it go. I want to get as much calculated and organized before I hit your gram with it. That way works best with her.”
Morgan started to reach for a mug and saw the Crafty Arts box beside the coffee machine, and the card with her name on it.
“What’s this?”
“Just a little something from Gram and me, for good luck today. If you hate them … pretend you don’t. I put it there since I wasn’t sure if you’d be up and around before we left for work.”
Prepared to lie if necessary, Morgan opened the box. The diamond etching on the silver, cuff-style earrings made them sparkle.
She didn’t have to pretend.
“They’re beautiful.”
“We thought they’d go well with what you picked out to wear today.”
“I think you picked that out.”
“Well, I helped. But the outfit was in your closet, after all. Do you really like them?”
“I love them.” She put them on to prove it. “How do they look?”
“Like you. Smart, just a little sleek, and very well-crafted. How about some breakfast?”
“Can’t.” Morgan pressed a hand to her belly. “I’m nervous.”
“Of course you are. Who wouldn’t be? But all you have to do is be Morgan. The resort will be lucky to have you, and I’m saying that as a business manager—something I never thought I’d be in my life. I watched you yesterday, baby, and you know just what you’re doing.”
“I used to think so. And I’m not going into this with a negative attitude. I need a boost, I can’t pretend I don’t. I need someone who isn’t my mother or grandmother to tell me I’m good enough.”