2 Weeks Later
“AmIcrazy?”Maggiestared at her computer screen after recapping how she broke up with Elliot and moved to LA.
Celeste Monroe, her new life coach peered back at her with a warm countenance. Celeste reminded Maggie of a glam hippie. She wore her blonde hair in a messy bun with a floral headband, emphasizing her glowing skin. Normally, talking to someone who seemed so perfect would intimidate her, but she was desperate for wisdom, direction, encouragement…anything, and Celeste had been so responsive and friendly from the first time Maggie emailed her.
“It sounds like you panicked. And maybe that defining moment made you realize deep down, Elliot wasn’t the right fit. Marrying him wasn’t what you wanted,” Celeste explained.
“These last few months, all I’ve dreamed about is getting away from my mom so that I could live on my own terms. But now that I’m here, in LA, all alone, I feel so lost.”
“Well, my darling, the first question we need to answer is, ‘Who is Maggie Eckland and what does she want?’ Or as they say in Italy,” Celeste bunched up her hand with her fingertips touching in true Italian fashion, and said, “Ma che vuoi? What do youreallywant?”
Maggie felt like a boring blank canvas and confessed, “It’s pathetic, but I’m twenty-five years old and yet, I don’t know who I am without my mom telling me what to like or what to do.”
Celeste explained further, “Who we are is made up of all the tiny details of our personality. Once we discern what we like, we can begin to figure out what we want. Abraham Lincoln said, ‘The best way to predict your future is to create it.’ And I have the perfect homework for you to get started on this”—Celeste moved her hands in front of the screen in a way that reminded Maggie of fireworks cascading through the sky and concluded dramatically, “journey of self discovery.”
“Oh boy…” Maggie felt anxiety rolling through her stomach.
“It’s going to be fun, I promise!” Celeste clapped her hands together.
Maggie hoped that Celeste’s positivity and zealousness would rub off on her. That alone would be worth the two hundred dollars a session she was paying.
“So, your homework for this next month is to come up with a list of ten new things to try. Keep a journal of each activity, food, place you visit—whatever—and what you thought about it. We are just gathering information about this beautiful woman full of potential named Maggie Eckland.” With an endearing smile, Celeste leaned forward so her face was close to the screen. “What do you think? Do you have any questions?”
Maggie had so many questions and quickly tried to narrow down the list running through her mind. Her thirty-minute session was coming to a close. “Do you have any examples? I have no clue where to start.”
“I don’t usually like to influence clients in any way, but if it will help you take the first step… I’m going to recommend finding an open mic night somewhere. Seeing people be brave and vulnerable sharing their gifts has given other clients inspiration and courage to begin their own journeys.”
“An open mic night…” Maggie repeated Celeste’s suggestion as she processed going to a club, restaurant, coffee shop, or bar by herself. Vomit threatened to make an unwelcome appearance. Maggie rubbed her stomach trying to soothe it in the same way one might calm a frightened kitten.
“I know you can do it,” Celeste encouraged enthusiastically. “I can’t wait to hear what you discover! I have to run, another client awaits. Bye beautiful Maggie!” And with a quick wave, Celeste disappeared leaving Maggie staring at a reflection of herself in the black screen.
Shutting her computer, she glanced at the time on her smart watch. If she hurried, she could stop by the juice bar to grab a kale/celery/apple smoothie before her next shift at Urban Wear LA.
Chapter 2
Chase
“Who’sthegirl?”
“I don’t know… this is her third night here in a row.” Chase Smith discreetly replied to his boss, Grant Allen.
Chase dried a shot glass and placed it back on the shelf. As manager of The Break, a bar on Third Street Promenade in Santa Monica, Chase worked almost everyday—so he could easily distinguish the tourists from the regulars. Grant, on the other hand, only popped in every few weeks when he wasn’t crushing business deals and traveling the world on his private jet. He was recently named to the Los Angeles 30 Under 30 List for most eligible bachelors thanks to some very timely real estate investments. Last year he had begun dabbling in bar and restaurant ownership, which included opening The Break.
“Is she Amish? I don't think someone has sat with a notebook and pen for over an hour without pulling out a phone since the ‘80s,” Grant took a seat at the bar and proceeded to stare at his own phone screen.
“She’s probably just some hipster trying to live off the grid while writing a screenplay,” Chase guessed.
“Or a book. Seems like everyone is writing a book these days. I should write a book,” Grant mused while scrolling through social media.
Chase chuckled to himself. Grant wasn’t wrong. It did seem like everyone in LA was creating something, trying to be someone significant. He couldn’t judge though because that was his goal too. He was a twenty-three year old bartender trying to make it as a singer—basically the poster-child for an LA cliché.
As he analyzed her, he decided he respected the girl. Something about her intrigued him—and not just the fact that she wasn’t glued to her phone. Maybe it was her simple, completely normal, unflashy style. LA January temps had been in the 50s, so everyone was bundled up in UGG boots, scarves, and coats—but this girl simply wore jeans, a maroon crew neck sweatshirt with writing he hadn’t yet figured out, and basic tennis shoes.
She’s definitely a tourist,he decided as he examined her. While he squinted, trying to read the text on her sweatshirt, she suddenly looked over at him.Hell’s bells…I look so creepy right now.Chase froze momentarily in the midst of wiping down the counter and tried to give a casual nod and smile. He hoped she didn’t notice he had been staring.
She gave an embarrassed smile in return and put her head down. Then, she started writing.Is she writing about me? Of course not, that’d be ridiculous.He focused on cleaning the bar counter and chastised himself.How narcissistic can you get Chase? Just keep proving your family right…After a minute or so, he allowed himself to steal another glance in the girl’s direction. She was really going to town writing now. Curiosity overcame him and before he could stop himself, he was walking toward her tiny cafe table.
“Hey, can I get you anything?” he asked nonchalantly.
