It reminded Michaela of the Rolling Stones song “You Can’t Always Get What You Want.” She knew her mother was saying that she might not get what she thought she wanted, but she could possibly get what she needed.
But did she need a man like Troy Harrington?
Flo reached over to squeeze her hand. “I don’t want to meddle in your love life. And I know you feel a bit messed up, but at the same time, I’ve never seen you glow like this.” When Michaela opened her mouth to tell her there was absolutely no glowing going on, Flo rode right over her. “You glow after you’re with him. He makes you feel alive, doesn’t he?”
She wanted to deny it again, but Michaela could never lie to her mother. Without saying a word, she nodded. God, he made her feel all glowy inside.
Flo still held her hand. “Regardless of how this turns out, sweetheart, everything’s going to be okay.”
Those were the comforting words Flo always used when Michaela was upset. They were like comfort food that Flo delivered whenever yet another man disappointed Michaela.
Flo stood and announced, “I feel like baking.”
Michaela knew she would make one of her favorite treats. Jumping to her feet, she threw her arms around Flo, hugging her tightly. “I love you, Mom.”
Holding her just as tightly, Flo whispered, “I love you too. All I want is to see you happy.”
Her mother was right. Everything was always okay in the end.
Maybe it would be this time too.
Troy’s Wednesday night talk with the foster kids who were aging out of the system was held at Gideon Jones’s San Francisco youth center. The facility wasn’t just for the young, but served veterans as well, with a pool, meeting rooms, and a well-equipped workout room, all catering to both the young and the older. The massive game room boasted an enormous big-screen TV for Friday night movies, along with pinball machines, pool tables, ping-pong tables, and card tables where veterans played hearts or poker or pinochle. A movie-theater-style popcorn machine scented the air with butter and salt. Next to the game room, Gideon had built a bowling alley.
After Troy spoke, the plan was for everyone to head there for bowling.
The center was nothing short of impressive.
Gideon had brought Rosie and their son Jorge, along with baby Isabella, who, Rosie told Michaela, would be a year old next month. She hadn’t started walking yet, but the little girl liked to stand holding on to a chair seat or her father’s knee. Those first steps would be coming soon.
“Thank you so much for telling Gloria Madden about my work,” Rosie said, her eyes glimmering with gratitude.
“I love to share great art with my friends and clients.”
Rosie blushed. “Thank you for saying that. Gloria even wants to introduce me to other art patrons she thinks will enjoy it.”
Michaela squeezed her hand. “That’s wonderful.” And it was exactly what she’d hoped would happen. “She’s very influential.”
“I know.”
Michaela couldn’t be sure, but she thought tears glimmered in Rosie’s eyes.
“After my show back in January,” Rosie went on, “and having Dane commission my work for his resorts, and now this, things are really moving for me. So, thank you.”
Michaela didn’t stop to think—she hugged Rosie. This was why she loved being a matchmaker.
Then it was time. Seventeen foster kids sat on sofas and chairs, eating popcorn and drinking sodas, ready for Troy.
This was no formal lecture with rows of folding chairs, and Troy didn’t use a microphone. He sat on a stool before his audience, one foot hooked on a rung, the other planted firmly on the floor.
Michaela wore leggings and a long-sleeved shirt against the cool San Francisco night, which was foggy even in June. She sat next to Rosie on one of the couches.
It had been four days since their Saturday hike, and Troy hadn’t pushed her with a bunch of texts or phone calls, just a note saying how grateful he was for her analysis of the boots.
That was all. A note.
His smooth, deep voice filled the room; even the old-timers seemed to listen. “Swimming and diving were always my passions. And I was lucky enough to have a family who supported me. Who believed in me. They helped push me to fulfill the dream I had of competing as an Olympic diver.”
One of the kids, a burly boy with a scar along his jaw, said, “Right, you’re one of the lucky ones with a family who could support you.”
