I did. God, Idid. Those years working festivals had been some of the best of my life—surrounded by creativity, designing posters and merchandise, watching ideas become reality.
Before Aaron convinced me it didn't pay enough.
“Rosie?” Lauren's voice gentled. “You still there?”
“Yeah, sorry.” I rubbed my forehead. “Just processing.”
“I get it. Big decision.” She paused. “But this is the kind of work you were born to do, Rosie. The festival would be lucky to have you.”
The words settled over me, warm and suffocating at the same time.
“When do they need an answer?”
“Interviews start in three weeks. I'd need your portfolio by next week to get it in front of the committee.” Lauren's voice brightened. “But seriously, no pressure. Just... think about it.”
“I will.” My voice sounded steadier than I felt. “Thanks for thinking of me.”
“Always. Send me those samples when you get a chance, okay? I want to see what you've been creating.”
“I will.”
“And Rosie? It's really good to hear your voice.”
“You, too.”
The call ended, and I stood there staring at my phone. The mountains hadn't moved. The sun still painted everything gold. A breeze rustled through the wildflowers in the pasture, carrying their sweet scent.
Nothing had changed.
Everything had changed.
I walked back to the truck in a daze, my phone heavy in my hand.
Art Director.The words bounced around my skull like ping-pong balls. My hands trembled as I shoved the phone back in my pocket, and I had to stop walking for a second to catch my breath. The mountains blurred at the edges, and I blinked hard, trying to focus. This was supposed to be my peaceful evening—checking on Emily, sharing farm goodies, feeling proud of how far I'd come. Now my chest felt tight.
Emily looked up as I approached the truck, her expression shifting from casual interest to concern. “What happened?”
“That was Lauren. My old boss from Seattle.” I climbed back into the truck bed, my legs feeling unsteady. “Before the corporate job. When I was doing festival design.”
“Okay…”
“She's leaving. Taking a new job.” The words felt strange in my mouth. “Her position's opening up. Art Director for the music festival.”
Emily went still. “And?”
“She wants me to apply.” I looked up, meeting Emily's eyes. “She's already talked to the hiring committee. Said they'd be crazy not to interview me.”
“Wow.” Emily leaned back. “That's... that's huge.”
“Yeah.”
The word came out flat, like I'd squeezed all the air from my lungs. I stared at my hands, trying to make sense of the chaos in my head. Three months ago, this call would have been a miracle. The answer to everything I thought I wanted.
Lauren offering me theperfectjob. Everything I'd given up, wrapped in a neat little package with benefits and prestige and the validation I'd been craving since I was twenty-two.
So why did I feel like throwing up?
Emily was watching me, her expression careful. My chest felt too tight. The basket of farm goodies sat between us—evidence of the life I'd built here. The labels I'd designed, the cheese I'd learned to make, the flowers I'd tended since Walt had left.
