The Mirror (The Lost Bride Trilogy #2)

She could see it, she could envision the entire campaign and the appeal to regular people with the images she’d designed.

People—not actors, not professional athletes—using Ryder equipment and gear to play ball, to bike, do yoga, shoot hoops, and all the rest.

Color and movement, children, young people, older people. Corrine’s photographs nailed exactly what she’d wanted. And her layout worked, her text worked. A little more polishing, she thought, but it was a damn good proposal.

When her alarm went off, she winced. But she stuck with the plan. Another hour here, another hour there, and she’d take it up, put it on the big screen upstairs.

Make any necessary adjustments, improvements.

But for now, she closed down the Ryder files.

To her delight, she found an email inquiry from the law firm Deuce had spoken of. Before answering, she checked out their website.

“Oh yeah, I can do better.”

She glanced up as she heard Cleo coming down the hall.

“Morning. Sleep okay after the performance?”

“Like a rock. Now must have coffee.” She turned toward the steps, then back again. “Forgot. Going into Poole’s Bay later. Groceries and some other errands. Anything you want?”

“Getting low on butter and Cokes. I guess beer, too, if we have beer-type company. But tonight, Trey’s taking both of us to dinner.”

“You know he doesn’t have to drag me along.”

“He wants to. I imagine he’ll drag Owen, too, if he can. Lobster Cage. He’ll pick us up about six-thirty.”

“Okay, I’m for it. If we have enough of the rest to last until tomorrow, I’ll put off the errands today. Now coffee.”

Routine, Sonya thought again. She liked it.

She crafted a response to the inquiry, suggested a phone or video consultation at the potential client’s convenience. In case Deuce hadn’t provided it, she added a link to her own website.

Which, if she said so herself—and she did—crushed it.

As she sent the first email, one came through from the owner of Gigi’s.

When she read that the client loved the new logo, Sonya pumped a fist in the air.

She nodded through the email. Some questions, some concerns, some wondering if. All valid.

She answered them all, offered some suggestions on the wondering, tried to alleviate the concerns, but offered options if those concerns remained.

Since one of the wonderings involved the possibility of a new sign with the new logo, Sonya got to work on it.

So deeply involved, she barely noticed when Yoda scooted out from under her desk. Then he leaned, wagging, against her leg.

“What? Oh, time to go out? Just one more minute. How did it get to be past noon?”

Because routine, she decided as she found the point to break. A good, solid routine.

Downstairs, she let the dog out, slapped together half a PB and J, added some chips, grabbed a Coke.

She gave Yoda a midday treat, but when he didn’t follow her back upstairs, she assumed his pal Jack lingered nearby.

Before she made it back to her desk, she heard the ball. And this time, to her absolute pleasure, the sound of a young boy’s laughter.

She worked until nearly four, then made herself close it out for the day.