Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 92334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
“Fair enough,” she concedes. “So, what’s the plan? How are we launching the Sloane Whitmore collection?”
I take a deep breath, suddenly feeling the weight of my decision. “First, I need to give notice at Moth to the Flame. Then I’ll need to find a small studio space, maybe sublet something in the Garment District. I’ve got some contacts from fashion week who might be interested in featuring a piece or two . . .”
As I outline my fledgling plans, I feel a mix of excitement and terror. This is really happening. I’m really doing this.
“You’ve got this,” Chloe says, squeezing my hand. “And I’ll be here every step of the way. Even if that means modeling your pieces in my pajamas at three a.m.”
I laugh, picturing Chloe draped in my edgy designs while wearing her favorite fuzzy cat pajamas. “I might take you up on that.” Changing the subject, I ask, “Do you and Jack have any big holiday plans this year?” I love that my friend is in a happy relationship, but a small part of me is envious. Jack is exactly the kind of supportive partner I’ve always dreamed of having.
“Staying put since he’ll have to work. But I’m actually looking forward to another Christmas at the fire station this year. What about you? Are you going to Montauk?”
I shake my head, feeling a familiar pang of loneliness. “Not this year. I really need to focus on my line.”
Chloe’s brow furrows again. “Sloane, you can’t work through Christmas. Your family will be devastated.”
I shrug, trying to seem nonchalant. “They’ll understand. This is important.”
“So is family,” Chloe counters gently. “Promise me you’ll at least take some time off on Christmas Day?”
“Of course,” I assure her, though the thought of explaining my decision to my parents over the phone fills me with dread. They’ve never quite understood my passion for jewelry design, always pushing me toward more “practical” career paths.
“One more for the road?” Chloe asks, signaling the waitress.
I hesitate, glancing at my watch. It’s getting late, and I should probably head home to start working on my resignation letter. But the warmth of the bar and Chloe’s company are comforting, a buffer against the uncertainty that awaits me.
“Sure,” I say, smiling. “One more.”
As the waitress brings our final round, I scan the bar one last time. No sign of Cole. I try to push away the disappointment, reminding myself that I have bigger things to focus on.
“To new beginnings,” Chloe says, raising her glass. “And to the soon-to-be-famous Sloane Whitmore, the Dark Rose of Manhattan.”
I laugh, clinking my glass against hers. “I think that nickname is growing on me.”
We finish our drinks, chatting about Chloe’s latest freelance gig and her plans with Jack for the holidays. As we gather our things to leave, I’m both relaxed from the booze and energized by the possibilities of what’s ahead.
Outside, the cold December air hits me like a slap, making me acutely aware of my still-damp sweater. I pull my coat tighter around me as Chloe hails a cab.
“Text me when you get home,” she says, hugging me tight. “And let me know if you need anything, okay? I mean it. Anything at all.”
I nod, grateful for her unwavering support. “I will. Thanks, Chlo. For everything.”
As her cab pulls away, I decide to walk for a bit, needing to clear my head before heading home. The streets of Manhattan are alive with holiday spirit—twinkling lights, the scent of roasted chestnuts, the faint sound of carols drifting from storefronts. The city is bustling with early holiday shoppers and tourists, and I weave my way through the crowds, my mind still preoccupied with thoughts of my resignation.
It all feels surreal, like I’m watching someone else’s life unfold.
But as I walk, something shifts inside me. Maybe it’s the festive atmosphere or the sight of families bundled up and laughing together. Or maybe it’s just a moment of clarity brought on by Chloe’s words at the bar.
Either way, I find myself questioning my decision to leave my job without a backup plan.
Am I insane . . . ?
Yes, my boss is difficult to work for and the company culture stifling, but it’s a steady paycheck and steady clients. My heart sinks as I realize that this may all be coming to an end. My dream of becoming a successful independent jeweler may not be as realistic as I had hoped.
I find myself stopping in front of a jewelry store window, drawn in by the glittering display. The pieces are beautiful but safe. Predictable. Nothing like the edgy, boundary-pushing designs I dream of creating.
“Is this really what you want?” I whisper to my reflection in the glass. The woman staring back at me looks uncertain, her ridiculous sweater a stark contrast to the polished luxury behind the glass.