Design for Life
PUBLISHED BY:
Cate Masters on Smashwords
Design for Life
Copyright © 2012 by Cate Masters
Smashwords Edition License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.
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For my Becca: Follow your dreams to find true happiness.
Previous reviews:
I love a story with an artsy angle. Real people who remind me of my friends fill this story.
Cate Masters’ novella brings in characters I felt like I knew all along
and a sense of being in the small town with them. When I sat down to read this story,
I found myself transported to Almendra and the Flower Basket.
If you want a story that will stick with you long after the last page, then you need to read Design For Life. – Long and Short Reviews, 4 books
Ok, So I'm a softy and I love a story that gets me a warm and mushy inside and this one totally did it. I LOVE Ms Master's ability to make me feel the ups and downs along with the characters. It makes for a really good read. – Sweetly Reviewed
Special thanks to The Wild Rose Press, which first published this ebook.
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Chapter One
Becca Lyndon hurried down the hallway, late for class and breathless, propelled by her tightening nerves. Tonight of all nights. The night of her Advertising Design presentation. Road construction made her late getting home. Mom had looked especially tired, and took longer than usual to eat dinner. Since she’d moved back to Greensburg, all she ever did was rush. From home to work. Work to home. Home to school. Always a step behind.
She blew out a breath and hustled faster toward the classroom. Every day my schedule gets tighter and tighter. Nothing like at the Art Institute. But she had to put her dreams on hold. Mom needed her. Night classes at the University of Pittsburgh at Greensburgh would fill the gap. For now.
The door creaked as Becca eased it open, and her stomach churned. At five foot ten, she had trouble remaining inconspicuous. Her height and auburn hair had always felt like a double whammy—the combination made her stand out in any crowd. She couldn’t risk angering Mrs. Leonard. A big percentage of her overall grade depended on the presentation. For the past month, she’d concentrated on it every spare moment, but those moments were few and far between. Tonight, she had to dazzle them.
Her classmate Andy White stood at the podium in front, his sketches on the easel, his presentation already in progress. Only a few heads turned as she slipped into her seat with a breath of relief.
Their teacher’s desk sat empty. Strange. Being eight months pregnant, Mrs. Leonard normally didn’t stray far.
On the blackboard at the front of the room, a name was scrawled in chalk—Mike Hunter. A nerve pulsed in her throat. It couldn’t be. As she scrunched in her seat, she leaned her chin against her palm and peeked through her fingers.
A few classmates partially blocked her view of the man. Perched on the windowsill, head down, he jotted notes on a pad. During her senior year of high school, another substitute teacher named Mike Hunter subbed for the art teacher who’d resigned abruptly. For five months, all her classmates talked about was Mike Hunter, in the lunch room, at the lockers, even during gym. Fresh from college, he’d accepted the position while job hunting. Every girl had a crush on the young substitute.
Every girl except Becca.
More than anyone else’s in her class, he’d focused on her sketches, and spent extra time critiquing her artwork. When she thought she’d mastered a concept, he pointed out the flaws. He seemed to have it in for her, always pushing her to do better after she’d slaved over her work. More than once, she’d grown so frustrated, she’d gone home in tears. Because of him, she almost decided against art school. For Becca, his intensity overwhelmed any charm he had. While other girls dreamed of being on the receiving end of his smile, she’d dreamed he would leave her alone.
Please don’t let it be that Mike Hunter. The extra pressure might prove too much.
With the stealth of a cat, she slid out her notepad and pen. She let her long hair fall forward and began taking notes as if she’d been there all along. Hopefully, this new teacher wouldn’t notice her tardiness. He couldn’t have memorized everyone already. To make herself less noticeable, she slumped further in her seat.
Andy droned on about his design, but she couldn’t decipher the main element out of all the jagged edges, none of which came together in a meaningful way. She glanced at her classmates, whose furrowed brows told her they were equally confused, then at the new teacher, who held a hand to his mouth as he studied Andy’s sketch with narrowed eyes.
Oh no. Her stomach clenched. The same intense eyes that used to assess her work so critically. The Mike Hunter who’d made her senior year a nightmare.
I’ll have to make the best of it. Leaving halfway through the semester would set her back even further. Maybe he’s mellowed with age.
He met her gaze and his face lit with a smile.
Whoa. Not the polite expression reserved for casual reintroduction of two people who hadn’t seen one another in three years. His smile conveyed such warmth it zapped through her like lightning, and wiped the slate of her thoughts clean.
Definitely not what I expected. Her cheeks warmed and she returned his smile. She forced her attention back to Andy, who was wrapping up his presentation.
Mr. Hunter stood. “Very good. Class, I’d like to hear your reactions.”
As she sat straight to respond, Becca wondered what he’d think of her reaction—to him. “It’s potentially powerful, but I think the main lines could be stronger to bring the anime image to life, to make a real impact on the viewer.”
Mr. Hunter strolled toward the desk. “Excellent point. I agree. Andy, if you strengthen the main element, as Becca suggested, the core design will really stand out. Anyone else?”
Her breath caught in her throat. He agreed with her. And said her name. Excitement tingled along her skin.
Maybe she’d stuck in his memory as vividly as he had in hers because of their awful shared experience. Hopefully, he wouldn’t recall that difficult time. Every creative person labored through a growth process to improve, and she proved no exception.
But no, the college must have provided a class roster. He must have checked off everyone else’s names earlier and knew she arrived late, that’s all.
While the discussion continued, Becca steered her thoughts to review each step of her presentation. She’d prepped as well as she could, even running through it last night with her mom as a rapt audience of one who clapped afterward. But Mr. Hunter would be a tough audience. She swallowed hard. He had the power to bring her grade way down. And after she’d worked so hard.
Though she kept her focus on her work, she grew more frazzled as she stole glances at her teacher. After three years, Mike Hunter remembered her. What did that mean? She bit her lip, her insides tightening and tingling.
Mr. Hunter called the next student to the front—Dan Martin. Dan the Man, everyone called him. A go-getter and born salesman. Running through his presentation with ease, Dan’s confidence shone through in his friendly tone and smooth gestures. Other than a
few compliments, no one had any real discussion. His project would surely garner him an A.
Becca’s heart pounded as he gathered his papers. I’m next. Of all the luck, to follow Dan’s great presentation. Her palms grew sweaty at the realization.
The teacher thanked Dan, and then set his gaze on her. “Becca, are you ready?”
His sparkling eyes and intense focus wavered what little confidence she’d built. “Ready as I’ll ever be.” With a steadying breath, she carried her sketch pad to the front and clipped them to the easel. A sheet fluttered to the floor, and someone chuckled. She stifled a groan and bent to retrieve it.
Relax. Think of Grace, Emmie, and Deb. Difficult, to imagine the friendly ladies from Basket of Blooms sitting in front of her instead of the bored expressions of her classmates. But if all went well tonight, she planned to repeat it tomorrow at work. More than a grade rode on this presentation.
As she immersed herself in explaining her sketches one by one, her nervousness dissolved.
The tactic worked for all except one. Mike Hunter. She couldn’t look him in the eye for fear he would distract her. All her teenage angst flowed back, high school all over again. At the end, she took a deep breath and waited for her classmates’ remarks.
The teacher stood and walked to his desk. “Very nice, Becca. Thoughts, anyone?”
Andy slouched and bit his pen. “It’s too flowery.”
Becca smiled. “I designed it for a flower shop. Their business is flowery.”
Giggles rippled through the room. At the beginning of the semester, she and Andy launched a friendly competition. He teased her that her sketches appeared too girly, and she complained he oriented his too narrowly for video games. While she could apply her sketches to a wide array of specialty areas, Andy had only one niche in mind—gaming. Though she’d said it in a lighthearted manner, she also warned such a specific focus might not be the best strategy. Andy, of course, had ignored her.
Mr. Hunter stepped next to Becca. “Any other constructive criticism?”
Something’s different about him. And not merely the fact he didn’t dissect her hard work in painful detail.
All her old feelings from three years ago rushed at her in a whirlwind. An undercurrent flowed through her, its buzz reverberating in a surprisingly pleasant way.
When their gazes connected, her thoughts spun away. The class responded with a few no’s, and several yawns, and she blinked hard to remind herself where she was. What she was. His student. She unclipped her sketches from the easel.
“We’ll wrap up for tonight. Thanks, Becca.” He laid a hand on her arm.
Caught in the warmth of his stare, her surroundings fell away. The flapping of paper didn’t register until Andy cleared his throat in an exaggerated manner. Ugh. Dropped my pages again.
“Thanks.” She strolled to her seat, ignoring Andy’s furrowed brows.
Mr. Hunter strode to the desk. “My notes from Mrs. Leonard say Amy and Tom are up next week with their presentations. See you then.” He lifted a leather messenger bag to the desktop and inserted his notebook. “Oh, Becca—if you have a moment.”
Oh, no. Here it comes. At least he’d waited until class ended. She stepped from the push of classmates headed out the door. “What’s up?” Paused in the doorway, she bit her lip, hoping her voice hadn’t revealed her nervousness.
After shouldering his messenger bag, he stopped first at her desk and in two steps, he stood by her side, hand extended.
She glanced down; her notebook lay atop his palm. “Thanks. I’d have kicked myself for leaving this.” A bad habit she hated to admit to.
“Your illustrations were excellent. You should adapt them to an actual business and make a pitch.” With his gaze locked on hers, he switched off the lights.
Her heart flip-flopped at the blaze of his dark eyes in the half-light. A glance down the hall revealed all the other students exiting the building, their conversations fading, the slam of the door echoing down the empty corridor. For a moment, the two of them stood there, the dim light accentuating his full focus on her.
The silence between them became a fantasy land of intertwining lips and limbs—so very different from high school. At about six two, he stood a comfortable height for kissing.
A more realistic vision appeared—of her ogling him. Good reality check. “Actually…” Her voice squeaked so she cleared her throat. To clear her head, she moved into the corridor, putting space between them. “The Basket of Blooms is a real business. My day job.”
The door clicked shut at his tug. “Great. You should make a proposal.”
She didn’t know what to say. What to think. Earlier, she’d braced for his old negative remarks about her work, but his enthusiasm threw her.
His gaze dropped to her mouth, and his lips parted.
Her chest swelled with expectation. Such sensuous, kissable lips.
“You already plan to. Smart girl. Same as always.” As they walked down the hallway, his hand brushed her back.
A tingle of heat made her all too aware of his touch. A casual, friendly gesture, but she might have been floating beside him.
“Wait…the Basket of Blooms. I knew that name sounded familiar. They’re handling the theater awards, right?”
“Yes, how did you know?” Her question provided an excuse to stare, to study the lines of his profile. In three years, he hadn’t changed—he still had the same handsome features, but softened somehow. His focused gaze no longer appeared cutting. He moved with greater ease, as if more relaxed in his own skin.
He held open the door and waited for her to walk through. “Mrs. Leonard headed the committee for prop design, and served as awards judge. I’m taking over for her at the dinner.”
In step, they walked down the steps to the parking lot.
“So you’ll be at the dinner this weekend?” Knowing he’d sit at a table with flowers she might have arranged gave her an unexpected sense of closeness. Connectedness. He’d come back into her life not only with regard to school, but now her personal life, too. The coincidence seemed too unlikely. Until she realized: he’d bring a date. Her heart thudded. Or was he married? She stole a glance at his left hand. No ring. Her smile came naturally.
“Yes, I’m looking forward to the awards, should be quite an event.” As his gait slowed to an easy stroll, his shoulder bumped hers.
The simple touch set her on edge, jolted her to attention. Silence followed, and her mind raced with so many questions. What had he been doing since she last saw him three years ago? What was he doing here? The obvious question no one had asked sprang to mind. “Is Mrs. Leonard all right?”
“From what I was told, she’s on bed rest until she delivers. Doctor’s orders.” His hand alighted on Becca’s shoulder. “I’m sure she’ll be fine.”
A rising moon enhanced the spare glow of the parking lot lights. She felt the weight of his stare as they walked. Prickles ran through her when she glanced up.
He flashed an easy grin. “I don’t know if you remember, but I was your teacher for a little while at Greensburg High.”
At least he couldn’t see the blush tingeing her cheeks. “Of course I remember. You were very…inspiring.” Oh, yes—he’d inspired fear. And anguish.
“Really?” His mouth opened in a smile. “I was young and inexperienced. I tried to make up for it by being tough on students. I hope I wasn’t too tough on you.” He ducked his head as he leaned close.
Was he kidding? He’d think her weak if she admitted how devastated she’d been. “No. Not at all.”
He had inspired her in one way. Somewhere in her box of old drawings, a few images of Mike Hunter still lurked. While sketching him, she imagined him as warm and encouraging rather than cold and critical. Like now. My dream fulfilled. The surprise of the realization slowed her pace.
“I might not have gone on to art school, if it weren’t for you.” She didn’t need to elaborate she’d wanted to prove him wrong, prove she could succeed.
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He knit his brows, still smiling. “But I thought you said you worked at the Basket of Blooms?”
“I’m taking a break from full-time school to help my mom. She’s been ill. That’s why I was late tonight.” For some reason, she hated for him to think she’d given up, not followed her bliss. As much as she loved working at the Basket of Blooms, nothing compared to the thrill of seeing the designs she visualized in her head take shape on paper. Someday, she hoped to bring them to life as real objects.
His smile faded and his voice softened. “I’m sorry to hear that. I’m glad you’re continuing with night classes, though.”
His sincerity encouraged her to be glad, too. This new Mike Hunter intrigued her in a way the high school teacher never had. She remembered him as handsome, but three years had improved his looks. Made him seem more a self-confident man than a boy struggling to find his way in the world.
He stopped near a parked car. “Well, this is me.”
So soon. A tug of regret surprised her. The spring air held a chill but the full moon cast a silver light, making even the parking lot look beautiful. A perfect night for a long walk. Despite her nervousness, she wanted to keep talking, to catch up.
“Good night, then.” Embarrassed that disappointment was unmistakable in her voice, she pressed her chin to her chest and strode ahead. She listened for the sound of his car door, the engine turning over, but it didn’t come. He must be watching.
“Is your car nearby?” he called.
Coming to an abrupt halt, she waved toward the end of the football field-sized lot. “It’s way down there. One of the many penalties of tardiness.”
“Hop in.” He tossed his bag in the back seat. “I’ll give you a lift.”
She hesitated, a thrill running through her. “That’s very nice, but I’ll walk.”
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