Chapter 7 "That cheap picture frame should've been in the trash years ago! Kyle, wake up! Holly's probably in some guy's bed right now- A bucketful of dirty water was dumped over Ruby's head. Wayne Carlson from the administration department stood there, the empty bucket shaking in his grip. "Ms. Callahan, I've been waiting to do that since the second you ruined Holly's cactus." $1 The damp, salty breeze drifted in through the half-open window. I finished the last stroke and looked up to find Samuel leaning in the doorway. He carried two cups of coffee, his eyes crinkling into a smile behind his gold-rimmed glasses. "The wing motif on the final draft of 'Caged Bird' has three more cracks than the first." My hand faltered. The wings in the drawing were broken but still straining upward. It was exactly how I'd felt that night when I'd hunched over in the storage room, sketching. I accepted the coffee and took a sip, the bitterness unfurling across my tongue. "Cracks are the cost of breaking out of the cage, and that's where the light gets in," I said. Samuel leaned in, his fingertip skimming the edge of the drawing. His hand brushed mine. The warmth made me flinch on instinct. He chuckled and pushed a stack of photos toward me. "The client wants the 'Caged Bird' series at Fashion Week next month. I'm considering real feathers for the insets. Are you afraid of birds?" "I used to be," I said, running a finger over the photo of an egret with its wings outstretched, remembering how Kyle tossed the sparrow figurine on my windowsill into the trash. "But now... I'm more afraid of being stuck in a cage." Samuel's gaze hovered on my hand for a beat. Turning around, he pulled a ribbon-tied box from the drawer and slid it to me. "Go Open it." I lifted the lid. Inside lay a feather brooch. Fine silver threads hugged the quill, and tiny diamonds were set along it, catching the sunlight. My breath hitched. It was the design Kyle had torn up two years ago. Samuel had turned it into the real thing. Samuel spoke in a low, gentle voice. "I picked up that sketch the day they closed the exhibition. I'm giving it back to its rightful owner. I hope you like it." 1/2 The studio was dark except for a single desk lamp. I was chewing the end of my pen as I revised the sketch when I heard a faint rustle behind me. Samuel crossed the room with a blanket in his arms, the cool night air still clinging to him. "The temperature swings a lot from day to night. Ms. Stockwell, if you catch a cold and we fall behind on the submission, we can't afford the penalty." Only then did I notice I was only wearing a thin shirt. He placed the soft wool blanket over my shoulders. Then, he pulled up a chair and sat as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He lifted the sketch I'd revised a dozen times and studied it. "Are you using a gradient of blues here to suggest the sea?" "Yes, but I still haven't found the right fabric-" "I'll take you somewhere tomorrow," he interrupted. Behind his glasses, his eyes reflected the warm glow of the desk lamp. "Close your eyes." I did it almost without thinking. Every scent seemed sharper in the dark. Citrus and cedar threaded the air, and Samuel's voice was at my ear. "Hold out your hand." A cool swath of silk satin slid into my hand. I opened my eyes to a blue gradient fabric, catching little silver sparks under the lamp, like moonlit waves. He ran his fingers along the cloth's edge. "Hand-dyed and handwoven in Idrelia. There are only three bolts left in the world. Would you make it the opening look for next month's Fashion Week?" "What if I mess it up-" "Then we mess it up together." Samuel caught my trembling wrist, his palm warm through the fabric. "Believe in your own wings, Holly. They're strong enough to raise a storm."