“Absolutely, I left Smithson-Napa because I was done with their predatory business practices, always shortchanging creators.” The way her brow furrowed confirmed my suspicion that there was a lot of bad blood there. “This will be a partnership.” She extended her hand to me and I shook it. We smiled gleefully at each other. “Okay, now that that’s settled, can I see the new stuff?” Yazmin begged, making me laugh and in the next instant we were talking business.

“I think we have an absolute winner in our hands,” Yazmin told me a while later, as she tapped at the design for a dark blue coverlet with my drawings of pipes and houndstooth deerstalker hats. “I love how elegant it is, and yet it’s completely recognizable.” A painful pang shot through my heart thinking of the night I’d shown it to Theo.

“That’s the idea,” I said a little too brightly. It hurt that I couldn’t call him after this meeting to tell him about it. “The whole concept is to offer an elevated approach to fandom.” I watched Yazmin as she took in what I’d said. Hoping she could see my vision. This was not a concept everyone would connect to. Not everyone respected the passion and energy in the fandoms. I knew it could be a tough sell. But she didn’t shut me down so I kept going. “What I mean is that those of us who love a certain universe or fictional world want to be ensconced in it. We seek out art, fanfic, clothes, jewelry, anything that prolongs a connection to that story or characters that mean so much to us.” Yazmin nodded, her eyes lit up like she was still with me. “The thing is, that as we get older our tastes change, even if our love for our fandoms stays strong as ever. My idea is to offer options for the fans who have outgrown what’s out there.”

“Agreed.” Yazmin lifted her palm in the air and fucking high-fived me. “Girl, you’re looking at a Buffy stan for life, I still have those posters in my office,” she admitted, making me grin.

“‘I might be dead, but I’m still pretty.’” The until-a-minute-ago very formal Yazmin screamed when I recited the iconic line from the first season of Buffy. “Oh, Alba, you and I are going to make some magic.”

“I think we are,” I concurred, with a grin that stretched my face. I was still digesting her words when she pointed at the photograph of the finished Evelyn Hugo bedroom suite.

“This is inspired.” She traced her finger over the Jeannaret chairs I’d reupholstered in a deep green velvet. The image of Theo carrying them to his truck popped in my head and at this point I just had to let it happen, because apparently nothing that had happened in Dallas could come to mind without a side of Theo.