A Stroke Of Magic Read Online Free PDF Page A

control about this. If it proved to be true.
    Pushing the situation out of my mind, I made my way to my desk. A few hours of work on the Kendall account would certainly bring things into better perspective. After all, that was one thing I could control.
    As to the rest? I’d just have to wait and see.
    The telltale shuffle of my coworkers walking toward the elevator clued me in that it was time for lunch. I felt like the odd girl out. It wasn’t that the people at Enchanted Expressions weren’t nice. They were; they just didn’t think to include me in any of their out-of-the-office activities.
    Usually this sort of thing didn’t bother me. But today, for whatever reason, a hint of disappointment settled in when I was once again alone in the office I shared with two others. I shrugged it off. So it would be a working lunch. No big deal. Opening my sketchbook, I decided to flesh out some of my ideas for the Frosty’s Ice Cream Shoppe account.
    The ice cream counter went in first, with a line of stools in front. Behind the counter, I added a couple of employees and the large menu that hung on the wall. My hand moved quickly, the pencil making that swoosh sound I’d always loved, and I didn’t stop to think about the image emerging: I just wanted a rough sketch to begin with. The tables went in next. One by one, I filled the chairs with people spending time together, enjoying ice cream.
    Everything around me disappeared as I worked. Creative energy flowed from me to the pencil to the page, my hand in perfect harmony with my mental vision. While this feeling wasn’t completely unusual, it hadn’t occurred in far too long—since before the drastic change in my life, and never at Enchanted Expressions. On many occasions in the past, I’d begun a painting or a sketch and hours had disappeared without me being truly aware of it. When I looked at my work later, I’d remember every stroke I made with brush or the pencil, but the process itself was pure magic. Coming out of this trance was like waking up slowly from an afternoon siesta, without any outside intrusions.
    In other words, pure heaven.
    Not this time. A series of shivers erupted over my body, as if someone had dumped a bucket of freezing water down my back. Startled, I dropped my pencil and waited for the effects to subside, lifted my chin and glanced at the vent high on the wall. They must have fixed the AC, which was good, because summer was not that far off. Still, I made a mental note to grab my sweater from my car.
    Cracking my neck first to the left and then to the right, I appraised my nearly complete drawing. Definitely rough, it also had the air I’d been aiming for: celebration, fun, family, and friends. The center table showed a family of four sharing a huge sundae. Around them were other families, a group of kids in baseball uniforms celebrating their win, and a young couple sharing a malt while staring romantically into each other’s eyes. Very Norman Rockwell. I liked it.
    Thinking I’d grab some lunch before sketching in the finer details, I pushed my chair out from my desk. Ethan appeared, though. My office was large, but with three easels, three desks, three computers—each with two monitors, along with various other paraphernalia, plus the dividers separating the work spaces—there wasn’t that much elbow space left over. And Ethan was a tall guy, so as soon as he entered, even that minuscule space seemed to diminish.
    As did my ability to breathe. Forcing a smile in greeting, I reminded myself to stay calm. To act professionally, to not show how much his presence affected me.
    “Have plans for lunch, Alice?” he asked in his sultry Irish brogue.
    Friday was casual day, and he’d chosen to wear black jeans and a white short-sleeved shirt. His tan, muscular arms caught my attention, and I had to admit once again that, boss or not, Ethan Gallagher was one hunk of a man. “Um. No. Why?”
    “I’m heading out now. I thought you might want