Holiday by Design. Patricia Kay

      “Who wants a slice of cake?” her mother asked with an eager smile.

      “Make mine a wedge,” said Tony, Joanna’s oldest brother.

      “Tony,” his wife, Sharon, warned, looking meaningfully at his waistline.

      “I know, I know.” He grinned. “German chocolate’s my favorite, Share.”

      “Everything’s your favorite,” she grumbled.

      “I’ll be good tomorrow. I promise.”

      They all laughed. Tony’s promises concerning food were rarely serious. Or adhered to.

      After cake and their favorite MORA ice cream had been consumed, Joanna figured she’d stayed the obligatory amount of time and could now leave without hurting her mother’s feelings.

      “Oh, honey, I thought you were going to spend the night,” her mother protested, dark eyes filled with disappointment.

      Joanna’s parents lived in the same small house in Georgetown that they’d lived in since the day they bought it. Located south of Seattle, their area was the oldest residential neighborhood in the city and had been a great place to grow up in. “Can’t, Mom. I need to get an early start tomorrow.”

      “But, honey...tomorrow’s Thursday. You’re off on Thursdays.”

      Joanna had an arrangement with her former lover/boss. She only worked four days a week. She would have preferred having her three days off in a row, but beggars couldn’t be choosers, and her job not only paid well but gave her full benefits. “Yes, but...”

      “Ann Marie, give the girl a break,” Joanna’s father said.

      “But, Tony, she is off, and I thought we could—”

      “I meant I have to work on my collection,” Joanna said, interrupting her mother. She desperately needed to have at least twelve designs ready to show, and possibly more—if she could find a place to show them, of course—and right now she only had nine completed and had only just begun to work on the tenth. Of course, if she didn’t manage to raise more money—that five-hundred-dollar birthday gift would barely pay a third of what she already owed on her Visa card—she was gonna be dead in the water.

      Pushing her dismal thoughts out of her mind, Joanna managed to keep a smile on her face as she said her goodbyes and gathered up her gifts. The drive to her small apartment in Tremont, a convenient area she loved for its eclectic atmosphere, only took about twenty minutes.

      Still, it was midnight before she fell into bed—actually, her sofa—and when the alarm went off at six, she groaned, sorely tempted to shut it off and go back to sleep for another hour or two. Tabitha, her ten-year-old gray cat, obviously felt the same way, for she burrowed under Joanna’s abandoned pillow and shut her eyes again.

      Still half-asleep, Joanna stumbled her way into her minuscule kitchenette and turned on the coffeemaker. After filling Tabitha’s food bowl and putting out fresh water for her, Joanna headed for the shower. An hour later, dressed in jeans and a warm sweater—as usual, mid-September in the Pacific Northwest was a true harbinger of winter—thick socks and her favorite clogs, she headed to her converted living room and her worktable where she had a gorgeous piece of sea-green velvet.

      Joanna sipped at her coffee and smiled. Despite the early rising time, it was great to have a whole day to work on her designs. So what if she was thirty years old and hadn’t yet met her goals? Thirty wasn’t the end of the world. Depending on how you thought of it, thirty was actually a beginning. So what if she was going to run out of money soon? She’d manage. She always did. And she’d never had to ask her parents for money, although Lord knows, she’d thought about it. But they didn’t have a lot, and they were getting older. Each time she’d been tempted to approach them, she’d stopped herself. They’d done enough for her in helping her pay her college and art school costs.

      Soon she was so engrossed in the creation of her new design, the hours flew by. It was only when her stomach rumbled in hunger that she finally stopped working. Glancing at the clock, she was shocked to realize it was almost three. Her fridge yielded tuna salad that still smelled okay, so she fixed a sandwich and cut up an apple to go with it, then headed back to the dress form, where the velvet wasn’t draping quite the way she’d hoped.

      Maybe the velvet had been a mistake. For this collection, she’d chosen to work with lighter, more forgiving fabrics—chiffons, silks, laces and the like. But the velvet had virtually cried out to be made into a one-shoulder, floor-length evening dress. The moment she’d seen it, she’d pictured it worn by Prince William’s beautiful wife. In fact, Joanna had a large photo of the duchess tacked onto her enormous bulletin board—a constant reminder of the effect she hoped to achieve and the kind of woman she hoped to attract as a client.

      She was halfway through her late lunch when her cell rang. The ring tone announced the call was from Georgie Prince, her BFF.

      “Hey, girl,” Georgie said.

      “Hey.” Knowing a call from Georgie always stretched to at least half an hour, Joanna sank onto a kitchen chair and put her feet up on its neighbor.

      “What’re you up to today?” Georgie asked.

      “Working on that new design.”

      “The one you emailed me?”

      “Yep.”

      “Oh, Joanna, it’s gorgeous. You know, I wish you’d make that dress for me. It’d be perfect for the holidays. Zach and I have several parties, and I’d love to have that dress for at least one of them.”

      Joanna sat up. “Really? You’re serious?”

      “Never more. I absolutely love it.”

      “I’d love to make it for you. How soon would you need it?”

      “Middle of November. Is that doable?”

      “I’ll make it doable.”

      “So, how’d the party go last night?”

      Joanna sighed. “It was nice.”

      “You don’t sound sure.”

      “No, it really was. The boys gave me an iPad. And my mom knitted me the most beautiful cashmere shawl.” Joanna’s mother had recently bought out her longtime employer, and now was the proud owner of a small yarn shop.

      “Red?”

      Joanna laughed. “Yes, red.”

      “Your mother never stops trying, does she?”

      Georgie was referring to the fact that Joanna preferred to wear black. Even today her jeans were black, as was her sweater.

      “She keeps thinking she’ll change me,” Joanna said.

      “Just like my mom,” Georgie said.

      Joanna refrained from saying what she was thinking, that Georgie had changed, that Cornelia Fairchild Hunt, Georgie’s mother, had been right all along, whereas she, Joanna, was never going to be other than who she was, no matter who might prefer her to be different.

      “So, are you feeling any better about the big three-oh now?” Georgie asked.

      “Yeah, I’ve decided I’m fine with being thirty.” Yet even as she said it, Joanna knew her earlier pep talk to herself had begun to wear off. “I just wish I had more to look forward to,” she added in a burst of honesty. This was not something she would have admitted to anyone other than Georgie.

      “Oh, stop that. You have your whole life to look forward to.”

      “Said by a woman who’s already got a fantastic career, not to mention a real, live Prince Charming.” Joanna hated the tinge of envy in her voice, because she was genuinely happy for her best friend. Zach Prince was perfect for Georgie, and Joanna had loved him the moment she’d met him.

      “You’re