Page 90 of Misadventures with a Time Traveler

Dmitri wasn’t kidding.

Yet now, a week and a day later, I’m still struggling to believe it.

Struggling to wrap my brain around the fact that this moment is truly happening—and damn near like I always dreamed it would.

With getting into the city in a town car sent by the studio instead of having to take the subway.

With my name embossed on the name plate of a private dressing room door at Hemline’s midtown studio.

With Drue and Raegan arriving at said dressing room, bearing celebration champagne and flowers. There are flailing arms and screams from Rae. A way-to-go-wench hug from D.

Dmitri arrives next, his hair sprayed as high as his ego, ordering around his new boy-toy assistant like the diva manager he’s always dreamed of being.

And yes, there’s even a phone call from Mom, who’s “so proud” of the “little girl” who’s now made her look smokin’ hot to the guy she’s been crushing on at the gym. I shock myself by simply laughing at her antics this time. Yeah, she’ll probably get her heart shattered again. Yeah, she’ll probably be a mess about it for a while. But hell to the no will she stop trying to chase the damn prince just because Dad couldn’t stick it out and be that for her.

And just like that, as I meet my own excited gaze in the bright-lighted mirror, I’m pierced by a crazy bolt of comprehension.

Because right now…Launette Fine is kind of my hero.

Better yet, it’s awesome to be hers too.

“Go out there and wow ’em, honey.” Her voice drips with tearful maternal pride. I yearn to talk to her longer, but the styling team enters, laying out their brushes and creams and sprays, to transform me into Hemline’s newest It Girl. “I’ll be watching every second of the broadcast from Bubby’s Diner. Wolfe and I are going out for breakfast. The man likes taking me to breakfast, Allie. As in, sitting down and ordering stuff and then talking. Talking. Can you imagine?”

“I totally can.” I give in to a soft smile.

“I have you to thank for all of this, honey,” she gushes.

“Errrm.” Suddenly, I frown. Though I’m afraid to ask, I go ahead and do. “And how’s that?”

“If you hadn’t encouraged me to get over Ralph by signing up at the new boxing gym, I wouldn’t have met Wolfe.”

At once, I’m back to a grin. “Aha. Cupid’s arrow in the shape of boxing gloves.”

“And a pair of biceps to stop traffic.” She bursts with a girlish giggle. “And some other…notable body parts.”

“Okay, Mother…ew.”

She mellows the snicker. “Sorry, baby. I’m just so happy.”

“And I’m just so glad.” And it feels good to really mean it. To hear her hope. To recognize her resilience.

To understand the truth of my epiphany.

Sometimes—a lot of times—courage isn’t about identifying fear.

It’s about knowing the bastard—and then doing crazy stuff anyway.

“Hey, Mom?”

“Yeah, honey?”

“I’m proud of you too.” Before she can go all teary-mushy-sappy, I rush on. “Have fun. I love you.”

“I love you too, my epic Allie.”

As I end the call, Drue sidles up next to the director’s chair in which I’m perched. For a second, all she does is check out the asymmetrical black-and-red suit that took me ten hours of shopping to finally pick out for this occasion. Through every moment, there’s a proud smirk across her lips.

“Boom,” she finally murmurs. “The outfit slays, baby.”