Free Gillian's Do-Over by Kate Vale

intently at the man and elements of her ‘perfect man list’ came to mind. “How would you have handled things? The firing, I mean? In the same situation, would you have stood up to him?”
    Mo’s pale blue eyes seemed to study her. The corners of his mouth quirked upward slightly and he gave a little chuckle. “I probably would have handed in my resignation before he had the chance to fire me. But it doesn’t sound like you had any warning. Too bad your boss made things so unpleasant.” He took a quick sip of his coffee. “If he bothers you again, you might want to call the cops—or an attorney. His behavior in the park was pretty close to harassment. No reason to put up with that.”
    “I don’t imagine you ’ve ever been treated that way.”
    M o beamed, warming her to her toes. “I’ve had some difficulties, too. These days doctors aren’t immune to similar actions. But enough about me. Let’s enjoy our coffee.”
    Gillian watched Mo as he drank his coffee, asked the waitress for two biscotti and reached for a napkin to wipe his mouth. For some reason, she felt comfortable in his presence even though she knew next to nothing about him. But he was a professional, one of the musts she’d laughed about with Lauren. He wasn’t at all what one might call handsome, with a slightly crooked nose, and those extra pounds he carried, mostly around his waist. With his floppy hat on the seat beside him, Gillian saw that his hair was sparse on top, mostly gray and white wisps, haphazardly combed off his face, like the man was relaxed about his appearance, at least on his day off. But his mustache was neatly trimmed.
    His words brought her back to the present. “So … tell me, Gillian. Are you a professional? That picture of the trees that I picked up off the grass was quite nice. Great blending of the colors and everything.”
    “You know about drawing?” she asked.
    “My elder daughter is an art historian—works in New York City now.” He sighed. “I miss her. When she was going to the university, she made me sit for portraits—practice things, she said. She taught me a lot about how to take a plain piece of paper and make it come alive with lines and shadings and the use of color.”
    Gillian sipped her latte. “Your daughter’s a professional in the field. I’m just an amateur. I used to sketch when my son was small and I was home full time. After I started working, I set it aside. Too many other things to do.” She reached for a napkin to wipe the foam that slid off her lower lip and onto her chin. “But when I was cleaning the house the other day—after Nick fired me—I found some of my supplies and decided to try my hand again. Drawing relaxes me. Heaven knows I can use some of that these days.”
    Mo emptied his cup and asked if Gillian wanted a refill.
    “No thanks.”
    Mo stacked the napkins in a neat pile then pointed to her hands. “You’re not trembling now. See? My coffee cure worked. Want to go for a walk—to relax another way? Or would you prefer to get back to your artwork?”
    “A walk sounds nice. But I should probably take my stuff back to the house first.”
    “ Let me help you,” he replied. “So you don’t have to carry everything yourself.” He gestured to the folder, now holding her sketches and the extra papers, and the folded table to which it was attached. “Have you sketched other subjects besides those trees?”
    She showed him two different pen-and-ink sketches of the playground. “I started these the other day and was going to do some charcoals, too, before Nick interrupted.”
    M o stared at her work. “This is very good. Professional quality. Do you sell your drawings? I’m sure shops around here would be happy to carry them.”
    Gillian shook her head. “It’s just a hobby. My neighbor keeps telling me I should sell them, maybe do prints, make note cards, that sort of thing, but I can’t imagine anyone would want them.”
    “I’d buy this one.” He