Basic Neighbors

Chapter 10

Stepping through the glass doors of Trevor's advertising agency, my breath hitched slightly. It was a pocket-sized powerhouse nestled in the heart of New York's concrete jungle—a place where dreams were either made or shredded. I let my gaze dance over the bustling open office, noting silently how each individual seemed like a vital thread in the tapestry of creativity and drive. The walls buzzed with the energy of success, of campaigns that could change everything.

"Pretty cool, huh?" Trevor's voice snapped me back to the present, his grin as infectious as ever.

"More than cool," I replied, trying to hide the awe lacing my tone. "It's like you've bottled lightning in here."

I wandered, lost in thought, past desks cluttered with colorful storyboards and scribbled notes. My fingers brushed against the smooth surface of a table scattered with glossy printouts, the tactile confirmation that this world was real, not just a figment of imagination for someone like me who came from a corporate graveyard.

"Hey, we should talk about putting together a campaign for my apple butter," I ventured, half-joking, half-hopeful. The words felt strange—too grand for my little operation—but the flutter of excitement in my stomach begged to disagree.

"About that..." Trevor's eyes gleamed, a secret perched on the tip of his tongue. He gestured towards his office with a flourish that made my pulse race. "I have something to show you."

The door swooshed open to reveal his corner sanctuary. Unlike the chaotic symphony outside, this space was an oasis of curated chaos. A sleek desk, a mood board splashed with vibrant hues, and shelves adorned with clever knick-knacks spoke of a mind both methodical and wildly imaginative.

"Wow, you really have an eye for this," I murmured, soaking in the details—the personal touches that screamed 'Trevor.' From the vintage camera perched like a sentinel atop a stack of photography books to the miniature succulents standing guard on the windowsill, every item whispered stories of late nights and brilliant brainwaves.

He watched me take it all in, a knowing smile playing on his lips. It was clear he had poured his soul into this place, and it hummed with the same passion I felt when I stirred apple butter in my tiny kitchen. But here, amidst the tangible evidence of his talent and ambition, I couldn't help but wonder if my own dreams were too small, too quaint, to belong.

Trevor leaned back in his chair, a teasing lilt in his voice as he reached for a slim folder on his cluttered desk. "Just for fun," he said, sliding the contents across the polished wood surface towards me.

My fingers trembled slightly as I unfolded the mock-up of an ad campaign, the slick pages cool and crisp beneath my touch. A bold logo crowned the top of the page—my logo, transformed and intertwined with vibrant imagery that brought my humble apple butter to life in ways I hadn't dared to imagine. The tagline whispered promises of homegrown tradition and innovative flavors, a testament to long hours and love poured into every jar.

"Jade's Apple Ambrosia: Savor the Orchard in Every Spoonful."

A laugh bubbled up, but it was swiftly overtaken by a welling tide of emotion. I blinked rapidly, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill over. Trevor had taken my passion, my heart's work, and painted it onto these pages with strokes of genius that left me breathless.

For so long, I'd seen my little business through the lens of makeshift stands and pocket change transactions, a quaint pursuit that clung stubbornly to the fringes of hobby status. But here, in Trevor's hands, it was reimagined, emboldened. It wasn't just apple butter; it was a brand. My brand. And it pulsed with potential, hungry for a place among the city's endless appetites.