Just then, a handsome and ruggedly charming man with a strong jawline and piercing blue eyes walked into the park. He was none other than Cole Jackerman, a successful businessman who had recently moved to Parkside. As he strolled through the park, he couldn't help but notice Sarah, who was typing away on her laptop, her long brown hair tied back in a ponytail.
Jackerman had not drawn since he was a child, when drawings were edges of worlds rather than neat lines in meetings. Mara handed him a blue crayon without ceremony, as if they’d done this before. He accepted it and started, tentative at first: a lopsided pond, a swing that tipped too high, a tree with a ladder. Around his drawing other images sprouted — a bench that sometimes moved at dusk, a lamppost that hummed old songs when it rained, a squirrel wearing a tiny scarf. The children peered and added hats, boats, secret doors. Someone wrote “Secret Biscuit Stash” near a bush and everyone laughed.
"Exactly," Lauren smiled, leaning back. "Right now, the only job we have is making sure nobody eats the sand."