THIRTY
As the leaves changed colors, the days grew shorter, and the nights turned chilly, Mellie worked on her Everyday Moments series. It was after midnight one weekend when she stretched out the kinks in her shoulders and back and smiled at the pieces in front of her.
The women in their houses might not ever be perfect, but they were as good as they could be at this moment in time. And right now, that was enough.
Wednesdays were open call at the gallery. She’d had a car pick her up at the apartment and carefully loaded three of her best pieces into the trunk, wiping her hands on her pants.
The woman behind the desk was dressed in black, with sleek hair pulled back and perfect makeup.
“I’m Melissa Evers. I have an appointment with Mr. Winston.”
The woman consulted the leather-bound book in front of her. “Please follow me.”
Mellie rolled the suitcase along, listening to the woman’s heels click-clack on the marble floors, the red soles flashing with every step. The woman opened a door to a conference room with glass walls.
“You can set up here. Mr. Winston will be in shortly.” She paused at the door. “There’s water on the table. Help yourself.”
“Thanks.” Mellie’s hand trembled as she poured a glass of sparkling water, not daring to drink straight out of the bottle.
Under the lights in the conference room, the pieces seemed to glow from within. She’d brought the garden scene, the one with the woman drinking a glass of wine in a bubble bath, and the one of the woman curled up in a chair, a cat on her lap, reading a book.
The door opened, and Mr. Winston smiled at her. He looked exactly like she’d picture the owner of a gallery, with his impeccable suit and tie and dark shoes. His hair was silver, and he had lively green eyes.
“Welcome, Miss Evers. Tell me about your work.”
Mellie spent the next twenty minutes telling him about Everyday Moments. When she finished, she wiped her hands on her pants and waited, heart beating so fast she prayed she wouldn’t have a heart attack and die before finding out what he thought of her work.
Mr. Winston peered inside each house from every angle. When he straightened up, he was smiling.
“Your work is delightful and whimsical, fresh and cozy—something I believe will resonate with our patrons in this difficult political and economic climate.”
She blinked, not sure she’d heard him correctly.
“Normally I’d take one piece and see how it did, but we have a Whimsy exhibit opening the end of October, and one of my artists had a death in the family. Of course, our condolences go out to him, but as he won’t be showing, I find I’m in a rather difficult position.”
Mellie hardly dared to breathe.
“I’d like to offer you his place. However, we’re setting up this weekend, so I’d require thirteen pieces by Friday afternoon. My last appointment, he created amazing tableaus in small acrylic boxes, but he didn’t have inventory. What do you say, Miss Evers?”
Her breath whooshed out. “Please call me Mellie. And I say yes. I have enough work ready. I’ll bring the pieces tomorrow. Shall I leave these three?”
“Please.” He held out a hand. “Welcome to Winston’s.”
Mellie had invited Amy and Claire over to watch movies and had confessed her secret, showing her friends the secret room. A couple of times she’d had to wipe tears away. They were so supportive, and Mellie offered them each a house, delighted when they picked the same pieces she would have for them.
Claire chose the white house with the woman hanging laundry outside, saying it reminded her of spending summers with her grandmother.
The house with the woman staring out the window, dressed in sweats with her toes painted lime green, was the one Amy picked.
“I knew you’d pick that one,” Mellie said. “You always have your toes painted the brightest colors.”
They thanked her, and for the first time Mellie left the door to her studio wide open. They’d decided on Gone with the Wind. Popcorn and other munchies on the table in front of them, Claire poured the wine. All three of them were in comfy clothes, and no one had mentioned Connor or Greg.
As the movie ended, Mellie sat up with a jolt, her popcorn flying in the air.
“I’m like Scarlett. I don’t want Ashley. I want Rhett. Is it too late?”
Claire held up her glass. “About time you figured out Connor was the one.”
“Go get him, Scarlett.” Amy touched her glass to theirs.
“Now, tell us everything.” Claire sat cross-legged. “We’ve been dying to know.”
“But we weren’t sure if you were ready to talk about them,” Amy added. “And we want to hear all about your art and the show. How could you keep something so amazing from us all this time?”
“Give me a tissue.” Mellie sniffed. “I’m so lucky to have you both.” She clinked glasses. “To the best friends a girl could ask for.”
“Friends forever.”
With a laugh, Mellie leaned forward. “So when Greg kissed me…”
All the houses were at the gallery, and Mellie couldn’t wait for the show to open. She practically skipped down the street to Honeysuckle Park to find Connor. She’d explain everything, tell him he was the one for her and she’d been stupid not to realize it. Then she’d beg him to kiss her, remembering what he said to her when she’d proposed the whole fake boyfriend thing back in the summer.
Mellie had tried to call him, but he’d had the phone disconnected and didn’t have the recording that told the new number. Given the phone was on her plan, it was nice of him so she didn’t have to pay for his phone when they’d broken up.
She looked all over the park, but Connor was nowhere to be found. Near the mermaid fountain, three guys were halfheartedly practicing with swords.
“Hey. I’m looking for Connor, have you seen him?”
One of the guys knelt down to tie his shoe. “He left. Went back to Scotland.”
“When did he leave?”
“Few days ago.”
The clouds blotted out the sun—no, it was just her happy mood swirling down the drain. She was too late. And now she’d lost him forever.