Chapter 4 #2
Everyone chuckles, and no one questions that. The moment passes like it’s nothing at all. Relief loosens the tension between my ribs.
Ginny looks over at Ryker and clears her throat. “We bought two originals.”
My brows lift. “You did?”
She nods, pulling Ryker closer. “The watercolor of Paradise Hill.”
Ryker grins. “And of Black Bear.”
“Both?” I ask.
“They’re perfect,” Ginny says with a nod. “You captured the light, the quiet under the noise.”
Ryker squeezes her hand. “Plus, I like owning art that starts arguments.”
That makes me laugh. Ryker is a Paradise, and my sister married him anyway. Our families are the original settlers in the valley, and I don’t think they’ve ever gotten along.
Ginny just shrugs. “We’re investing in beauty.”
“Sure you are,” Sera says dryly.
I look at the two paintings hanging across from each other, separate but balanced. I didn’t plan it that way, but it feels right.
“Thank you,” I say again.
We disperse for a bit, and I move through the lingering crowd.
For a few minutes, I let myself stand in the middle of it—this noise, this love, this night that feels just about perfect.
I lift my glass again, apple juice fizzing quietly.
I don’t feel like I’m hiding. I feel like I’m holding my ground.
By the time the music softens and the last glasses are drained, the walls are all marked up with red dots.
As the caterers clean up, I wander through and look. Every original is gone, red dots attached to the labels as proof. Monica is at the front counter, heels kicked off, hair loosened from its perfect twist. She looks tired in the satisfied way that comes from a night that went exactly right.
“You sold out,” she says. “Every single original, and you have a list of print requests.”
I laugh, breathless. “I don’t think that’s ever happened to me.” Excitement hits first, and then the quiet awareness that this kind of momentum makes me visible in ways I can’t control.
“It won’t be the last time.” She turns the computer screen toward me. “You picked up a commission. Fire Engine Vineyard wants a giant watercolor like you did for Black Bear and Paradise Hill. And I think they want to discuss a license to print what you create for gift cards and other merchandise.”
I freeze. “You’re serious?”
She nods. “Mid-sized. Established. They want a full piece for their tasting room. They asked for you by name.”
“Yes,” I say immediately. “Absolutely yes.”
“And I’ve got nearly three dozen print orders I need to get to in the next few weeks,” she continues. “I’ll reach out to Zippy Print tomorrow with the list.”
Three dozen. That alone will pay six months of rent. I lean against the counter, steadying myself. “Okay.”
“Seems I can’t keep your work in stock,” Monica continues. “Which means it’s time we plan ahead. I know I want a show next summer. But we can do one in the spring if you can be ready.”
I nod thoughtfully. Spring may be too hard, but I won’t tell her that yet.
“And I’d love a showcase piece,” she adds.
“A showcase piece?”
“One large work. Something unmistakably yours. We’ll frame it, put it in the window.
I’ll ask an obnoxious amount of money for it, which I will get—maybe not right away, but depending on when you get it done, it will sell.
And I’ll have Zippy Print do several prints of it, and you can come in and sign them.
” She wraps her arm around my shoulders, and we both grin. “You did really good tonight.”
I laugh, and then hesitate. The idea of pouring myself into something that big makes my shoulders ache just thinking about it. “I don’t know if I have the energy for a statement piece.”
She pats my arm. “You don’t have to decide tonight.”
Seven months and I’ll have a baby in my arms, I remind myself. “I’ll do it,” I tell her. “I just need to pace myself.”
She squeezes my arm and disappears into the back to settle up with the caterers.
I stand in the gallery, lights dimmed, walls full of my work. My life is going to change. It already has.
But tonight proved something I needed.
I can work. I can build something. I can take care of myself—and my little girl.
A little while later, Emma drives me home, and exhaustion nearly consumes me the second I hit the passenger seat. All the adrenaline drained somewhere between the gallery door and the first red light.
“You were incredible,” she says.
“I’m dead,” I mumble, forehead against the window.
“Productively.”
She waits until I’m inside before she leaves. And after I wave to her, I crawl into bed without changing, my muscles giving up all at once.
My phone rings sometime after that, and it takes me a moment to remember what to do about it.
I groan and fumble until I can answer. “You know it’s illegal to call people at this hour.”
“I’m sorry,” my brother, Ric, says. “Did I wake you?”
“Yes. But it’s fine.”
“It’s ten o’clock. Are you up for breakfast this morning?”
I smile, sitting up slowly. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
“Dot’s?”
“Of course.”
I agree to meet him in half an hour. Then I hang up, swing my legs over the side of the bed—and barely make it to the bathroom before my body revolts.
I grip the sink until it passes, and then straighten and catch my reflection. Morning sickness is a lie. It’s all day, and whoever named it deserves consequences.
I rinse my mouth and then manage to get dressed and walk down to Dot’s Diner.
The smell hits me the second I walk in. Coffee.
Burned and heavy. My stomach flips hard enough that I stop just inside the door and brace myself against the wall, breathing carefully until it passes.
Ric is already here in our usual booth, and he’s watching me now, like he might be expecting me to bolt.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Fine,” I say automatically, and then wince when my body disagrees.
He doesn’t comment. Just flags down the server. “Water,” he says. “And ginger tea, if you have it.”
I love him for noticing without making it a thing.
Once the mugs are on the table, I wrap my hands around my drink and try to feel a bit steadier.
“Last night was incredible,” Ric says. “Did you drink too much? You were being so careful…” He’s quiet a moment, and when I don’t respond, he adds, “I know you don’t need my approval, but I’m so impressed. I’ve already hung the Valley print above the fireplace.”
“You didn’t have to buy my work.”
“Of course, we did. You’ve got tremendous talent. I just wish we could have gotten the original.”
“I’ll paint you an original,” I promise.
Ric reaches across the table. “You may not have time. I can’t imagine how busy you’re going to be. The soft ways you capture the Black Bear Valley are unlike anyone else’s.”
“Thank you.”
The server takes our order, and I’m grateful my brother is a tea drinker. No stinky coffee at our table.
“Are you feeling okay?” he asks again.
“I’m just tired.”
“Did you go out and party all night?”
I shake my head and look at him a moment, trying to steady myself. “I’m pregnant.” I have to tell someone, and I know I can trust him to keep the secret.
His face breaks into a smile so fast it almost knocks the air out of me. “Addie,” he says, half-rising before he catches himself. “That’s amazing.”
“You’re…excited?”
“Of course,” he says immediately, and then softens. “How do you feel?”
I take a breath. “I’m facing the fact that I’m going to be a single mother. But honestly? I can’t be any worse than Mom. Or Grandma.”
Ric lets out a quiet laugh that holds more history than humor. “That bar is underground.”
“I know. But it still matters.”
He reaches over to squeeze my hand again. “You’re going to be great. Who’s the father?”
“Well…” I hedge.
“What is it?”
“I’m not proud of this, but I don’t really know the father. He was in town for the start-of-summer party. I only got his first name, and it was a one-time thing.”
He nods without judgment. “Is he going to be involved?” he asks.
“I don’t know. I don’t even know how I’d find him. We didn’t do a lot of talking.” I look away.
“We’ll figure it out,” Ric says.
Not you. We. My shoulders finally drop.
“You can tell Liz,” I say. “I want her to know. But not Sera or Josie or anyone else. Just not yet. And whatever you do, don’t tell Mom or Evie. I need to get everything figured out first.”
Evie’s already pretty much done with me, and this might put her over the edge.
“Your call,” he says. “I’ll follow your lead.”
Over a bacon and cheese omelet, Ric gives me the update on our grandmother and the mess she’s gotten herself into.
“The Crown Prosecutor is convinced there are others involved with the sabotage at Paradise Hill, but she’s keeping those details to herself. She keeps telling me she’s not a rat.”
I roll my eyes. “Not a surprise. Do you think Max Paradise is actually framing her?”
“No. I’m pretty sure they’re in this together. He’s always had a problem with his father not leaving him any part of their business.”
“But didn’t Trace have him working like he was part-owner?”
He nods. “I guess that wasn’t enough. How are you doing with the news about Zach?” he adds after a moment.
It’s come out that Zach’s mother, Chereen, Max Paradise’s wife, had an affair with our father. We learned recently that Zach is our half-brother.
“What a soap opera,” I say. “This is exactly why I walked away from everything.”
Ric shrugs. “It’s why I went into psychology.”
We chat about that for a bit and then circle back to last night’s sales and what the future holds for me. After laughing harder than I have in weeks and feeling loved and appreciated, eventually I have to get going. I’m headed back to my studio to work on a new painting.
Outside the diner, Ric gives me a hug and reminds me to take care of myself.
I feel good on the walk home. The fresh air helps, and I still can’t believe how well last night went. Things are lining up. I’m doing better than I give myself credit for sometimes.
My apartment isn’t permanent, but it’s a three-bedroom, so I already have space for a baby. And it has lots of light in the bedroom I use as my studio. It will provide enough room to breathe without constantly chasing the next solution.
When I arrive, I close the door behind me and lean back against it, my hand settling instinctively over my stomach. I can do this.