Chapter 19
Ross
It's the night of Margot's showcase. I stand at the gallery entrance, the hum of laughter and chatter spilling onto the sidewalk. I feel lighter, yet exposed, a sensation that has less to do with the stiff denim I’m wearing and more with the small bouquet of wildflowers I’m clutching.
Bright track lighting floods the space. The air inside is thick with the scent of fresh paint, aged wood, and expensive wine. I let the door swing shut behind me, but instead of diving into the crowd, I linger near the entrance, content to observe from the periphery.
Margot’s four paintings are laid out in a corner of the room. They bloom against the stark white walls in violent reds, deep blues, and chaotic strokes. In my humble opinion, they’re more vibrant than the other artists’ works.
Then I spot her. She stands across the room, hair loose, gesturing as she speaks to an older couple. A laugh escapes her, a bright, infectious sound. The woman who once tirelessly accommodated my schedule and faded into the background is gone. In her place is the room’s center of gravity.
My gaze drops to the bouquet. There are no white roses ordered by an assistant this time, my standard gift for anniversaries and holidays past. These are messy, riotous blooms wrapped in butcher paper.
Under the unforgiving gallery lights, they look unrefined.
Inadequate. But they are real, and I hope she sees that.
A vibration against my thigh breaks the thought.
Old reflexes twitch, check it, step out, take the call. The phone buzzes sharply against my leg. It could be a recruiter. For a split second, the urge to check is a phantom limb I haven’t quite severed.
Margot tilts her head, listening to a patron, her smile easy and unburdened.
The phone buzzes again. My hand dives into my pocket, fingers brushing the cold metal. I look down, screen lighting up. But then, cutting through the noise in my head, I catch her laugh again. It anchors me.
I don’t read the text. Instead, I slide the decline switch and shove the phone back into my pocket.
Taking a deep breath, I tighten my grip on the damp stems. I push off the wall, cut through the crowd, and step into the vibrant world she has created, heading straight for her.