AllFreeNovel
Share Us
"Perhaps." He waves a dismissive hand. "But our patrons expect a certain caliber of art here. An event like you're proposing might dilute the museum's reputation for high-art exhibitions. We cater to a more... discerning audience."
My stomach knots, and my cheeks burn hot with the effort of holding back tears.
I want to protest, to argue that art is for everyone, not just those with deep pockets or an art degree. But the words get stuck somewhere between my brain and my lips.
"Thank you for your time, Melanie." His tone implies the meeting is over. I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. I gather my things, feeling smaller with every step I take out of his office.
The door clicks shut behind me, and I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.
It's like walking through a fog as I make my way out of the museum, the echoes of my heels on the marble floor sounding too loud in my ears.
The bell above the door chimes as I walk into the Pitcher's Brew later that day.
It's been only a week since Jake and I started dating, but already his bar feels like my second home.
There's something comforting about the laid-back chatter from locals toasting to everyday victories that make me feel like I belong. Every time I step into this place after a long day at work, it’s as if I am shedding an uncomfortable skin - trading pretentious sophistication for authenticity.
I shuffle toward my usual spot at the bar, the weight of disappointment making each step feel like wading through molasses. But then I see Jake standing behind the counter with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his hands working deftly to pour a draft beer.
"Hey, gorgeous. How did your pitch go?” He places the beer down for a waiting customer and turns to give me his full attention. Then he frowns. "Not well, I’m guessing?"
"Is it that obvious?" I attempt a laugh, sliding onto a barstool. It comes out sounding like a creaky hinge.
"Want to talk about it?" he offers. His eyes are a clear, honest blue, the kind that don't just look at you—they see you. And right now, they're seeing straight through to the heart of me.
"It's just..." I start, but the words tangle up somewhere between my brain and my lips.
Jake's frown deepens as he continues to study my face.
I'm not sure what he reads there—a weary soul, perhaps, or maybe just smeared mascara. But either way, his concern is almost palpable.
"You don't have to tell me about it if you’re not ready yet," Jake says gently, sensing my struggle. "But if you want to vent, I'm here." Then he grins. “But in the meantime, how about I get you the usual?”
And just like that, a tiny pinprick of light pierces the gloom of my mood.
"Please," I say, grateful for the normalcy of our routine.
He reaches for the bottle of my favorite cherry cider. It's sweet, a little tart, and doesn't pack enough punch to leave me reeling—which is exactly what I need right now.
I rest my elbows on the bar and let out a long sigh, watching as Jake uncaps the bottle with a practiced flick of his wrist. Then he sits it down on the bar, and the confession tumbles out of me.
"It was like hitting a brick wall, Jake. Mr. Calloway didn't even try to understand the potential of the event. He shot it down before I could even finish."
"Sorry to hear that, baby,” Jake says sympathetically. “But for what it's worth, I think your idea sounds incredible."
I blink back the sting of tears. "I just believed it could be something special, you know? Something that would showcase the talent we have right here in Cooper Hills."
"Melanie, your passion is... it's something else." He leans back, his fingers drumming on the table as if they're itching to take action. "You've got this fire for art and community, and it's damn inspiring."
And in his thoughtful silence, I catch a glimpse of wheels turning, of plans forming.
I sniff, breaking the moment, "Anyway, it's back to the drawing board, I guess." I force a smile, but it falters under the weight of thwarted dreams.
"Maybe not," Jake says slowly, a hint of something promising in his tone. “How about we host the event here?”
"Really?" My voice pitches high, my heart hammering a little faster. I lean forward, elbows on the table, afraid to hope too much. "You'd do that?”
"Absolutely," Jake says with a nod. He gestures around the bar to the rustic wooden walls. "This place has seen its fair share of gatherings. Why not an art expo? We've got the space, the vibe... heck, we even have the perfect lighting for showcasing some amazing pieces."
