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A knock sounds at the door, and B looks up, smiling. “Lennon?” she asks. “I’ll go get it.”
She disappears down the hallway, and Brian offers me a tight-lipped smile before leaving the kitchen.
“You didn’t even come to greet me at the door,” Lennon complains when she finally enters the room, Aunt B on her tail. “I leave for a week, and you don’t pick me up at the airport. You don’t come to greet me. Listen,” Lennon points a finger in my direction. “I could kill you for this.”
“Little ears,” B sing-songs as she moves to the fridge to put away whatever leftovers Brian brought in from brunch.
“My sincerest apologies, Lennon.” I try to hold back the grin. “How inconvenient for you to have to murder your best friend. I’d send my condolences, but unfortunately. I’ll be dead.”
She laughs, muttering, “you bitch,” before drawing me in for a hug.
“Not to be rude,” B starts. “But you two need to get out of here if you’re going to be ready for the art show.”
When she turns, her eyes are glittering with pride, and something about it does things to my insides. I feel warm and fuzzy, and when our eyes lock for a moment too long, I’m certain B can sense how sappy I’m being.
“I feel most unwelcomed,” Lennon complains, but there’s no bite to her words.
I give B a rundown on what Eloise ate, the game we played, and how long she’d been sleeping before Lennon and I make our way out the door.
I briefly consider telling her about the conversation I overheard, but decide against it. I’m too nervous about the rapidly approaching art show to think about literally anything else.
That is, until I read the rest of Griffin’s text message, and suddenly wish the entire art show was over so he can make good on his promises.
“There’s our girl!”
I turn around, careful not to spill the champagne in my glass, when I hear the sound of my grandfather’s voice.
He draws me in for a hug, smelling of tobacco and pine before he finally releases me.
“I can’t believe you’re here!” I say, beaming.
Finn places a gentle hand on the small of my back, and I smile up at him before introducing him to my grandfather.
Apparently, B let him know my art would be featured in the exhibit, and he made the trip from New York to be here to see it.
June Peterson’s paintings hang on the white walls, decorating the space with images of people so beautifully depicted, you almost feel like you can read their entire story from the canvas.
Lights highlight each of the pieces, and I try to stop my hands from shaking. People have only just been allowed in, and I have yet to go into the room designated for my four large charcoal sketches. The thought of the general public seeing them–judgingthem–buyingthem–has my stomach twisting into knots and feeling like my intestines will drop right out of my ass.
It would be an unfortunate scene, so with every ounce of wisdom I possess, I briefly consider clenching, but in the tight black dress I’m wearing, it would be too obvious.
“Look at you,” Finn says, pressing a kiss to my temple. “I’m so proud of you, Ellie. You deserve this.”
My chest expands until I’m certain there’s no more room left.
Finn pulls out his phone and checks his messages, pocketing it before giving me an update. “Noah just got here,” he says as I see Lennon walk through the door with a man I’ve never met before.
I’m assuming it’s the guy she matched with the other day. She asked if she could bring him to the art show, and while I appreciated her show of sensitivity, I was far more concerned about what the man looked like than if he would be her date or not.
Lennon, of course, refused to show me photos, claiming that she enjoyed surprises.
When I spot the tall blonde at her side, I can’t help but smile. For a moment, I thought her lack of information meant he was ugly.
Which he certainly isn’t.
“Hey,” she says, a soft smile crossing her lips. It’s the least abrasive greeting she’s ever given, so I try to communicate the wordsfake ass bitchwithout being incredibly obvious.
I don’t think it works, though, because Finn nudges my arm and chuckles.
