“No. But I stalked him on socials, and we can do better.”
“Aren’t you dating someone? Jeremy? Jerry?”
“Wendell.”
“Wow. I was way off.”
“Yes and yes, I’m dating him, but it’s not exclusive.”
“Is it ever?”
Jessica flipped her long braids. “Don’t start with me, Miss ‘I only commit to my boyfriend when he’s in town.’”
“On that note, I’m going upstairs.”
As Daisy turned, Jessica muttered under her breath, “Some dude must’ve really done a number on you.”
She doesn’t know the half of it.
The next three hours vanished into budgets and vendor confirmations. Daisy loved being a small-business owner; but she also missed the days when painting was the whole day. Responsibility had weight now—people on payroll, collectors tocall back, and an event to land perfectly. If she was successful, then they were successful. She didn’t take that lightly.
When the numbers began to blur, she took a break. She traded her fitted black dress for paint-splattered cutoffs and padded barefoot onto the tarp in the corner she called her “solace.” With her oils laid out, she closed her eyes, slowed her breath, and picked up where she’d left off.
On the canvas, a green tree shouldered in from the left, heavy with branches. In the crook of the center was a nest. The four chicks she had come to love were rendered with more joy than reality could contain. Mitchell and Ally mid-flutter, Poppy chirping too loud, and Mama with wings thrown wide, welcoming Kevin back beneath her.
She titled itThe Return.
Just looking at it prickled her eyes.
Suddenly, the office line rang. Daisy wiped her hands and snatched the phone. “Hey, Jess.”
“Hello, Miss Daniels. Your presence is requested in the gallery.”
Daisy snorted. Their code. Jessica only went formal when someone notable appeared. “How famous?”
“Very.”
“Man or woman?”
“Yes.”
That… was not an answer. “Be down in five.”
She heard her say, “Yes, ma’am,” and disconnect the line.
Celebrity drop-ins weren’t uncommon anymore. A few high-profile clients had collected her work and sent their friends; still, there’d been a tremor in Jessica’s voice she didn’t hear often.
Daisy slipped back into her dress and knee-high boots and headed down. Jessica was stunned silent behind the desk. Daisy arched a curious brow and crossed the room toward a tall woman with dark-blonde hair studying the back wall.
Model, Daisy thought as the woman turned. Striking face. Rail-thin. Not one Daisy recognized, though Jessica clearly did.
“Hi. I’m Daisy Daniels, the artist.”
The woman lit up and clasped Daisy’s hand. “Such a pleasure. I’m a huge fan. I’m Jenna O’Connell.” She paused for recognition that didn’t come, then carried on with practiced fawning. Daisy’s pulse stayed even. She’d spent enough time around self-impressed fame to be immune.
“The pleasure’s mine, Miss O’Connell,” Daisy said. “Are there—”
“I think you know a friend of mine,” Jenna cut in. “Allison Hartmire?”
