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Everything in this collective felt the exact opposite.
It came from the heart.
“Do you do gallery showings here?” I questioned, moving on to another one of Alex’s pieces.
“Hmm? Sometimes.” He nodded. “Usually we just let people roam through twice a month. Why?”
“I like what I see here. You’re all incredibly talented. I’m surprised I haven’t heard more buzz around this place, but I think there should be.”
Alex laughed. “We’re not looking to go like, mainstream or whatever. We don’t want to end up like those art galleries that think black dots on paper are art, y’know? Or that an exhibit of literal piles of shit has some deeper meaning than that the ‘artist’ decided they needed to unload their baggage onto the world via anal excrement.”
I looked back to him, smiling at his over-the-top example.
“Yeah, I definitely don’t want that, either. I think everything in here needs to be seen—but especially by people who could benefit from seeing real art.”
He cocked his head, his words teasing but not aggressive. “And what would you know about real art? Aren’t you in the tech field?”
Heh. I was right. He was quick as a whip and smart, too.
“I know enough to know this is good shit,” I shot back. “I know enough to know no one in here is getting the recognition they deserve. And I know enough people—people who talk art, who create buzz—to bring people on board who could help you make some serious waves in the art world.”
Alex perked up at that, cocking an eyebrow.
“Okay, you got me. Tell me more.”
* * *
By the time we were done at the studio, I’d arranged with Alex to come back again at the end of the week with a full gallery showcase planned for the beginning of next month. We wanted to keep it generally open to the public—a single, one dollar admission fee for everyone, and free admission for the homeless or underprivileged. We’d work on the honor system.
The whole time, Mackenzie hung back, silent but observant. When we left the building, she stopped me with a hand on my arm, looking up at me.
“Why’d you do that?”
She didn’t seem angry—more just puzzled, as though the thought of me taking an interest in her, her people, her passions, was something strange. A smile quirked my lips, and I put my hands on her shoulders.
“Because I see how hard you and everyone else in that studio works. Your art is incredible. It breaks my heart to think people are missing out on it, and if I can do one thing to help change that, I want to.”
She was still quiet. Still puzzling. Still trying to work out exactly what was going on and what it would mean.
“What are you getting out of it, though?” she asked softly. “What’s this going to do for you?”
I shrugged. “Your happiness. Your friends’ happiness. You having your art out there in the world where it belongs, instead of hidden in a room in my house or in unmarked places where people don’t even see your name on the pieces you do have displayed.”
She continued to stare at me, her gorgeous green eyes filling with an emotion that made my chest warm. A smile spread across her face, and goddamn if it wasn’t the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen in my life.
Suddenly, without warning, she tugged me down to kiss her, her mouth soft and insistent against mine.
“You’re something else, Walker Prince.”
I didn’t need to see her smile. I could feel it against my lips.
15
Mackenzie
The night of the gallery showing seemed to rush up on me like a runaway train.
In the days leading up to it, I spent all my free time working on new pieces. I barely slept and probably wouldn’t have stopped to eat or drink if it weren’t for the fact that Walker delivered sustenance at regular intervals.
