AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Narrower than it is long, the space has high ceilings and exposed rafters. All along the left side of the space are dirty windows, revealing dancing dust motes swirling in the air. My eye travels all the way up the double-height space to a mezzanine at the far end of the room. A rickety, dangerous-looking staircase is blocked off with a piece of masking tape that looks like it’s one breath away from giving up. In the back left corner of the room is a door with aStaff Onlysign hanging vertically. The whole place is derelict, falling apart.
It’sperfect.
I clutch my hands at my breast and let my steps echo in the space as I walk over to the center of the room, spinning in a slow circle.
Candice, Simone, and Margaret are huddled near the front of the room, watching me.
As soon as the first hint of a smile tugs at my list, all three of them break into cheers.
“You’ll have to paint it white, of course,” Candice says, pointing at the walls. “And get some lighting installed. I wonder if there are special lights for artwork?”
“You might need temperature and moisture control as well,” Simone notes. “Isn’t artwork really sensitive to atmospheric conditions?”
Margaret nods. “New floors too.” She pokes a dainty heel into a rotted floorboard, clicking her tongue.
“You could use the mezzanine for separate exhibits,” Candice says, marching to the staircase and wiggling the banister. It teeters dangerously, and she makes the wise decision not to use the stairs.
“Mac’s pottery could be up there to start,” Simone says. “Draw people up with interesting visual shapes that they can see from down here.”
“I wonder if Mr. Finch would be willing to display some of his work,” Margaret says, staring at the center of the room, below the cathedral ceiling. “There’s certainly enough room.”
At the sound of Sebastian’s name, every muscle inside me seizes. I don’t have time to react, however, because Simone turns to the door.
“Oh! There’s Fiona and Grant.”
The shop’s door opens, and Fiona enters with her husband. He has his hand on her lower back in casual, intimate contact that makes me yearn for something I haven’t felt in a long time.
Fiona’s eyes brighten. “Oh, it’s bigger than it looks from the outside!”
“Don’t go up there,” Grant says in a deep, rumbly voice, his eyes on Simone. “It’s not safe.”
She’s got one foot on the bottom tread of the staircase, holding two ends of ripped masking tape in either hand. Clearly, Simone doesn’t have the good sense Candice had. Looking a little guilty, Simone steps back and drops the destroyed tape barricade.
“I’ll have to talk to the owners about either leasing or buying the place,” I say, meeting Grant’s gaze. “But if everything works out, would you still be interested in working on this project with me? We’ll have to gut it and renovate the entire space. I’ll have to do a lot of research, talk to my sister…” I trail off, heart thumping.
Grant’s eyes crinkle at the corners. He dips his chin once in acquiescence. “I think I could help you out, Georgia.”
And so it begins.
8
GEORGIA
It’sMonday morning on a beautiful summer’s day, and I’m on top of the world. I spent the weekend with my new friends, eating patriotic foods and drinking beer in Trina’s backyard. Everyone seems as excited as I am about the gallery.
Today, I’m meeting Mr. and Mrs. Thomas to sign the lease on the gallery space. Parking my scooter outside the Four Cups Café, I hop off and smooth my hands down my linen shorts before grabbing my tote bag from under the scooter’s seat. Locking everything up again, I spin around to face the café and make eye contact with Fiona through the plate-glass windows.
She gives me a surreptitious thumbs-up and shifts her gaze to an elderly couple near the front of the establishment.
Heart fluttering, I march inside. As I approach the old couple, nervousness ratchets inside me. It doesn’t stop me, of course, it’s just a natural reaction to the start of a new project.
The Thomases are seated on the same side of a four-seater table, a beat-up blue folder resting on the table between their coffee cups. Mrs. Thomas reaches for the packets of sugar and sweetener and grabs a packet of raw sugar from the stack. “Just one today, Arthur,” she shouts, her mouth three inches from his ear. “We’re watching your sugar.”
The man frowns behind Coke-bottle glasses, pointing a shaking finger at the packet in her hand. “Just one, Maude. Remember, I have to watch my sugar!”
She nods decisively and tears the packet before dumping it into his mug. Stirring the coffee for her husband, Mrs. Thomas pushes the cup and saucer toward him. He takes a sip and leans back, satisfied.
“Mr. and Mrs. Thomas?” I ask as I approach the table.
