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My gaze remained fixed on the window across the way as my mind wandered. Would taking a chance on something real with Dylan be worth the risk? Could we move from pretense to a genuine relationship? The questions swirled as I contemplated the enigmatic dance between our sham engagement and the reality of my feelings. For now, I could only watch his silhouette against the curtained glass, taking comfort in the connection we shared across the night-cloaked lawns between us.
Chapter 8
The morning sun filtered in through my studio window as I carefully wrapped my painting, ‘Whispers of Dusk’, in brown paper. My hands shook slightly as I taped the edges, sealing my artistic hopes and dreams within the package. Today was the day I would deliver my entry to the Pebble Point Gallery exhibition.
I glanced over at the empty easel, feeling a pang as my creation left the familiarity of my studio. But it was time for my art to venture out into the world. I took a deep breath, steadying my nerves. Dylan’s words from yesterday echoed in my mind: “This painting will take everyone’s breath away. You’re so talented, Avery.” His encouragement filled me with renewed confidence.
Clutching the painting close, I stepped outside into the sunny morning. A gentle breeze ruffled my hair as I strolled down the sidewalk toward the gallery, savoring the salty ocean air. Turning the corner, the charming exterior of The Pebble Point Gallery came into view. My heart beat faster. This was happening.
Pushing open the grand wooden doors, I inhaled the familiar scent of oil paints and varnish. I approached the front desk, where a kind-eyed woman glanced up. “Good morning! Are you here to submit your entry?” Her warm tone put me at ease.
“Yes, I am. I’m Avery Dawson.” I carefully placed the wrapped canvas on the counter.
“Wonderful! This will be in excellent hands. As I’m sure you know, the exhibition opens on July 4th, the same day as the art festival.”
I thanked her profusely, suddenly reluctant to part with my painting. But I knew this was the necessary next step. As I exited the gallery, elation rushed through me. I had taken a leap of faith in my abilities. Now, I could only hope my work spoke for itself.
Walking across the street from the gallery, a chirp from my phone offered a welcome distraction. I glanced down to see a text from Zoe lighting up the screen:
“Hey, girl! Hope you got your painting to the gallery in time! Wanted to see if you’re free for lunch at Pebble’s Brew. I’ll grab us a couple of seats, and your usual latte will be waiting.”
Zoe’s words washed over me like a soothing balm, grounding me amidst the swirl of emotions that submitting my painting had stirred up. Her friendship had become such a steadfast pillar these past months in Pebble Point, and I felt a rush of gratitude for her thoughtful invitation. Replying with a quick,“Be there soon!”I picked up my pace, suddenly craving the comfort of that familiar Pebble’s Brew.
The warm aroma of roasted coffee beans greeted me as I stepped through Pebble’s Brew’s cheery blue door. True to her word, Zoe was already seated in a booth, two steaming mugs waiting.
“There she is! The next great artist of Pebble Point,” Zoe exclaimed, jumping up to hug me.
I rolled my eyes playfully. “Oh stop, I’m hardly famous yet.” But her enthusiasm was contagious.
Settling into the booth, I cradled the latte’s warmth between my palms, letting the first sip ground me.
“So, how are you feeling?” Zoe asked gently. “It must have been scary handing over your art to the big, wide world.”
I smiled softly, trusting in her empathy. “It was terrifying. Exhilarating too, but mostly terrifying.” We both chuckled.
Soon the conversation flowed easily between us, Zoe’s calming presence untangling the knots in my stomach. The summer breeze carried the faint sound of wind chimes and cheerful chatter from nearby tables. For a moment, I allowed myself to simply be, forgetting my worries in this haven called Pebble’s Brew.
I stirred the remnants of my latte, comforted by the familiar warmth of the mug between my hands. Across from me in the cozy booth, Zoe’s eyes were soft with understanding as she asked, “How are things with a certain handsome firefighter?”
“I just don’t know what to make of it all,” I confessed, keeping my gaze fixed on the foam swirls. “One minute we’re laughing together so easily, and the next I’m questioning if any of it’s real.”
Zoe reached across the table, her hand resting reassuringly over mine. “Hey, it’s okay to feel unsure, Avery. You two have built something meaningful, even if it started as a charade. Those kinds of feelings don’t just appear overnight.”
I nodded, though a lump still clung stubbornly in my throat. “I know, but what if all Dylan sees is the act? The fake fiancée who was supposed to be just part of a scheme?”
“Avery Dawson, that man cares about you, truly,” Zoe said, her tone leaving no room for doubt. “I see how his whole face lights up when you walk into a room, how he looks at you like you hung the moon. Whatever started this, you two have something real.”
Her words washed over me, a balm to my tangled doubts. As I met her earnest gaze, the knots in my chest began to loosen.
“You might have gone into this pretending, but you can’t fake how you two are together,” Zoe continued gently. “If it feels right, don’t let fear hold you back. Trust what your heart is telling you.”
I let out a shaky breath, the truth of her words sinking in. She was right - beneath the guise of convenient fiancés, Dylan and I had forged a genuine bond. One that both thrilled and terrified me in its intensity.
“Thank you, Zoe,” I said softly, giving her hand a grateful squeeze. “I needed to hear that.”
She smiled, her features radiating sincerity. “What are friends for? Now drink up; your latte’s getting cold!”
I let out a watery chuckle, lifting the drink in a mock toast before taking a sip. The coffee’s subtle sweetness grounded me, as did the unwavering support sitting across from me in that sun-dappled booth.
