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“I trust this will be acceptable?” With slightly unsteady hands, I accepted the check he extended toward me, my eyes widening at the sum. One thousand dollars! The most I had ever received for a single work of art. Marco noted my shock with an understanding smile. “Avery, your talent warrants far more. Consider this just the beginning.”
Still reeling, I listened intently as Marco shared his vision for my artistic future. “I see tremendous potential in you, Avery. Your unique perspective and raw emotion are a captivating combination. I’d like to feature more of your pieces at the gallery.” He handed me his business card embossed with thegallery’s emblem. “Call me next week and we’ll discuss the details.”
As I ran my fingers over the lettering, the tangible proof of this opportunity, I was flooded with elation, pride, and profound gratitude. When I first submitted ‘Whispers of Dusk’, I had hoped simply for visibility, a chance to share my art with a wider audience. But now, one of California’s most prestigious gallery owners was investing in my work, recognizing its value and promise. He saw something I had not yet fully seen in me.
I thanked Marco profusely, conveying just how meaningful his faith in my abilities was. As we parted ways, I clutched his business card to my chest, scarcely believing this was real.
By the time Marco had taken his leave, I was overwhelmed with gratitude and buoyed by a newfound sense of self-assurance. For the first time, I could envision the trajectory he described - my ascent in the art world gaining momentum with each new exhibition and accolade. The future that had always seemed hazy and uncertain now came into focus, crystallized by this esteemed critic’s faith in my talents.
Dylan looked at me with a ridiculously goofy smile on his face. “You’ve done it Avery, I’m so proud of you!” He picked me up with his powerful arms and span me around with glee. “My wife-to-be, a genuine, real life professional artist!”
“Well, um…I don’t know about that…” I spluttered with embarrassment as he put me down. “Actually hang on - this check is enough to cover a month’s rent and a bunch of supplies…I am a real life professional artist!”
Dylan’s unwavering support had given me the courage to pursue this dream. Now, with Marco’s endorsement, freedom from my parents’ plans and my artistic dreams finally felt within reach.
I stood a little taller, walked a little lighter as I engaged with the steady stream of patrons who continued to stop by my booth.Marco’s words, like an elixir, infused me with hope and poise to keep pursuing my artistic passions - wherever they might lead me next.
***
By afternoon, sales were brisker than I had ever dared to hope for in my wildest dreams. As I carefully wrapped my beloved paintings for their new owners, each finding a welcoming new home, a bittersweet yet immensely gratifying pride washed over me. Like a mother bird watching her young hatchlings spread their wings and take their first tentative flight out into the wide open world, I sincerely hoped that my creations would find their purpose and bring as much joy to their new caretakers as they had brought to me in their making. This day marked a major milestone in my artistic journey, one that reinforced my passion for creating and sharing my vision.
The rest of the day flew by in a creative whirlwind. I sold eight more paintings, each one bolstering my confidence. My heart swelled with a sense of validation and purpose. With each transaction, the cloud of my parents’ disapproval and pressures drifted further away. I was claiming my path, one brushstroke at a time.
During a lull, Dylan appeared at my booth bearing two ice cream cones. “I’d say this calls for a celebration, future Mrs. Summers.” I flushed at the term, our ruse feeling less contrived. We sat together savoring the cold sweetness as we watched festival-goers meander by.
“Thank you, Dylan. For everything. I couldn’t have done this without you.” He brushed it off, but I needed him to know how much he meant to me. How he’d inspired me in ways no one else had. His unwavering support through my darkest momentsof self-doubt. His friendship that had evolved into something undefinable yet incredibly real.
Dylan’s eyes reflected a similar depth of understanding. “Your talent brought you here. I’m just glad I got to witness the beautiful messiness along the way.” He gestured to a speck of blue paint on my cheek, a stubborn remnant of an earlier masterpiece. As he gently wiped it away, I felt that now familiar spark between us.
***
The golden light of dusk settled over Pebble Point as the art festival drew to a close. Vendors began packing up their booths while visitors carried treasured pieces to their cars. I stood amidst the controlled chaos, equal parts exhausted and exhilarated. The day had exceeded my wildest expectations. I had connected with so many people through my art, and the sales provided a much-needed infusion of hope and validation.
As I neatly stacked my few remaining paintings, I noticed Dylan leaning against a nearby tree, watching the activity with an unreadable expression. I studied him for a moment, taking in the tousled chestnut hair, the strong jawline I had come to know so well. But his usual easygoing aura had shifted into something more contemplative and conflicted. His eyes, normally dancing with laughter, now swirled with an emotion I couldn’t quite decipher. Was it pride at my success today, tinged with sadness to see our charade drawing to its inevitable end? Or something deeper neither of us dared speak aloud?
I slowly approached him, my footsteps muted in the grass. “Penny for your thoughts?”
He blinked as if shaking off a daydream and met my gaze. The corner of his mouth lifted. “Just thinking about how far you’vecome, Avery Dawson.” His use of my full name felt strangely intimate.
I nodded, throat tightening. “I really couldn’t have done this without you.”
Dylan absently ran his fingers through his hair. “You give me too much credit.”
My next words tumbled out in a rush. “But it’s true. Knowing you believed in me helped me believe in myself. Your…friendship… has meant everything.” I hesitated, pulse quickening. He smiled and ruffled my hair, in a thoroughly unromantic way, I thought to myself.
We packed the only two unsold paintings into Dylan’s truck, and I felt drained yet fulfilled as we drove back home. I had bared my soul through brushstrokes, allowing others to interpret and connect with my art.
Once we had stored the canvases safely in my studio, Dylan pulled me into a warm, congratulatory embrace. I breathed in his familiar scent of smoke and sandalwood as I wrapped my arms around his solid frame, feeling a sense of comfort and belonging.
“So, what now, Aves?” he murmured, his voice a soothing rumble.
What now, indeed? The question held layers of meaning that we both understood implicitly. Professionally, so many new and exciting artistic horizons stretched before me now that the art show was done. My success marked a turning point in my career as a painter, opening up possibilities that both thrilled and daunted me.
And on a personal level, everything felt new and uncertain in the best possible way. A whole unwritten chapter lay ahead for Dylan and me, full of promise and potential. The chemistry we had felt during the art show had been undeniable, hinting at adeep connection worth exploring. Where it would lead, neither of us knew yet. But the sense of anticipation was electric.
I pulled back to look up at Dylan, taking in the warmth and affection in his green eyes. “Want to find out together?” I said softly, meaning it with my whole heart. The future was a blank canvas we could paint however we wished.
Dylan’s smile was radiant. “I’d like that. But first...” he added with a playful grin, “Fireworks!”
