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“I just have one little piece of advice for you,” Laura says as I look up at her. She takes a step toward me, and her hand comes up to rest against my cheek. “Know your worth, sweet girl. Don’t ever sell yourself short, or everyone around you will too.”
I’m not a crier. I didn’t cry when my dad found my hidden art supplies when I was twelve and threw them away. I didn’t cry when he ripped up my acceptance letter into art school. I didn’t even cry when he had security escort me out of his office building the day I quit, telling them dragging me through the building in front of everyone like a criminal would humiliate me enough to make me change my mind. But right now, my eyes are filling with tears when this woman I just met seems to know exactly what I need to hear. She’s shown me more kindness in five minutes than anyone in my family did in twenty-six years.
“Are you planning on selling these at the art gallery on the island?”
I clear my throat and swallow a few times to keep the tears at bay when Laura drops her hand from my cheek.
“That’s actually where I’m headed now,” I tell her. “I called the owner, and she didn’t seem too interested, but she told me to bring some of my stuff by this morning for her to take a look at it.”
“Ahhh, Gretchen. Yeah, she has a stick up her ass at all times. Don’t worry; she owes me a favor after I hooked her up with her fiancé. I’ll give her a call.”
I try to tell her she doesn’t have to do that for me. We barely even know each other. But she won’t hear it. She immediately grabs her phone out of the back pocket of her shorts and pulls up the owner of the art gallery’s contact information. I stand here in complete shock while she makes a call that lasts less than two minutes. By the time she hangs up, I have some space that will be waiting for me on one of the walls at Island Art to display my work on consignment.
We make plans for me to stop by tomorrow evening at the ice cream stand Laura owns so I can drop off her painting after I get it framed for her and before I’m supposed to move in with Ryan. And then she gives me another hug. Pulling back, she straightens the trucker hat on my head that had gone askew when we bumped into each other.
“You look pretty today.” Laura smiles at me as she cocks her head, while I try not to fidget under her perusal in my ripped skinny jeans, flannel knotted at my waist, and my well-worn Doc Martens. “Don’t forget to eat breakfast. It’s the most important meal of the day. Stay hydrated, and mind your manners.”
Then, she’s off, rushing across the lobby toward the front desk and disappearing inside the small room next to it, where the lobby snack bar is.
I feel like I was just mom-bombed. And I can’t wipe the damn smile off my face. Grabbing the canvases off the sofa table and tucking them back under my arm, I look down at my phone again when it dings twice with incoming texts, and the smile stays where it is.
Ryan:I was just kidding. You don’t actually have to sleep in the shed. But I will be giving you the side-eye and judging you a little for your creamer choice. Italian Sweet Cream is clearly far superior than Hazelnut.
Ryan:But I swear to all that is holy, if you like chocolate Pop-Tarts more than strawberry, I will fight you. But like, with words, because I’m not really much of an actual fighter with fists and stuff.
Walking out of the hotel into the bright morning sunshine, I stop on the sidewalk, tip my head back, and close my eyes, letting out a contented sigh as the sun warms my face.
Yep, I think I’ll definitely be okay here. I might even like having a temporary roommate.
