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Chapter 2
No one ever really understood the immense pressure that came with opening a gallery, let alone reopening one that had been a local landmark for years—so long that everyone just walked by like it was a piece of the natural landscape. In the days of highly creative types taking their destiny in hand and really going for it, everyone wanted to open a gallery. They found a kitschy, cute space to rent, slapped up some artwork on the bare, exposed cement walls, and called it a day. Little did they realize the fundraising that had to go into everything, the upkeep of the space, the bills one had to pay to keep such a sprawling space heated and lit.
Opening, or reopening, a gallery was a monumental undertaking, one that drained a person’s finances, their emotional, mental, and physical health. But Tanith had always known this was what she wanted to do with her life, all the downsides be damned. She had always been an artist—an airy fairy to her friends who lost herself in her work. Eccentric. Different. She thrived off the grid, and had lived so after graduating high school.
Out in the woods, in nudist colonies, in old hippie communes—Tanith had explored it all well into her mid-twenties. After that, she went back to school, became an art teacher, then, eventually, an artist who could survive in New York City off her work. But she had always wanted more. Tanith yearned to create a safe haven for eccentrics like herself. She wanted to display, to celebrate, and to cherish art in its developing forms.
So, the only logical conclusion was to open a gallery, and, all those years back, Angel Fire had the right feel, look, and price for her to settle on. Last year, she had decided to renovate, after Alani and a few other artists agreed to rent studio space outside of town while Tanith spruced up the building, and today, it was finally ready. The Friendly Fire Art Gallery was officially open for public consumption.
Tanith hadn’t slept in two days, and her diet had consisted of whatever she could eat in handfuls and on the go—but none of that mattered. Her baby was complete. And it was beautiful. The three walls of the main floor, situated on the corner of Main Street and Lynn Avenue, had floor-to-ceiling windows, allowing natural light to bathe artists’ works no matter where they were positioned. The flooring had been redone to a beautiful dark hardwood, free from scuffs and track marks.
Before, Tanith had rented out the four small studio rooms at the rear of the gallery to visiting artists, students from the nearby college, and anyone who just needed a quiet place to lose themselves in their work. Now, the whole basement had been renovated for studio space. More rooms had been added, each of them larger than before. Overall, the flow had improved considerably, and although her bank account was hurting in more ways than one, Tanith thought it was all worth it in the end. All those headaches, all those days where she wanted to rip her hair out and scream—worth it for such a beautiful end result.
People had been trickling in and out all day. She hadn’t been able to arrange things to happen on a Saturday or Sunday, so a Monday morning would have to do. Still, Tanith had local reporters in for interviews that morning. There was a pancake breakfast for all those who stopped by before work, which had been a raging success, and she had already sold a few tickets to an exhibit she planned to host in a few weeks.
All in all, it went about as well as it could for an Angel Fire event. She still had a cocktail party that upcoming Saturday, which was currently sold out; folks were desperate for something upscale and different, no matter what the stereotypes of small town living were these days. It was then she hoped to add a few more patrons to her roster and boost ticket sales for the exhibit.
Until then, the work never stopped.
“These are really stunning, Tanith.”
She popped her head up from behind the cash station, in the process of figuring out how to rewire the fuzzy internet connection, when Espie interrupted her. She and her boyfriend Luther had been present for the pancake breakfast that morning, and now the woman was back with a few friends in tow. The group of four—Maida, Copper, Taymond, and Espie—were admiring a collection of her abstract pieces. Tanith had only hung them for the opening, as she needed a few big canvasses to fill the space until she could host a new artist.
“Oh my God,” Maida gasped. She then turned to Tanith, eyes wide. “You did all these?”
The group murmured their appreciation, leaning in closer to get a better look at the six pieces Tanith had hastily hung at five that morning. She offered an appreciative smile, her eyes heavy and the day nowhere close to finished.
“Thank you. They’re just fillers for the real talent,” she remarked, which earned a chorus of protests from her friends. She waved them off and went back to the internet issue, clicking around the cash desk’s computer with a frown. “If you really want to be the hero of the day, however, maybe one of you can get my internet to connect. I don’t know what’s happened…”
Before she could finish, Copper and Taymond were steering her out of the way. Taymond popped under the desk to look at the modem while his best friend and partner-in-crime Copper started opening programs on the computer that Tanith had never even seen before. Across the gallery, Maida and Espie giggled. Amused, Tanith raised her hands in surrender and scooted out of the way, leaving them to handle it on their own.
“Apparently, I’m behind on the times,” she chuckled, rolling her eyes as Espie and Maida grinned. The trio chatted a little more about her art and what she hoped to put in the space instead. Tanith told them all about Alani’s pottery display that was set to go by the front doors once it was complete—she had the display tables ready and everything. Until then, they were full of pamphlets for gallery and other local events she hoped might be helpful for visitors.
“Your ears must be burning,” Espie announced as Alani and Ivo emerged from the doorway leading down to the new basement studios. “We were just talking about your pottery.”
“It’s going to be a beautiful collection,” Tanith said as the newlyweds sidled over, Ivo’s arm wrapped securely around his new wife’s shoulders. “I can’t wait to see the final result.”
Alani’s cheeks warmed, and her husband beamed beside her. “I think it’s coming along nicely,” she admitted in her usual soft, melodic tones. Tanith could tell all the attention made her a little uneasy, but that was why she adored Alani as much as she did. Those who didn’t strive for the limelight were the ones who deserved it the most.
“Oh, look, there’s Blake!” her friend said suddenly, waving someone over.
Tanith turned—and her breath caught in her throat at the sight of the gorgeous Mystery Man from Ivo and Alani’s wedding. He appeared to be reading the gallery’s operating hours when he had been spotted, and once he glanced up, a warm smile spread across his lips, the kind that made her knees weak and her stomach twist in the most pleasurable way possible.
She swallowed hard and inhaled deeply in an effort to center herself. The guy was beyond stunning, but he was just for wishful thinking and fantasies. No need to fall to pieces in the real world.
“Hey, man, how’s it going?”
Apparently, Tanith was the only one who had absolutely no idea who Blake was, because all of her friends greeted him like they’d been lifelong pals, but Tanith had never seen him before in her life. Biting down on her lower lip, she slipped away from the group and let them all say hello, until finally Maida, of all people, made the realization.
“Have you two met before? I think Blake left Angel Fire before you came here,” she said, motioning back and forth between him and Tanith. The man could even rock a pair of khaki pants and a navy tee and…loafers. Goodness. Not her type at all. A little too plain. Yet somehow he was still absolutely drool-worthy.
“We haven’t,” she admitted when she realized the group was waiting for a response, and for some reason Blake couldn’t find the words to answer. So, Tanith put on her big gallery-owner smile and moved toward him, her hand extended. “Tanith Ravenna.”
“Blake Byrd,” he offered with a voice that made her think of velvety dark chocolate.
“Pleasure to meet you, Blake.” Her voice trembled slightly when his grip tightened around her hand, and each held onto the other just a little too long after all the handshaking had stopped.
“And you,” he said, grinning when they finally broke apart.
