Chapter 7
Market Day
I was nervous. Not the kind of nervous I got around crowds. This was different. This was the kind of nervousness that came from putting a piece of yourself out into the world and hoping no one laughed. It was Market Day.
Three paintings sat propped against my living room wall. The stone bridge, Grandma’s old oak tree, and the new lake painting I had managed to complete just in time. Although, I was still mourning the loss of the original one. The one I’d painted with my friend’s soft chatter in the background.
The new one was at dusk, the sky melting into a blend of oranges, reds, dark pinks, vibrant purples, and dark blues. While this new one was beautiful, the circumstances while I painted it had been entirely different. It gave it a different vibe in my mind. Somber, grieving almost.
I stared at them for what had to be the tenth time. “They’re good enough,” I muttered. Then, after another long look, I corrected myself. “They’re finished.”
Artists could spend forever tweaking a painting. There would always be another highlight to add or another shadow to soften. At some point, you simply had to decide it was done.
A knock sounded at my front door. “Coming!”
I opened it to find Mai grinning from ear to ear. “I brought reinforcements.”
Cobalt stood behind her, already reaching for one of the canvases. “I figured we’d save you the struggle.”
I smiled. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”
Mai stepped inside without waiting for an invitation. “You’re so nervous.” I started to say something, but wasn’t even able to get out a single syllable. “I know that look. It’s the same one you had before every art critique in college.”
I groaned dramatically. “I hated critiques.”
“I know. You cried after one.”
“I cried after lots of things.”
Mai laughed. “I remember.”
The town center was livelier than it had been since I moved here. Farmers chatted between stalls while children darted through the grassy square. Someone played a fiddle near the edge of the market, and the smell of fresh bread drifted through the warm summer air.
I didn’t know where to set up. I had been so excited and nervous that I hadn’t thought that far ahead. Thankfully, Mai led us to an empty wooden stall tucked beneath a maple tree. “I already talked to Kiwi this morning,” she said proudly. “She said anyone can use this one whenever it’s free.”
“You did that?”
She shrugged. “I might’ve mentioned you paint once or twice.”
Cobalt snorted. “Try fifty times.”
“I was being supportive.”
“You were campaigning.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Thank you.”
Her teasing grin softened into something warm. “You’re welcome.”
Together, the three of us arranged my paintings against the back wall of the stall. They suddenly looked much more official than they had leaning in my living room. I swallowed hard. “What if no one even stops?”
“They will,” Mai said confidently.
“And if they don’t?”
“They’re blind.”
The first hour crawled by. A few Berries glanced over. Some smiled politely. One elderly woman complimented the colors before wandering away. I reminded myself that every artist had to start somewhere.
Then someone stopped. A little pink Shade girl with chubby cheeks, no older than six, stared at my painting of the lake with wide mesmerized eyes. Her short hair was nothing but a mess of wild curls.
“It’s pretty,” she whispered.
Her mother smiled apologetically. “Sorry, she loves pictures.”
“It’s okay,” I said with a smile. “I’m glad she likes it.”
The little girl pointed toward the painting. “Did you really make that?”
“I did.”
She looked amazed. “I wanna paint someday.”
My heart melted. “If you want to, you should.”
Her mother thanked me before leading her gently away. I watched them disappear into the crowd. “I think,” I said quietly, “that may have been worth coming all by itself.”
Mai squeezed my shoulder. “I told you.”
By early afternoon, I’d sold… nothing. I tried not to let it bother me. Really, I did.
Cobalt seemed to notice anyway. “You know,” he said, “people sometimes look all day before buying.”
“I know.”
“You don’t sound convinced.”
“I’m trying to be.”
Just then, someone stopped in front of the stall. A familiar deep voice said, “These are really good.”
Urchin. My stomach immediately decided it had forgotten how to behave. He wore a charcoal button-up with the sleeves rolled to his forearms, his dark purple skin catching the afternoon sunlight. His hair was slightly messy, like he’d run a hand through it one too many times.
He smiled. “Hey, Pearl.”
“H-hi.” Wonderful. Smooth.
Mai looked between us, then very slowly stood. “Cobalt?”
“Hm?”
“I suddenly need help getting… um…” She looked around. “… Apples.”
Cobalt looked at the stall across the clearing from us, which was entirely apples. He caught on immediately.
“Oh. Lots of apples. So many apples.”
They wandered away with matching innocent expressions. Traitors.
Urchin chuckled softly. “Your friends are subtle.”
I just glared after them.
He turned back toward the paintings. “You painted all of these?”
“Yeah. The Briarwood inspired me.”
He studied each one carefully. Longer than most people had. Not just looking. Studying them. His gaze lingered on the reflections in the lake. “The light here,” he said quietly. “It’s beautiful. The technique is impressive.”
I blinked. “That’s exactly what I was trying to capture.” And before I could stop my mouth, the words had already fallen out. “My first one got stolen.”
He froze for a second, then his eyes filled with sympathy. “What? When?”
“Last week. I went out and painted it again for the market.”
He smiled to himself. “Well, it’s amazing. I’m sorry to hear about your first one.”
Heat crept into my cheeks. “Thank you.”
He glanced at the painting of the oak tree. “How much?”
My eyes widened. “You… want to buy one?”
“You’re selling them, aren’t you?”
“I am.”
“Then I’d like this one.”
I hesitated. “It isn’t very expensive.”
“I didn’t ask if it was.” His smile widened. “I asked how much.”
After I told him, he handed me the money without a second thought. As I wrapped the painting carefully in brown paper, curiosity got the better of me.
“So… You seem to know a lot about paintings.”
He looked at me for a long moment, then smiled. “I’ve spent a lot of time around them.”
Something about the answer felt… incomplete. Not dishonest. Just, like there was more to the story.
Before I could ask another question, he tucked the wrapped painting under his arm. “I should let you get back to work.”
I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, feeling the tip end in a dramatic point. “Thanks… for buying it.”
“I should be thanking you.” He took a few steps away before turning back. “I’ll see ya around, Pearl.”
The way he said my name sent an increasingly familiar flutter through my stomach. “See ya around.”
I watched him disappear into the crowd. Mai appeared beside me almost instantly. “So…”
“No.”
“So?” She repeated, and I knew she wasn’t going to stop.
“No!”
“You like him.”
“I barely know him.”
“You still like him.”
I sighed dramatically. “… Maybe a little.” I admitted quietly.
Mai squealed loud enough that half the market looked over.
I buried my face in my hands. “I am never telling you anything ever again.”
She laughed. “You’ve known me too long for either of us to believe that.”
Despite myself, I laughed too.