Chapter 11
Preparing for the Gallery
The hardest part, it turned out, wasn’t getting accepted into the gallery. It was deciding which paintings deserved to go. I had six finished landscapes leaning against the walls of my cottage, but Neptune had only asked for three. Three. How was I supposed to choose?
I stood in the middle of the room with my arms crossed, staring at them as though one might volunteer. The windmill. Moonwater Lake at dusk. The old stone bridge. A field of wildflowers. The Briarwood trail. My little cottage tucked beneath the oak tree that stood just beyond the garden beds.
“I hate all of you equally,” I muttered. I also liked them all equally. Oh, the woes of being an anxious artist.
A knock sounded at the door. Perfect timing. I opened it to find Mai carrying a basket covered with a checkered cloth.
“I brought lunch.”
“You always bring lunch. Honestly, why do I even buy groceries?” I laughed.
“And today,” she announced as she swept past me into the cottage, “I’m also bringing opinions.”
“Oh no.”
She set the basket on the table before turning toward the paintings. “… Oh.” Her eyes widened. “You’ve been busy.”
“I have a problem.”
“You have six beautiful paintings. What’s the problem?”
“I have to choose three.”
She gasped dramatically. “Oh, that’s cruel.”
“That’s what I’ve been saying.”
Mai walked slowly around the room, studying each one as if she were judging a contest. She stopped in front of the lake. “This one’s definitely going.”
“I thought so, too.”
She moved to the windmill. “So is this one.” Two for two, so far. Then she frowned. “The third one’s impossible.”
“I know.”
For nearly twenty minutes, we rearranged paintings around the room like some bizarre puzzle. Every time we settled on the third, one of us would change our mind.
“What about the bridge?” Mai asked.
“I like the bridge.”
“But then we lose the wildflowers.”
“I also like the wildflowers.” I groaned. “This isn’t helping.”
Mai grinned. “No, but it’s kinda fun.”
“You have a strange definition of fun.”
Another knock interrupted us. I opened the door to find Cypress leaning casually against the porch railing. “I heard congratulations are in order.”
I blinked. “… How does everyone know everything around here?”
“It’s a small town.” She shrugged. “And Mai talks.”
“I do not,” Mai called from inside.
Cypress raised an eyebrow. “You don’t ever shut up.”
Mai considered it. “That’s fair.”
Cypress stepped inside, immediately wandering toward the paintings. “Well…” She let out a low whistle. “No wonder Neptune wants these. I think these might be better than the ones I saw at the market.”
Heat crept into my cheeks. “You really think they’re good enough?”
She looked at me like I’d asked whether the sky was blue. “Pearl.”
“What?”
“They’re beautiful.” She gestured around the room. “They make Hearthglen feel… like Hearthglen.”
I smiled. “I think that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said about my work.”
She shrugged. “It’s true.”
Soon all three of us were debating which paintings belonged in the gallery. Surprisingly, Cypress and Mai almost never agreed.
“The flowers,” Mai insisted.
“The bridge,” Cypress countered.
“The flowers.”
“The bridge.”
“The flowers.”
“I can see why you two are friends,” I joked. Neither of them were listening.
By late afternoon we’d finally settled on three. Moonwater Lake. The windmill. The stone bridge. I stared at them lined up against the wall. “They don’t look like much.”
Two pairs of eyes turned toward me.
Mai folded her arms. “Pearl.”
Cypress sighed dramatically. “Artists.”
“What?”
“You all do this.”
“Do what?”
“This painting is terrible.” Cypress did an imitation of my voice. It wasn’t bad, to be honest.
“I didn’t say terrible.”
“It’s not that good.”
“I—”
Mai interrupted, also mocking me. “I should’ve painted the trees differently.”
“Exactly.”
I looked between them. “I don’t sound like that… do I?”
Together they answered, “Yes!”
I laughed despite myself. Maybe they had a point.
The next challenge appeared after they’d both gone home. Frames. I carefully slid each painting into the simple oak frames Neptune had recommended before wrapping them with protective brown paper.
The finished pieces looked real. Gallery real. That thought made my stomach flutter. A knock sounded just as I was struggling to lift all three at once.
“I swear, if that’s another person here to tell me which painting they like best…” I opened the door. Urchin stood there.
He smiled. “I can come back if—”
“No.” I smiled back. “Come in.”
His eyes immediately found the framed paintings, their contents hidden behind the plain paper. “So… they’re going up.”
“They’re going up.” I confirmed.
His grin spread across his face. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
“I’ve been trying to carry all three, just to get them out of the way for now.” He made a noise of acknowledgment. “I was failing.” Another noise. “They’re heavier than they look.”
He laughed. “I figured.” Walking over, he carefully lifted two of the framed paintings as though they weighed almost nothing. “When are you taking them?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
“I can help.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.” He smiled. “I’d like to.”
Before I could overthink it, I smiled. “I’d appreciate that.”
The next morning was bright and strangely cool for summer. We walked side by side toward the Hair of the Dog bar and Lupine Gallery. Urchin carried two paintings. I carried one.
“I still feel bad that you have the heavy ones.”
“You’ve got one.”
“Yes, but yours are heavier.”
“They’re also bigger.”
“I could’ve carried a bigger one.”
“You absolutely could have.”
I narrowed my eyes. “That wasn’t what you were thinking.”
A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “No.”
“I knew it.”
“I was thinking you’d trip trying to see around it.”
I opened my mouth to reply, but thought about it. “That’s actually fair.”
He laughed. “So did you decide which one’s your favorite?”
I looked at the painting in my hands, as though I could see through the protective layer of paper. “I don’t know.”
“You painted them. Surely you must have a favorite.”
“I know. But every time I choose one…” I smiled. “…another one gets its feelings hurt.”
He stared at me for a second. “You assign feelings to your paintings?”
“Only sometimes.”
He laughed so hard he nearly had to stop walking.
“I’m serious.”
“I know.”
“You’re making fun of me.”
“A little.”
“I regret telling you.” A tiny smile forced the corner of my lips up when he continued chuckling.
We reached the bar as Kiwi was sweeping around her stall. She smiled as I got closer. “Morning!”
“Morning,” I answered.
Her eyes fell to the paintings. “So these are the lucky three.”
“They are.”
Kiwi leaned her broom against the stall. “I’m sure they’re beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
Sage called from her own stall, grumpy sounding as ever, but well-meaning… I think, “Let’s just hope yours don’t disappear too.”
My smile faltered for just a second. “Let’s hope not.”
Kiwi gave an awkward laugh. “Don’t let her worry you. The police have been all over it.”
“Yeah.”
Urchin glanced toward the bar entrance before looking back at me. “They’ll be alright.”
I smiled. “I think so too.”
Together, we carried the paintings inside. For the first time in my life, I wasn’t bringing my artwork home. I was leaving a little piece of it behind. It felt like leaving a piece of my soul.