Page 91 of Yours To Hold
Except it’s anything but clean.
Because I broke my own damn heart when I left town.
I should be out enjoying the city. Enjoying all that Seattle has to offer.
But I can’t.
The pinging of the coffee machine pulls me out of my spinning thoughts. I add more cream than necessary, downing half the cup in two big swallows. I need it if I want to make it through the day.
With one of the new portrait exhibits opening tonight, it’s going to be a long day, working to make sure everything is perfect.
This is why I started early—for this upcoming show.
Heading into the bathroom, I go through the motions of getting ready for the day. Hair. Makeup. A brand-new white silk blouse with a black pencil skirt I bought especially for the opening.
I’m hoping by looking my best, I’ll feel my best.
Too nervous to eat, I dump the rest of the coffee into a travel mug and am out the door.
A wall of heat slams into me. I shrug out of my blazer. It’s a sticky morning, so hot, you can see the heat hanging in the sky. Thankfully it’s only a short walk to the gallery.
Even this early in the morning, the sidewalks are filled with people. Skyscrapers kiss the sky on both sides of me. The Space Needle stands tall in the distance.
It’s something I still can’t quite get used to. This view.
Having had mountains my entire life, it still blows me away.
Not paying attention to where I’m walking, it happens in slow motion.
I run smack into someone.
“Watch it!” he shouts. The lid pops off my mug, spilling the last dregs of coffee down my blouse. My very white blouse.
“Fuck.”
Tears sting my eyes. With everything else going on, this is the last thing I need to deal with.
“Fuck.”
Spinning on my heel, I head back to my apartment.
So much for feeling good about today.
* * *
Everythingabout this night is perfect. The lights are dim, with small lights spotlighting the works of art hanging on the walls. Champagne is flowing. It’s packed to the brim with people.
After a disaster of a morning, I was able to settle down and focus on work, and now I’m schmoozing all the biggest art collectors in the Seattle area.
A group of people move around the old industrial space turned art gallery. The crowd spreads out and reveals a familiar face.
“Gemma?” With a glass of champagne in hand, she walks over to me. Just seeing her makes a wave of homesickness slam into me. “What in the world are you doing here?”
She’s tanner than she usually is—no doubt from her trip to LA. Gemma is as stunning as ever in a simple black dress.
“You ran out of town when I was gone. What else was I supposed to do?”
“But you were so mad at me.”
