"But how?" Lauren said. "I made three pieces.Three! For a magazine feature about being angry at Christmas. That's not—that's not how people become artists."
Rina exchanged a look with the others, then turned back to Lauren with patient determination. "Okay. Listen. Muse Magazine has serious credibility. When we publish something, tastemakers pay attention. Tastemakers like The Stockist.”
“Galleries like that are always looking for undiscovered artists,” Wren added. “Art is big business.”
Sage leaned across the counter, voice low, reverent. “And just like The Stockist listens to us, their customers listen tothem. If you get in their artisan showcase, you’re basically set. Their clients commission everything from installation art to custom paperweights. They willthrow moneyat you.”
Lauren shook her head, still dazed. "But that's—that's not how this works. You don't just go from receptionist to... to whatever this is."
“Unless,” Zoe said, “you've got three things most artists spend years trying to get: visibility, credibility, and timing."
"Visibility from Muse," Rina ticked off on her fingers. "Credibility from The Stockist vouching for you. And timing because the market wants youright now.”
"Plus," Sage added with a grin, "your work is really fucking good."
Wren spun in a small celebratory circle. “You’re about to quit your job as a receptionist and be a full-time artist!”
Lauren felt dizzy. “I—no, I can’t quit my job. I like my job. I need my job. I’m not…” She gestured helplessly. “I’m not an artist-artist.”
The girls exchanged a collective look—equal parts pity and exasperation.
“You are though,” Zoe said softly, “you are absolutely an artist-artist.”
“And you don’t have to quit,” Wren added quickly. “Not right away. But once people realize they have to wait six weeks for a Lauren Barrett original…”
Rina snapped her notebook shut with a flourish. “They’ll just want them more.”
Lauren shook her head, heart pounding. “This iscrazy. People aren’t going to actually buy?—”
“Lauren.” Sage pointed at the email again. “The Stockist wantssamples.Do you understand the business savvy it takes for a store like that to offer display space? They’re saying your workwill makethemmoney. Their best clients are probably already getting a heads-up about you.”
“This is impossible,” Lauren whispered.
“No,” Zoe disagreed. “It’s justimprobable.” She grinned. “And… it’s happening.”
Lauren stared at the glowing screen.
The Stockist. Her work. On display. Commissionable.
Her palms went damp.
She wasn’t ready. She was terrified. She had no idea how to do this.
But beneath the panic, something glowed—small and fierce.
Someonebelieved in her.
And if this wasn’t a mistake… maybe shecoulddo this.
CHAPTER 28
Tom
Tom shutthe door with his shoulder after the last trip in. Snow still clung to his coat.
He opened the first box carefully.
Color bloomed against the cardboard: ribbons, baubles, angels. The smell of glue and cloves and that indefinable sweetness that was Lauren herself.
