He began to stitch and didn’t stop until he’d completed the scene.
He closed his eyes and laughed under his breath, quiet and a little wild.
It was terrible.
Comically, monumentally terrible.
He pulled the thread out and started over.
CHAPTER 47
Lauren
The sign didn’t sayshop.It saidThe Stockist—A Curated Experience.
Even the doorknob looked expensive. Through the tall glass windows, she could see a single tree branch suspended from the ceiling.
Lauren adjusted the strap on the bag over her shoulder and pushed through the door.
Displays lined the walls: ceramic bowls, silk ribbons, linen cushions in colors with names likeBoneandFog.Lauren was the most colorful thing in the store.
A woman in a monochrome jumpsuit smiled from behind the counter.
“Lauren Barrett?” she asked, voice smooth as tissue paper.
“That’s me,” Lauren said. Her voice came out too bright in the hushed space.
The woman’s expression warmed. “I’m Margot. Let me take those for you.”
Lauren set the bag on the marble counter and unzipped it, revealing the pair of wreaths she’d made—one riotous with color, the other all gold leaf and wild texture. They looked almost high-end under the store’s soft lighting.
The woman’s breath caught. “Oh. My. God.” She looked genuinely stunned. “These are—” She stopped, searching for the right word. “—extraordinary.”
Lauren felt something hot and dizzy rise in her chest. Pride, sharp-edged and satisfying.
“Would you like to see the display placement?” the woman asked.
Lauren followed her through the showroom. The space opened into a wide, skylit atrium. There was an empty space on the wall and her name sat on a small gold plaque beneath:Lauren Barrett—Available for Commissions.
They wanted her here. Her work, her name, her too-muchness—all of it.
She turned, taking in the space—paintings, sculptures, everything arranged with precision. In a nearby pane of glass, her reflection caught her eye: hair pinned up with a pencil, paint still smudged under her nails.
She grinned at herself.
Judith and Richard would hate that she was here.
When Lauren stepped back onto the sidewalk, the winter air felt sharp and bright.
She stood there a moment, hands jammed in her pockets, and let herself feel it.
Vindication.
Not the petty, brittle kind—though God, the thought of Judith’s face did have its sparkle—but the real kind. The kind that came from being seen, finally, exactly as she was.
She’d built this with her own hands. Buttons and rhinestones and stubborn joy.
And for the first time,good tastehad bent toher.
