“Celebrating! Obviously!” Macey huffed, collapsing dramatically on the armchair. “Now hand me a cookie before I pass out from exertion. I hid the box under the coffee table.”
Pulling out the white bakery box, I passed one of the chocolate chip cookies to Macey. I grabbed one for myself, savoring the gooey sweetness that felt like a reward.
I leaned back against the couch, letting the cookie crumble in my hand. “Thanks, Macey.”
“For what?” Macey asked through a mouth full of cookie.
“For always believing in me.”
Macey shrugged, but her grin was unstoppable. “That’s what roommates are for. Even if I thought your last piece was a little unusual.”
She was right. My third sample for my submission, a mixed-media piece, fit well within the theme of identity, though. I called it “the threads between us.” It was a collage and embroidery piece, one that used a mix of notes, printed texts, and old photos, along with colorful threads to tell the story of how the Burrow Bitches came to be.
It was the quickest I had completed one of my submissions, done within the entirety of a night. Needless to say, I was sleep-deprived at work the next day.
“I’m just glad it’s done,” I said.
“Are you and Landon doing anything to celebrate?”
“He doesn’t know yet that I finished. He’s actually on the way to pick me up right now, so I’ll tell him then.”
“Ooh, maybe he’s picking you up and whisking you away on a romantic weekend getaway,” Macey said. “Because you two are so in loooove. Not like that man ever stopped. He looks at you like his heart would cease beating if you said the word.”
“Romantic getaways are Noah’s and your thing.” I paused. “I’m assuming fake dating in Aruba falls into that category.”
Macey rolled her eyes playfully. “It all sounds silly now, but it worked out. Just as you and Landon will.”
I gave a small smile and chewed the rest of the cookie. From a relationship perspective, I felt secure. Landon and I were doing better than we ever really had. Everything was going well. Which, of course, made me question when something would go wrong.
Landon picked me up a few minutes later, leaving me with just enough time to get dressed and ready for the day. I left on theHot people make artsweatshirt, though, and I would not be judged for that decision.
“How was your morning?” Landon asked as he pulled the car out and onto the main road.
“Good.” Any attempt at building the suspense of the announcement was ruined because I blurted out, “I submitted my art residency application this morning.”
His surprise was so palpable he nearly swerved the car. “Holy shit! How did it feel?”
“Nerve-racking during the process but amazing after.”
At a red stoplight, Landon leaned over and kissed me, slow and solid. “I’m proud of you,” he murmured against my lips.
And just like that, the buzzing in my head—the stress, the what-ifs, the absolute certainty that I’d left something out—faded into something softer.
“Thank you,” I said, breathless in a way that had nothing to do with the cold air outside. “I kind of feel like I could sleep for twelve hours. Or eat a frozen pizza and cry.”
He chuckled and placed his right hand on my thigh. God, did men know the power they had over us when they did that? “We can do both of those things. But first, we have to buy vegetables.”
I blinked. “I’m sorry. What?”
“Produce run. You’re coming with me to the farmer’s market. The diner needs a bunch of vegetables. It’s very high stakes.”
I laughed. “What better way to celebrate surviving an art residency application than elbowing grandmas over the last bunch of beets?”
“You’re underestimating how intense my mom gets about fresh ingredients. We need to bring back enough veggies to feed a small army. Or at least a soft opening crowd.”
I shook my head and tried not to smile too much. “Well. Lucky for you, I’m an expert in carrot selection.”
The market was quieter than usual, probably because the sky looked like it was thinking about snow. Still, the smell ofcinnamon sugar and roasted peanuts gave everything a weirdly cozy vibe.
