Daphne pulled April to a stop, swinging her around to face her and taking both of her hands. “Areyouokay? Things looked a little tense with you and Ramona in the café.”
April shrugged. “They were. It’ll be okay though.”
“You can talk to me,” Daphne said. “About Ramona. The wedding. Anything.” And suddenly Daphne was desperate for exactly that. She wanted to know April’s thoughts, her fears, her sadness—she wanted to know everything.
April curled their hands together and held them against her chest, then kissed the top of Daphne’s knuckles. “You’re sweet. But tonight is not about me.”
“But it can be.”
“But it won’t be,” April said, smiling. “Because we’re not done yet.” She kissed Daphne’s fingers one more time, then pulled her along the sidewalk.
“What do you mean?” Daphne asked.
April just laughed and kept walking until she stopped outside a darkened storefront. She took out a ring of keys from her bag, then selected one before sliding it into a turquoise-colored door.
“April, wait, what—”
But Daphne cut herself off when she saw the lettering in the window—Wonderlust Ink. “Oh my god. This is…”
“My failure of a shop, yes,” April said, pushing the door open.
“I was going to sayyours,” Daphne said, nudging April’s shoulder.
“I said it wasmyfailure,” April said, laughing as they walked inside the dark space. She clicked on a switch, and soft golden light spilled from the vintage-style fixtures set into the tin ceiling tiles.
Daphne gasped as the space came into focus. She couldn’t help it. Art covered nearly every inch of the teal walls, a collection it had to have taken April years to amass, everything from images of Dolly Parton to Moira Rose fromSchitt’s Creekin her crow costume to landscapes done in funky colors. She had every queer identity flag represented, but painted in unique ways, like a humpback whale done in pansexual colors and the hues of the lesbian flag coloring an illustration of a Subaru Outback. Daphne guessed she’d done a lot of the art herself, and there were plenty of gothic touches, barren winter trees, old wells captured in black-and-white, as well as a few creepy nineteenth-century photographs of unsmiling and miserable-looking people. The space was moody and eclectic and strange.
It was perfect.
It wasApril.
“This is gorgeous,” Daphne breathed.
April stuck her hands in her pockets, looking around as though with new eyes. “I guess it is.”
“You guess?” Daphne asked, fingers trailing over a neon portrait of Elphaba fromWicked, the wordsI don’t cause commotions, I am oneswirling around her pointed black hat in elegant calligraphy. “It’s magic.”
April nodded, her eyes a little sad as she continued to survey the room. Finally, she picked up her bag and took out an iPad cocooned in a hunter-green case.
“I actually brought you here for a reason,” she said, tucking the device under her arm. She gestured toward one of two client chairs, a pale pink pleather that had seen better days. Still, the station was clean, and there was plenty more art on the walls to capture Daphne’s interest.
She sat down, still gazing around like a kid in a candy shop, when April sat on the rolling stool next to the chair and flipped open her iPad. Daphne’s heart froze—she wanted to see April’s Devon project so badly, but she knew that was hidden within the pages of a sketchbook.
April tapped around, then handed the iPad to Daphne. She took it, the case velvety under her paint-stained fingers. As she stared down at the screen, it took her a few seconds to realize what she was looking at.
And then, all at once, she knew exactly what it was.
“April,” she said. “This is…” But she trailed off, taking in the colorful image on the screen. In the center, there was an old-fashioned lantern. It was shaded beautifully, grays and steel blues, and the top was slightly curled decoratively, the handle arching over the back.
And inside, a flame.
It was small but bright, all golds and pinks, glimmering on the tiny wick.
The real beauty of the piece surrounded the lanterns—wildflowers. Similar in color and style to the ones in Daphne’s first painting, full blooming poppies and marigolds in apricot and coral and pumpkin, shy buds and green stems and leaves curling around them. And to the side, a single purple coneflower.
Daphne had never seen anything so perfect. It was simple and beautiful and—
“It’s yours,” April said.
