April tilted her head, but recognition came almost immediately—a hot August day four years ago, a sketch of weeds and wildflowers surrounding a rough wooden door opening into a dark space.
“Nicola,” she said, taking the proffered glass and then flickingher eyes to Nicola’s left thigh, where April had inked the piece onto her skin, even though it was now covered by her dress. “The wild unknown.”
“You remember?” Nicola said. “I’m impressed.”
April laughed. “Don’t give me too much credit. I mostly just remember my work.”
Nicola nodded. “Which means you put a lot of care into it. I like that. I remember that. Your shop was quite an experience. I’ve never forgotten it.”
April smiled but felt a pang of loss along with the flare of pride in her chest. “I’m sorry to say I had to close it.”
She said it quickly—the first time she’d uttered those words out loud.
Nicola’s expression fell.
April nodded and took a sip of champagne. She wasn’t sure what else to say, but she braced for the inevitablewhat’s nextquestion. A terrifying, soul-sucking inquiry.
“I’m very sorry to hear that,” Nicola said, “but the timing might be fortuitous.”
April narrowed her eyes. “How so?”
“I’m at Cloverwild off and on during the summer while my husband finishes writing his dissertation,” Nicola said, taking a delicate sip of her own drink. “I was hoping to get a chance to talk to you in person tonight. And here you are.”
April lifted her brows, waiting for thewhyof it all.
Nicola pursed her mouth, smiling at April, and April got the distinct feeling that she was intentionally building drama.
“I’m putting together an exhibition at the Devon.”
April’s eyes widened. “The Devon.”
Nicola’s smile spread like the Cheshire cat’s. “The Devon.”
A good reason for all the drama, then. The Devon was a world-renowned museum in London. It housed a regular collection of artby now-famous contemporary artists as well as showcasing new talent on the regular, mostly from marginalized artists. It was known for art that pushed boundaries, challenged systems of power, spun well-known stories in a different light. April remembered learning about the Devon at RISD during her modern art class, as well as experiencing intense jealousy when a classmate had landed a fellowship there after graduation.
Everyone who even moderately dabbled in visual art had heard of the Devon.
“You’re a curator at the Devon?” April asked.
“I am.”
“Now I’m the one who’s impressed,” April said.
Nicola didn’t deny the clout that came along with her position, which April sort of loved about her. She simply continued to smile—no teeth, small mouthed—and took another sip of her champagne.
“I’m looking for one more artist,” she said after swallowing.
“For what?”
“I have an exhibition that’s going to run for three weeks in October calledEvolution,” Nicola went on. “Full transparency, it’s the first of its kind I’ve ever curated completely independently, so I have a lot riding on this.”
April could only stare at her, because honestly, she couldn’t think why Nicola would be telling her any of this, or why any of this meantfortuitous timing.
Unless…
“I thought of you,” Nicola said.
April’s whole body froze. “Me.”
