Sunlight pours through the tall windows, bouncing off the white walls and illuminating my sculptures in ways that make them seem almost alive—shadows dancing across their abstract forms like secrets waiting to be uncovered.
It’s all just perfect.
Well as perfect as anything can ever be when it comes to art.
The space is great… a seamless blend of gallery and coffee shop, with the aroma of fresh espresso mingling with the faint earthy scent of clay from my pieces.
Robbie buzzes around the counter, adjusting the display of artisanal pastries and testing the new espresso machine one last time. As the manager, he’s in his element—apron tied neatly over his floral t-shirt, hair shining under the light, and his eyessparkling with life. "Eddie! The flat whites are on point today, want a sample?"
I laugh, wiping my hands on a rag smeared with glaze residue.
"Later. I'm still tweaking the last piece."
He rolls his eyes good-naturedly. "Perfectionist. But hey, that's why you're the star and I’m merely the humble manager."
The pair of us laugh.
It really is a dream to get to work with Robbie like this. And it’s not to say that I won’t hop back behind the counter from time to time either. After all, who else is going to make the best juices in the city?
Anyhoo…
I glance around, my heart swelling with a mix of pride and disbelief. The exhibition is titled "Edges of Shadow and A Little Light"—a study of violence, love, and hope for the future.
The sculptures are abstract but pulsing with life: twisted forms that evoke shattered glass merging into embracing figures, dark voids giving way to bursts of color in the glazes. One piece—a towering spiral of clay pierced with metal shards—represents the chaos of that night at the old gallery, but at its core, a delicate heart shape emerges, symbolizing survival.
The previews from the city's art critics have been glowing…
"Raw and revolutionary,"one said.
"Luck's work captures the brutality of existence while daring to dream of redemption, "said another.
It's traction—real traction—for my career.Finally.
Even Alexander is getting involved, perched on a ladder near the doorway, fiddling with a faulty light fixture. His massive frame looks almost comical balanced up there, tools dangling from his belt. "Almost got it," he grunts, twisting a wire. "Bulb's good… wiring was loose."
"Thanks, Alexander," I call. "You're a lifesaver."
He waves it off, but there's a small smile under his beard. Who knew the stoic bodyguard had DIY skills? In the past three months, he's become more than protection—a gruff uncle figure, always around but never intrusive.
Secretly I think Alexander might like being around me and my new Little buddies. But that’s maybe another story. Right now, I need to focus on the task at hand.
I set down my tools and step back from the final sculpture—a duo of figures locked in an eternal dance, one shielding the other from an implied storm.
It's done.
Really done.
I grab my lunch from the counter—a cute triangle sandwich of cucumber and cream cheese. Totally my favorite right now. And a pineapple juice box of course, and I plop onto a stool near the window. Goldie sits beside me on the counter, his golden mane catching the light. I poke the straw into the box, take a sip, and let the tart sweetness ground me.
This moment… I appreciate it deeply.
My career is gaining momentum, pieces selling even before the official opening. European and West Coast galleries calling, interviews lined up. And a big part of it is down to Viktor.
He put up the money to buy this building and renovate it lightning-fast into this hybrid space: art upfront, cozy café in the back.
"For you," he said when he presented the keys. "Your vision. Your rules." No more cramped apartments or borrowed studios.
And our new brownstone? Spacious, elegant, with a dedicated art room for me—complete with industrial sink and ventilation to handle the mess. No more clay splatters on his pristine apartment floors leading to... well,spankings.
