“But think about it practically. Jonas Ford will be there and your agent said he's specifically looking for new talent. This could be your chance.”
“Celeste.” Ruby set down her coffee cup. “I appreciate what you're trying to do, I really do. But the answer is no.”
Celeste wanted to push and could feel the argument forming on her tongue, all the logical reasons why Ruby was sabotaging herself and why fear was holding her back from something extraordinary. But her expression had gone guarded, walls sliding into place.
“I can be very persistent when I want to be,” Celeste said.
“I've noticed.” Ruby's smile returned, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. “Truce for now?”
“Truce.”
Ruby stood, crossing to Celeste's chair and pulling her up into a kiss that tasted like coffee and strawberry jam. When she pulled back, her eyes had softened again.
“Thank you for caring,” she murmured. “Even when I'm being stubborn.”
“Especially when you're being stubborn.”
Ruby kissed her again, deeper this time, her hands cupping Celeste's face like there would never be a next time.
Celeste melted into it, letting herself have this moment even knowing it couldn't last. Ruby's touch made her feel cherished in a way she'd never experienced, not with the scattered dates in college or with anyone.
“I need to get ready If I don't go now, we'll never make it to the festival.”
She disappeared into the bathroom, and Celeste heard the water start running. She sat back down, staring at her coffee, trying to ignore the voice in her head that sounded suspiciously like her grandmother:Sometimes caring for people means doing what's best for them, even when they don't see it themselves.
Ruby's phone sat on the nightstand, screen dark. Celeste picked it up, thumb hovering over the power button.
No password. It unlocked immediately to Ruby's home screen—a photo of a sunset over water.
She knew this was wrong. But if Ruby wouldn't advocate for herself, someone had to.
Celeste navigated to the photo gallery, scrolling until she found the folder of Ruby's best work. Her hands moved quickly, selecting images and forwarding them to her own email. Just enough to show collectors what Ruby was capable of.
She set the phone back exactly where she'd found it, guilt sitting heavy in her stomach. But beneath the guilt was certainty. This was the right thing to do. Ruby was simply too talented to hide forever, too brilliant to let fear win.
When she emerged from the bathroom, hair damp and smelling like hotel shampoo, Celeste was already dressed and scrolling through the festival app on her own phone.
“Ready?” Ruby asked.
“Ready.”
The festival was everything the brochure had promised and more. The French Quarter had been transformed into an explosion of color and sound. Art installations spilled from galleries onto the streets. Musicians played on every corner. The air smelled like beignets and the green, wet scent of the nearby Mississippi.
They wandered hand in hand through the crowds, and Celeste tried not to think about how natural it felt. How right.
“Look at this,” Ruby said, stopping in front of a massive sculpture made entirely of recycled glass. Thousands of pieces fitted together to create something that looked like a wave frozen mid-crash, light refracting through the colored glass in a spectrum of blues and greens.
“It's beautiful.”
“It's more than beautiful. See how they layered the different shades? That creates a sense of depth and movement. And the way the light hits—” Ruby moved around the sculpture, examining it from different angles, her face alight with fascination.
Celeste watched her instead of the art. Ruby, in her own way, was art itself. Just as mesmerizing .
They moved on to a series of photographs that captured moments of pure joy—a child's first taste of ice cream, an elderly couple dancing in their kitchen and a dog leaping through waves.
“These are incredible,” she murmured.
“They're about finding beauty in ordinary moments.” Ruby squeezed her hand. “That's what good art does. It makes you see the everyday events in a new way.”
