“And yet you're already walking toward the gelato stand.” Ruby said with a triumphant grin. “See? I'm a bad influence.”
They got gelato—pistachio for Celeste, some ridiculous flavor combination involving lavender and honey for Ruby—and wandered through the festival eating it like children. Celeste couldn't remember the last time she'd done something this spontaneous, this frivolous.
Ruby made her do things like this she’d never expected to do and it made her feel lighter and less burdened by her thoughts.
They spent the morning exploring a sculpture garden with pieces that looked like they belonged in a dream and a textile exhibit showcasing fabrics from around the world.
“I want to remember all of this,” Ruby said at one point. “Every single second.”
Around noon, they stopped at a shaded area with benches, both of them overheated from walking in the sun.
“I'm going to get us some water. “Ruby got up and stretched. “And definitely snacks. Don't move, I'll be right back.”
“I'll be here.”
Ruby kissed the top of her head and disappeared into the crowd. Celeste leaned back on the bench, closing her eyes and just breathing. She could hear music drifting from multiple stages, all competing for attention.
“—absolutely not interested. I've seen enough amateur work this week to last me a lifetime.”
Celeste's eyes snapped open. Two men stood a few feet away, one gesturing emphatically while the other listened with ill-concealed impatience.
“Jonas, just look at the portfolio. Five minutes is all I'm asking.”
“I could spend that time looking at actual art.” The man—Jonas—had silver hair and wore a suit that looked expensive even by festival standards. “I didn't come to New Orleans to coddle aspiring artists with delusions of grandeur.”
Celeste sat up straighter. Jonas? As in Jonas Ford, the collector Ruby's agent had been trying to connect her with.
Her heart began racing.
This was it, the opportunity Ruby would never take for herself. And it was standing close by, about to walk off and be lost forever.
Celeste stood before she could second-guess herself, pulling out her phone as she walked over. “Excuse me. I couldn't help but overhear. Are you Jonas Ford?”
The man turned, his expression cool and dismissive. “I am. And you are?”
“Someone who has actual art worth looking at.” Despite her rising nerves, she kept her voice steady. This was a courtroom and she knew how to command attention in a courtroom. “I would like to request brief minutes of your attention, please.”
“I don't have time to spare for—”
“For extraordinary work that would be the centerpiece of any collection?” Celeste pulled up Ruby's photos, the ones she'd forwarded to herself previously. She hadn’t known for sure what she was going to do with them at the time, but if being a lawyer told her anything, it was that you should always follow your hunches. “Have a look.”
She held out her phone, and Jonas glanced at it with the air of someone humoring an annoyance. But then his expression changed and his eyes grew focused.
“Wait.” He took the phone, zooming in on the image. He swiped to the next photo, then the next. “Who is the artist?”
“Ruby Langley. She's completely brilliant and untrained in formal schools, which means she's developed this incredibly unique style. No one else paints like this.”
“I can see that.” Jonas was still scrolling, his earlier dismissiveness completely gone. “The use of color is remarkable. And the emotional depth is raw but technically sophisticated. How have I not heard of her?”
“Because she's been hiding her best work.” Celeste felt a pang of guilt saying it, but it was true. “She's terrified of failure, so she's been playing it safe. But this is what she's capable of when she's honest.”
“I want to see more. Her full portfolio, for one, and I'd like to meet her, if possible.”
“Really?”
“I don't waste time on pleasantries. If I say I want to see more, I mean it.” He pulled out his own phone. “Her contact information?”
Celeste rattled off Ruby's email—she'd looked it up days ago, thinking maybe she'd send the photos directly before chickening out—and her phone number. Jonas typed it all in, then looked at her again.
