“Yikes, that’s not much time.”
“I know, that’s why I need your help. You can come, right? Sunday?” Dahlia squinted, clutching her hands in prayer.
“Ah, let me look in my phone.” It was quiet. “The boys have a doubleheader, but I can ask Tony to take care of it.”
“Phew.” And that’s why she was her ride-or-die. She always came through.There was a release of tension in her shoulders, knowing shewouldn’t have to do this alone. Asking for help suddenly didn’t seem so bad. “I need you here. I can’t do this without you.” Dahlia knew she probably could do it without her, but she didn’t want to.
“Who are you inviting?” Kara curiously asked, as if she knew Dahlia didn’t know anyone.
“Well, that’s the thing. I’d like her students to come, so I’ll need to locate them, maybe on Facebook somehow, and then some neighbors, the garden club, and town people. All I want is to celebrate her.” Dahlia’s mouth curved upward. Honoring Lil would be like honoring the truth.
“That sounds like a good plan. I’m proud of you,” Kara said, emphasizing each word.
“Thanks. I’m kind of proud of me too.” Dahlia had an all-knowing grin, one that wasn’t going to leave any time soon. “Listen, I’ve got to run. I have a meeting with that guy, Tomas, from Elevate in Southampton.”
“Fancy, why?” Kara asked.
“It’s just a backup in case the Whitmore Gallery says no to the extension, which they might,” Dahlia said, taking the last sip of her coffee.
“Okay, toodle-oo. Call me later.”
Betty’s muffler was growing louder by the day—not an ideal first impression for this well-known, swanky Hamptons town. She turned off the car and flipped down the dusty visor, then reapplied her lip gloss and calmed her flyaways in the mirror. She blew out a long breath, wondering why she was even there. It was apparent the Hamptons hated her, and if she was being honest with herself, she wasn’t a big fan either. But that didn’t matter as much as having choices and a job did.
There was a message from Kara.Check your Gram.
Why?Dahlia typed.
Look, she replied.
Dahlia opened the app. Her notifications exploded at the top in red, and all she saw was12K followersnext to her picture. Dahlia gasped; her eyes felt like they were going to pop out of the sockets. She wasn’t one to value stats, but this was unexpected.
When she opened the notifications, she saw a bunch of tagged images of her and Noah, way too many to count. Her jaw clenched as she scrolled through private photos that they had no right to use. There were images from that night in the Hamptons, not too far from where she was parked. They were holding hands, kissing in the corner, dancing with Penny, then ones from the Gretchen’s restaurant opening, and even one from the day at the Brewery.
Ugh, I don’t want followers like that, Dahlia typed.
The three dots appeared.Regardless, they’re followers. And if you ever have a business someday, this is good.
She was probably right, but Dahlia wasn’t about to read the comments. That would blow her day up into a million pieces. When things were finally looking up, she didn’t need that. Some small part of her hoped all of this fanfare would ease now that Noah was officially no longer part of the show.
If you say so, Dahlia replied.
Dahlia’s pulse raced as she reached for her purse. The new Instagram intel didn’t help her nerves, which had suddenly gone haywire. Why exactly was she so anxious? She was a curator in the city and ran some of the rarest exhibits, for goodness sake. As much as she could reason her qualifications, this would be a completely different position, if it were offered, than the one she’d endured for the past few years. Once she was out of the car and on her feet, she pressed the wrinkles from her skirt and walked toward town. Asshe turned the corner, she spotted the sleek signage from across the road: ELEVATE in big block letters. Unease tensed her shoulders, but she held her chin high and kept walking.
Dahlia weaved through the Monday Main Street lunch crowd, catching a glimpse of herself in the glass reflection. Her head jerked in surprise, followed by a smile at how professional and cool she looked in Lil’s linen blazer, floral pleated skirt, tank top, and heels. It was aGossip Girlvibe, one she hadn’t quite settled into. She opened the stainless-steel door to the gallery and walked in. A low-volume instrumental faded into the background, and she was met with Tomas’s firm finger in the air, which right away seemed awfully rude. There was a sinking feeling in her abdomen, telling her ever so subtly that this was a bad idea. It was the same patronizing feeling she got with Spence, like she wasn’t as important as he was. She walked around the cold space, waiting for him to finish his call. The art was avant-garde, mainly abstract and mixed media, with a Warhol flavor.
“Sorry about that.” Tomas walked over in a pale pink collared shirt and fitted white pants. His wavy hair was neatly slicked back. “Can I get you water, a glass of wine?”
“No, I’m good, thank you.” She just wanted to get this over with so she could retreat back to Lil’s.
“Well, thanks for making the trip over to the South Fork,” he said curtly.
Dahlia nodded and smiled. “Of course.”
“Well, tell me. What do you think of the place?” He pivoted toward the art.
“It’s beautifully curated.” She wanted to say that it lacked warmth and intimacy but didn’t.
“Walk with me. What do you think about, say, this one?” He pointed to the large-scale, unlabeled square canvas with bold, shaded circles.
