I watched as Gabriella managed to thank the judges even asshe gathered their barely touched plates. She tossed the uneaten food into the trash before leaving the stage.
As we walked back together, Elijah trailing close behind, townsfolk murmured encouraging words to Gabriella: “Better luck next time,” and “I had some earlier and they were amazing.”
But these small gestures didn’t make it into her psyche. “Let’s go home,” she said, her voice soft yet resolute.
“Are you sure?” I asked, furrowing my brow in concern.
Gabriella simply nodded, her dark eyes glistening with the tears she’d bravely held back.
Together, the three of us began packing up the tent, working silently but efficiently. As I folded the colorful tablecloth, I made a vow to myself: Gabriella deserved another chance to win, and I intended to help her do so.
Chapter 11
I stared at my reflection in the full-length mirror, frowning at the floral sundress I had on. It was pretty enough, I supposed, with its bright pink and yellow flowers, but it wasn’t really me. I’d spent a good forty-five minutes trying on and discarding outfit after outfit, each one feeling like a lie. Why should I dress up for Richard Tatum, of all people? We were just friends, catching up on old times. Besides, this was my new life, and I was done trying to impress anyone. Comfort and ease should have been my clothing priority, not whether Richard would be proud to have me on his arm.
“Who am I trying to please?” My choice made, I felt lighter, like I’d already shed a suffocating layer. A simple blouse, a pair of jeans, and canvas flats would suffice.
“Grandma, are you ready?” Elijah called from the living room. Poor child. I’d enlisted his help in choosing an outfit. He squeezed me in between zonking videogame monsters, but he wasn’t happy about it.
“Coming,” I replied, taking a deep breath before stepping out to face him.
Elijah looked me up and down, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “This? You don’t look like you’re going on a date. The dress was better.”
“Good,” I said firmly. “Because I’m not going on a date, I’m going as my normal, non-dating self. Richard is an old friend, and we’re just going to support local artists tonight.”
Elijah tilted his head thoughtfully before breaking into a smile. “Well, being yourself is always the best way to go, Grandma.”
His words warmed my heart, and I smiled back. “You’re absolutely right, Elijah. Thank you.”
The evening air brushed against my skin as I walked up to the old Victorian just off the square. The once-private residence had belonged to the town’s main doctor, I remembered. He and his wife were friends of Grandma Jewel, and I had been there once for a Christmas party.
Back then, I thought it was a slice out of an old movie. Now restored, it provided the perfect backdrop for art. Inside, the house-turned-gallery buzzed with conversations and the aroma of catered hors d’oeuvres. People milled around—artists discussing their work with grand gestures, patrons pondering designs with glasses of wine in hand.
My casual outfit felt stark in comparison to the room full of meticulously chosen ensembles. Yet here and there, I caught sight of others who had also opted for a more down-to-earth approach. I chuckled to myself, thinking back on all those events my ex-husband and I had attended, where my eyes might have critically lingered on someone who dared to break the mold. And now, here I was. Joyce Marrietta Hicks, mold-breaker.
I spotted Richard, dressed to impress in a charcoal suit. Hisface lit up as our gazes met, but I was determined not to let his charm faze me.This is about friendship and art, nothing more.
“Joyce!” Richard called from the entrance, smile bright.
“Hi, Richard,” I replied, feeling excitement and apprehension.
“Wow, you look beautiful,” he said, with that eagerness that reminded me of our high school days.
Beautiful felt over-the-top for my attire, my bare face, and my bushy hair behind a stretchy cloth headband. Especially from someone who was one step down from dressed for a symphony.
But I accepted his compliment, lest he deem me one of those women who didn’t know how to do so. Eager men always home in on that kind of woman, one who hasn’t already claimed her beauty.
No. I had to play like I didn’t like him.
Which I didn’t.Do I? And why am I playing games, anyway?
He gently guided me toward a lonely painting of a mockingbird, where he leaned in close to my ear. “I could sop you up with a biscuit.”
The tickle of his breath caused me to jump. “Richard,” I hissed, “you are crossing the line.”
“Too strong? Too fast?” he guessed.
“Toomuch. I already told you that I am not trying to be in a romantic relationship. I need a friend right now. That’s it. Are you capable of developing a friendship with me, without all this extra pressure?”
