Page 36 of Promise Me Never

She opened the Word file with her untitled manuscript. She had written three books before this one and had shelved each one. First drafts were supposed to be shit, or at least that was what Stephen King said. But when she typed the last word on each of her previous attempts, she had no desire to go back and fix them. It was as though the magic had gone. And she believed part of the reason was that she had outlined them and then followed the outline to a T despite feeling that the actions didn’t line up with how the characters had developed. So she decided to wing it, or be a pantser in writing lingo—writing by the seat of her pants. The problem was, it was easy to write yourself into a corner or into a dead end. It was also difficult coming to the page with no idea about what to write. Maybe that was why she hadn’t worked on the book in over two months.

But this one was coming along nicely. She reread the three chapters that she had revised based on Bennett’s suggestions. They were good. She’d read enough manuscripts to know, even if this was her own work. She was eager for him to see what a good job she’d done. She moved on to the next chapter and read it over, making notes in the margin at points that needed more elaboration or a more evocative response from her protagonist.

“Pardon me. Mrs. Bryson, right?”

She looked up to see the woman from the furniture store standing there. “Oh, hello. Savannah, please.”

The woman smiled. “I see you found the best café around! Nice to see you. Hopefully you won’t have to wait too long for the beautiful pieces you picked out.”

As she walked away, Savannah noticed a man behind the counter staring at her with what looked like shock. He quickly looked away when she met his eyes. She glanced at the name tag on his shirt. Henri.

| Thirty-Three |

Before—Poppy

When Bennett walked in the door, he was smiling from ear to ear.

“I have some news,” he said, walking over to where I was sitting with my book and taking a seat across from me.

“What is it?”

“You know the gallery in the next town over? Stone and Sky?”

“Of course. I’ve queried them and even stopped by but heard nothing back.”

“Well, good news. The owner was looking for a partner. You’re looking at him.”

It took a minute for what he said to sink in. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m part owner. You’re going to have a show!”

For a moment, I was too shocked to speak. This was not the way I wanted to make a name in the art community. “Bennett, why would you do that without talking to me?”

His face fell. “I thought you’d be happy. I wanted to surprise you.”

I threw my book down and stood up. “How would you feel if I bought a publishing company so your book could be published?”

He scoffed. “That’s totally different.”

“How? I want to get a show based on the merit of my work, not because my husband paid to secure me a spot.”

“Poppy, you’re being ridiculous. A show is simply a way for your work to be seen by critics, buyers. They’ll determine whether it has merit, not a gallery owner. It’s no different from someone referring me to an agent or a publisher.”

“But I don’t see it that way. This feels like cheating!”

He shook his head. “Everything comes down to who you know. This is a good thing. Please, don’t throw this chance away. I want to do this for you. You’re so talented. It’s time others see your work. Trust me, plenty of other artists have gotten discovered because someone gave them a leg up.”

He looked so earnest. So sincere. My resolve melted, and I suppose it really was a good opportunity. “Okay, I guess.”

He pulled something from the bag I hadn’t even noticed he was holding. A bottle of Krug champagne. “Come on, let’s celebrate.”

—

Now that the show was in two days, I couldn’t deny that I was excited. Bennett’s agent invited lots of book people from the city, and I reached out to some friends as well. Henri insisted on overseeing the food and beverages for the evening, and I was sure he was driving the gallery manager crazy, but I loved him for it. Isabel just arrived and was making a long weekend of it. It was so good to see her again. We became fast friends, both of us united against Bennett’s occasional obtuseness. It was all in good fun, and he loved having her around as well. I poured two glasses of pinot grigio and waited for her by the pool. White twinkle lights hung on the wooden fencing gave the space a magical feel. I loved sitting out here and wished the weather stayed warm longer. It always went by too fast. It was a warm July night, but the breeze made it tolerable. I streamed some background music on my phone and connected it on the outside speaker to set the mood. I looked up as she walked over, looking elegant as always in white linen pants and a sleeveless black top. She took a seat next to me in the cushioned lounge chair, and I handed her a glass.

“Cheers,” I said as we clinked.

“Here’s to you,” she answered, then took a sip. “So good. Just what I needed.”