Page 35
Epilogue
The Elken Grove Winter Arts Fair had transformed the community center into a wonderland of local craftsmanship, but Jess barely noticed the other booths.
She couldn't stop staring at their display.
The collaborative pieces drew the most attention: Wayne's forged iron intertwined with her blown glass—candleholders where metal vines cradled glass flames in shades of amber and crimson, garden stakes with glass flowers blooming from wrought iron stems, and the centerpiece that had taken them six weeks to perfect: a tree sculpture where Wayne's metalwork formed the trunk and branches while her glass pieces became leaves that caught and scattered light like captured sunshine.
“These are extraordinary,” a woman from an Atlanta gallery said, examining the tree closely. “The juxtaposition of strength and delicacy—it's quite moving. Do you have a price list?”
Jess handed her one, trying to keep her expression professional instead of giddy. This was the third gallery owner who'd asked. The third.
Beside their collaborative work sat their individual pieces. Wayne's practical metalwork—gates, hooks, decorative brackets—and those delicate heart pendants. This year's batch for the breast cancer fundraiser had already sold out, with a waiting list for next year. And her glass: tumblers, vases, bowls, and those baubles that had evolved from “pretty decorations” to distinctly her own artistic voice over the past three months of focused work.
“Jess!” Zoey appeared with her camera and notebook. “The regional arts reporter from Charlotte wants an interview. And I'm pretty sure I just saw someone from Southern Living taking photos of your work.”
“You're kidding.”
“Dead serious.” Zoey's grin was triumphant. “I told you this fair would be big. Your booth is the talk of the show.”
Before Jess could respond, Graham Hayes materialized beside his wife, their toddler perched on his shoulders, tiny hands gripping his hair. “Sorry to interrupt, but there's a pottery booth two aisles over with the most incredible glazework—I know you'll want to see it for the blog.” He was already steering Zoey away, one hand steadying their daughter's leg. “We'll bring her back, I promise!”
Zoey laughed, letting herself be whisked off. “Five minutes! Then you owe me details about—” She gestured vaguely between Jess and Wayne before disappearing into the crowd.
Jess glanced across the display at Wayne, who was deep in conversation with a couple interested in commissioning a custom gate. He caught her eye and smiled—that warm, genuine smile that still made her heart skip.
Three months ago, she'd been standing in a church parking lot trying to decide between safety and risk.
She'd chosen risk. Chosen art over security, small town over big city, messy and complicated over clean and simple.
Best decision of her life.
“There you are.” Her grandmother appeared, Grandpa in tow. They'd been making the rounds, telling anyone who'd listen about their “talented granddaughter.”
“We're so proud of you, dear.” Grandma squeezed her hand, beaming. “Your grandfather won't stop bragging about those collaborative pieces.”
“Guilty,” Grandpa admitted with a slight smile.
Jess smiled back. Her grandparents had been noticeably better about boundaries since she'd moved into the apartment above the Caffeine Drip. They still worried, still offered unsolicited advice, but they'd started asking before acting. Progress.
“The collaborative pieces are brilliant,” Grandpa said. “You two work well together.”
“We do.” Jess looked at Wayne again. They'd fallen into an easy rhythm—afternoons in the barn creating side by side, evenings tangled together in bed, weekends discovering all the ways two people could fit into each other's lives. It wasn't seamless—Wayne still occasionally retreated when vulnerability loomed, and Jess still sometimes charged ahead without checking if he was ready. But they talked. They adjusted. And the making-up part? That was never a hardship.
The afternoon flew by in a blur of conversations, commissions, and sales. By the time the crowds began thinning, Jess's feet ached and her face hurt from smiling.
Wayne appeared beside her as she was tallying their sales. “How'd we do?”
“Three gallery offers, five custom commissions for collaborative pieces, and we sold almost everything we brought.” Jess showed him the numbers. “Wayne, this is real. We can actually make a living doing this.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I'm terrified it's a dream and I'm going to wake up back in Brooklyn, broke and desperate.”
He pulled her close, kissing her temple. “Not a dream. This is real. You're real. We're real.”
Before Jess could respond, her grandfather appeared at their booth, hands clasped behind his back in that formal way he had when he was trying to look casual.
“Wayne.” Her grandfather nodded at the metalwork display. “Might I have a word?”
