"So," Ethan said, his arms crossed as he studied the space. "You've been thinking about it. What's the verdict?"
Ava sighed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I don't know why I'm even entertaining this idea. The gallery isn't ready, and I'm not ready."
"You don't have to be ready," Ethan said, leaning casually against the counter. "You just have to be willing. There's a difference."
Ava shot him a skeptical look. "That's very philosophical for someone who forgot their own lyrics on stage last week."
Ethan grinned. "Touché. But seriously, what's the worst that could happen? You show a few pieces, I play some songs, people drink cheap wine and pretend they're sophisticated. Everyone wins."
The thought of exposing her work—her unfinished, deeply personal pieces—filled Ava with equal parts terror and exhilaration. She glanced at the stack of canvases against the wall, the edges of her mother's sunrise painting peeking out.
"Fine," she said finally, crossing her arms. "But only if you help with the setup."
"Deal," Ethan said, his grin widening.
Later that afternoon, Ethan convinced Ava to go with him to the local farmer's market to pick up decorations for the event.
The market was bustling, the air filled with the mingling scents of fresh bread, ripe fruit, and salty sea air. Vendors called out to passersby, their stalls brimming with colorful produce, handmade crafts, and jars of preserves.
"This place is way more lively than I remember," Ava said as they wandered through the crowd.
"Small towns like this have a way of surprising you," Ethan replied, handing her a bright yellow daisy from one of the flower stalls.
Ava rolled her eyes but accepted the flower, tucking it into the pocket of her jacket. "You're ridiculous."
"Maybe," Ethan said with a shrug. "But you're smiling, so I'll take it as a win."
They spent the next hour gathering candles, string lights, and a few potted plants to brighten the gallery. Ava felt her anxiety about the event begin to ebb, replaced by a tentative sense of excitement.
That evening, after Ethan had left to rehearse, Ava returned to the gallery to sort through more of her mother's belongings. She opened a large, dusty trunk she'd been avoiding for weeks, its brass hinges creaking as she lifted the lid.
Inside were stacks of sketchbooks, rolls of canvas, and a collection of old photographs. Ava picked up one of the sketchbooks, its cover worn and soft from years of use.
Flipping through the pages, she found herself mesmerized by the fluid lines and vivid colors. Her mother's style had always been bold and unapologetic, capturing the world as she saw it rather than how it was.
One page stopped Ava cold. It was a rough sketch of two figures standing side by side—a young Ava and her father. Her mother had written a note in the margin: "Even when we're apart, we're connected."
The tears came before Ava could stop them, hot and unrelenting. She clutched the sketchbook to her chest, her mother's words echoing in her mind.
The next morning, Ava woke to the sound of rain hammering against the window. The storm had rolled in overnight, turning the streets of Ashbourne into a maze of puddles and rivulets.
Despite the weather, she made her way to the gallery, determined to continue preparing for the event. She spent hours rearranging the space, hanging string lights, and setting up a makeshift stage for Ethan.
By mid-afternoon, the rain had lightened to a drizzle, and Ava took a break to sit by the window with a cup of tea. The gallery felt different now—less like a burden and more like a promise.
The bell above the door jingled, and Ava looked up to see Ethan walk in, his hair damp from the rain. He carried his guitar case in one hand and a folded piece of paper in the other.
"Thought you could use some company," he said, shaking off his jacket.
Ava smiled faintly. "Thanks. It's been a long day."
Ethan sat across from her, setting the paper on the table between them. "So, I've been working on something. A new song. I was hoping to play it at the event, but I could use a second opinion."
Ava hesitated, then nodded. "Let's hear it."
Ethan pulled out his guitar and began to play, the melody soft and haunting. The lyrics were raw, full of longing and regret, and Ava felt the weight of them settle in her chest.
When he finished, the silence in the room was profound.
"That was beautiful," Ava said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. "Who's it about?"
Ethan looked down at his guitar, his fingers brushing the strings absently. "Someone I lost a long time ago."
The pain in his voice was palpable, and Ava felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to reach out to him. But she stayed where she was, unsure of what to say.
The day of the event arrived faster than Ava expected. The gallery was transformed, its walls adorned with her mother's paintings and a few of her own tentative sketches. Candles flickered on every surface, casting warm, golden light across the room.
The first guests arrived just after sunset, a mix of locals and a few of Ethan's bandmates. Ava hovered near the door, her nerves jangling as she watched people move through the space.
Ethan appeared beside her, his presence steady and reassuring. "You're doing great," he said quietly.
"Am I?" Ava replied, her voice tight with anxiety.
He smiled. "Trust me. They're loving it."
When it was time for Ethan to perform, Ava stood in the back of the room, her heart pounding as he took the makeshift stage. His music filled the gallery, wrapping around the guests like a warm embrace.
For the first time in months, Ava felt a sense of peace. The gallery wasn't just a reminder of her past anymore—it was a part of her future.
As the night wound down, Ava stepped outside to get some air. The cool breeze was a welcome relief after the heat and noise of the gallery.
She was surprised to find Ethan already outside, leaning against the railing with a cigarette between his fingers.
"You smoke?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Only when I'm nervous," he admitted, exhaling a plume of smoke.
"What are you nervous about? You were amazing in there."
Ethan hesitated, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "It's not just about tonight. There's... stuff I haven't told you. Things I'm still trying to figure out."
Ava frowned, but before she could ask more, Ethan stubbed out the cigarette and turned to her with a small smile. "Thanks for letting me be a part of this," he said. "It means a lot."
"Of course," Ava replied, though his words left her with more questions than answers.