Libby: You’ll have to let me know what you think when you watch it.
Reagan: Or maybe we can watch it together on a date? It sounds like the kind of thing that can’t be enjoyed alone. It’s on my list of great romances to watch. I have a bad habit of just watching the same ones over and over. Since our NDA is in e ect, I’ll confide in you that romance movies are a little like my comfort food.
Skirting the question that made her suddenly nervous, Libby changed the subject.
Libby: Soooo are we decided on how we met?
Reagan: In one of my classes? That’s quite the meet cute. Do you think it will hold up to scrutiny?
Libby: Very romantic. I’ll be sure to pay attention to my surroundings tomorrow. Add some credible details to my retelling of our origin story.
As Libby leapt out of bed to blow dry her hair and get dressed, she couldn’t help but smile.
What does one wear to their fake girlfriend’s real students’ art exhibition? Why do I care so much?
C H A P T E R 1 2
WITH ONE LAST look in the mirror, Reagan ran her fingers through her hair as she styled her long bangs to the side. It had been a long time since she dyed it blonde and was feeling the itch for a little change.
Usually, she’d have thrown on a t-shirt and jeans without a second thought, but not today. Today she spent an hour in the shower, twenty minutes longer than the water heater held out. When she emerged from the upstairs loft and down to the main studio area, Reagan was dressed in a sleeveless white blouse and pink trousers. A chunk of rose quartz hanging at the end of a gold chain o ered the bit of clarity she nee
ded.
In the studio, Reagan busied herself with rearranging the table covered in hand-painted and glazed bowls before she fiddled with a large flamingo painted in a puzzle pattern.
What the hell is wrong with me? I’m not a fidgeter. Before she could change the layout all together, the industrial metal door screeched open and blasted the studio with sunlight.
“Peggy! You made it!”
“Hi, doll!” The elderly woman waved one hand while she clung to a tall, handsome man with the other. “I got Nurse Charlie here to give me a ride. He took the afternoon o from work for me and everything.”
Reagan hugged her favorite student before shaking hands with her escort and thanking him outside of Peggy’s earshot.
While she was showing o Peggy’s work, a steady stream of students and their loved ones filtered into the studio.
Every time the door lumbered open, Reagan’s head snapped toward the creaking sound like it was mounted on a swivel. Each time it wasn’t Libby her smile faltered. But only for a second.
When all her students were present and helping themselves to sodas and snacks, Reagan swallowed her disappointment with some flavored seltzer and stopped looking at the entrance.
“I just want to take a second to welcome everybody,”
Reagan called as she leapt onto a table to stand above the crowd of thirty milling around the studio. “Thank you all for being here. We’re so proud to share our hard work and creativity with you all.”
As Reagan called out each of her potters by name and pointed to their showcase piece, she forgot the thread of disappointment pulling at her stomach. She was nearly at the end when a sliver of light appeared in the corner of her eye. Just before the door creaked closed, she caught sight of wavy brown hair and the guilty expression of a woman sneaking in late.
Struggling to keep her train of thought on track, Reagan boasted about her youngest student’s attention to detail when creating an Alice in Wonderland inspired chess set.
Every time the kid’s dad asked a question, Reagan’s eyes drifted to Libby, who was e ortlessly blending into the crowd as if she’d always been there.
Slowly, Reagan snaked around the studio glad-handing until she slid up alongside Libby engaged in a discussion with Freddie, who’d spent months sculpting a self-portrait.
When he’d finished, Reagan hadn’t been the only person
moved to tears. No one else in the class had ever seen a person with Down’s Syndrome reflected back at them in clay either.
“Freddie’s ability to capture motion and emotion is incredibly striking,” Libby said without taking her eyes o the image of the boy playing with a French Bulldog.
“See?” Reagan crossed her arms. “I’m not the only one who says it.”