Page 147 of Booked on You
Millie comes and gets me so I can make my way to the front. I smile at strangers and wave at old friends. People snap shots of me with their cell phones, like I don’t see them doing it. Tomorrow, I can only imagine what the gossip sites will say, knowing she didn’t attend one of the biggest events of my business.
Maybe the hero and heroine in her book get their forever, but will we get ours?
I spent the better part of my day reading about a couple who chose love over fear. And now I’m standing in a room full of people who keep asking where Scarlett is, and I have no answer.
I should’ve told her I loved her before she left. Maybe I should’ve begged her to stay and been brave like Jordan instead of letting her walk away.
“Ezra.” Paula touches my elbow. “It’s time.”
“Already?”
“You’ve got this.” She gives me a warm grin. “Go get ’em.”
The lights dim, and a spotlight hits the stage as I walk across it. The crowd quietens and turns their attention to me.
I move behind the podium, keeping my head high, and my smile planted.
The lights are bright, and my eyes scan across the thousand faces looking up at me, waiting.
I pull my notes from my pocket and place them on top of the podium, then rest my hands on the sides.
“Good evening, all,” I start, and my voice sounds steadier than I feel. “Thank you for being my guests of honor tonight. It means the world to me to see this room full of people who believe in supporting young but also struggling artists.”
I take a breath and launch into the speech I’ve practiced a hundred times in the mirror over the past week. “My mother started this gala twenty-five years ago because she believed every kid deserved to have access to art education regardless of their family’s income. She saw how many struggling artists needed financial help so they could continue with their craft. Mom believed art changes lives for the creator and the consumer. Money shouldn’t be the reason someone doesn’t use their talent.”
My throat gets tight talking about her, but it always does because she was so passionate.
“When my mother got sick, she refused to quit for a very long time. I wanted her to take it easy and enjoy what she had left of her life. But she was committed to this event until the very end.” I swallow hard. “Creating art isn’t easy. It takes courage to put yourself out there, knowing you will probably fail. A lot. But you still show up, even when it’s hard. And at the end of it, you have something you can be proud of. Every piece in the silent auction was created by a human and is one of a kind. All the money raised will go directly back into the art community.”
The crowd is silent and attentive. I can see Millie in the front row, dabbing at her eyes.
“That’s what we’re here to celebrate tonight.” I glance around the room, taking in the moment. “Art saved my life. When my mom got sick, pottery became the only way I could process what was happening. It gave me somewhere to put my grief and fear and anger.”
I take another breath. “That’s what art does. It gives us a way to…”
Movement at the back of the room catches my eye, and I glance up as murmurs spread to the front.
I glance to where everyone is staring, then cover my eyes from the glare of the lights and see Scarlett.
“It gives us a way to…” I trail off and just stare at her, like she’s a figment of my imagination.
She’s wearing a floor-length black gown that fits her curves like a glove. Her hair is down and in bouncy curls. She stops, realizing I’m not the only one focused on her. The entire room stares at her.
A genuine smile touches my lips.
Scarlett’s here.
My thoughts disappear, and my brain completely shuts down.
The crowd shifts, and a thousand people wait for me to continue, but I don’t remember how to speak or even the last thing I said.
Scarlett’s emotions start to take over, and she mouths something that I can’t quite make out, but I think it’s something likefinish your speech.
“Sorry.” I grip the microphone to steady myself and force my eyes away from her. “I just…someoneveryimportant to me just walked in.”
I clear my throat and recover quickly. “Where was I?”
I glance down at my notes, but the words blur together.
