Page 70 of Always Choosing You

“He said building them with you was always his favorite part about being in Haverport,” Leila said. “I…I hope you’re not mad.”

“I’m not,” Melanie breathed. “It’s beautiful, Leila.”

Leila nodded her head. “Take all the time you need.”

Rory peeked past Leila’s head before she closed the curtain, noticing there was a line forming to get into her exhibit. But it seemed Leila was watching guard, not letting anyone else in until Melanie was finished.

Rory gave her friend one more fierce hug. “Calvin was right.”

“He always is,” Melanie grumbled. “But about what?”

Rory wiped a tear from her cheek. “That you, Melanie, are strong. I would have never been able to do this.”

Her friend shrugged, toying with the pink seashell dangling from a chain around her neck. “If I didn’t have friends like you, I wouldn’t either.”

They both cried at that, holding each other close, staring off at the tiny sandcastle. From that moment on, she vowed to be the kind of friend Melanie deserved. Because friendships like this were hard to come by, and she was going to hold on to it with everything she had.

* * *

Rory left Melanie with Leila so the two could talk about the exhibit, giving her one last chance to make a lap around the banquet hall. She stopped in front of the display titled We Found Love in a Hopeless Place. The sculpture was simply a garbage pail with scraps of bulging out the top and scattered across the floor.

“So where do you think love is if it’s just garbage?” said a middle-aged man next to her.

Rory glanced at the guy to make sure he wasn’t being a creep, but he kept a respectable distance. Combed gray hair, a trimmed beard, and a tweed jacket. Definitely an academic type.

She scanned the sculpture again. A mix of items were scattered haphazardly—torn-up bags from an online shopping spree, a box that once held a Kindle, sticker wrappers, broken pens and pencils, empty coffee bags, shoe boxes, old phones with cracked screens. It felt like the garbage had a theme.

“Maybe because it’s all supposed to represent love that was found,” she said without really thinking. “The things we find that bring us joy. The things we love when life feels a little hopeless.”

The man smiled at Rory, then held out a hand. “Roger Farrow.”

She shook it. “Rory Michaels.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Michaels,” Mr. Farrow said. “Come to visit a friend’s exhibit tonight?”

She pointed to the charcoal curtain, to where Leila and Melanie still huddled closely. “Leila’s exhibit is kind of about my friend.”

“Ah yes, grief,” Mr. Farrow said, like the concept was familiar. “The students fought over using that room, but Ms. Collins was the right call, I think.”

He must be the professor, Rory thought. “It needed that cloak and dagger effect,” she admitted. “The sculptures wouldn’t have felt the same without the darkness and the placement of the lights.”

Mr. Farrow smiled at Rory’s again, thoughtfully this time. “Ms. Michaels, are you a college student?”

“High school senior. Not sure if I’m going to college, to be quite honest.”

“And why is that?”

She stared at the trash, surprised she was admitting this to a stranger. “Because why waste the money if I don’t know what I want to study?”

“But you like art.”

She looked up at Mr. Farrow. “Well…yeah, I guess.”

“It sounds like you do have something you’re interested in.”

Why was this man being so…invasive? “No offense, professor, but art school doesn’t exactly help you with getting a job in the real world.”

“Do you really believe that?”