Page 15 of Surfer's Paradise

Just enough to talk about her work without filtering herself.

Greg had listened. Really listened.

Not just to what the paintings were, but to what they meant.

“It’s so visceral,” he had said at one point, standing in front of a smaller piece—a deep, layered abstraction of a child’s hands gripping the edge of a plastic mattress. A bed that wasn’t really theirs. A home that never belonged to them.

“I’ve never seen foster care represented in this way,” Greg continued now, shaking his head slightly. “It’s breathtaking.”

Rosie swallowed, forcing a tight smile. Breathtaking.

She wasn’t used to men like Greg Taylor looking at her like that.

Like she was something worth investing in.

Like she was something worth knowing.

Greg leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “I want to purchase several of your pieces.”

Rosie’s breath hitched. “Several?”

“And I want to commission something new.” His expression was serious, calculating but warm. He meant it.

“I—” She blinked, stomach flipping. “That’s—”

“I’ll be in touch,” Greg interrupted smoothly, the certainty in his voice grounding her. “You have something rare, Rosie. Don’t doubt that.”

She exhaled slowly. “Thank you.”

His eyes lingered just a little too long.

But before she could think too much about it, Amy swept back in, gathering up empty glasses, nodding toward the far end of the room where staff were starting to close things down.

“It’s eleven,” Amy said. “They’re shutting the doors soon.”

Rosie hadn’t even realized.

She blinked, suddenly lightheaded from the wine, from everything.

“Time flies,” Greg said, finishing his drink, giving her one last assessing look. “We’ll talk soon, Rosie.”

Then he turned, disappearing toward the exit.

Rosie exhaled hard, pressing her fingers to her temples.

She needed air.

She needed a minute to herself.

Amy patted her arm gently. “I’m gonna help clean up.” Then, with a smirk, “Don’t disappear before I get to say I told you so.”

Rosie rolled her eyes but smiled, watching as Amy carried the wine glasses toward the back.

The space was almost empty now. Just a few stragglers, staff moving around, closing up.

And then.

A shift in the air.

---