Page 50 of Mating With My Grumpy Alphas
My phone buzzed with a text from Kit:Just finished hanging the last print. Everything looks incredible! You should be here in 30 minutes - people are already starting to arrive early.
Thirty minutes. In thirty minutes, I’d walk into that community center and face the possibility of public judgment, criticism, or worse—polite indifference. But I’d also face the possibility of recognition, connection, and validation that my work had value beyond my own satisfaction.
Another message came through, this one from Elias:Brought you some calming tea blend for before the event. No pressure to use it, just wanted you to have something soothing available.
The thoughtfulness of that gesture made something warm bloom in my chest. Elias understood that this evening would be emotionally challenging without making me feel fragile or incompetent. He offered support without assumption, care without expectation of gratitude.
A third message arrived as I was gathering my purse and keys:Looking forward to seeing your work displayed properly. You’ve earned every bit of recognition coming your way. - Wes
And finally, one from Rhett that made me smile despite my nerves:Don’t let anyone tell you those pictures aren’t perfect. Some of us know good work when we see it.
Three different men, three different approaches to encouragement, but all of them believing in me when I was still learning to believe in myself. The support felt overwhelming and comforting in equal measure.
The drive to the community center passed in a blur of last-minute anxiety and anticipatory excitement. When I pulled into the parking lot and saw the number of cars already there, my heart rate spiked dangerously. More people than I’d expected, more attention than I’d prepared for.
But when I walked through the doors and saw my photographs displayed along the main wall with professional lighting and informational placards, something inside me settled into quiet pride. They looked legitimate. Important. Like work that deserved serious consideration.
“Willa!” Kit appeared at my side, practically glowing with excitement. “People have been asking about you all evening. Dr. Martinez is talking about hiring you for ongoing documentation work, and three people have asked about purchasing prints.”
“Purchasing prints?” The concept hadn’t even occurred to me.
“We should have discussed pricing beforehand,” Kit admitted. “But based on the interest level, you could definitely sell these pieces if you wanted to.”
Selling my work. Making money from my artistic vision rather than apologizing for pursuing it. The possibility felt surreal and terrifying and hopeful all at once.
“Willa Rowan?” A woman approached us, extending her hand with a professional smile. “I’m Sarah Illius from the regional artscouncil. I’ve been admiring your wildlife series. It’s absolutely stunning work.”
“Thank you,” I managed, shaking her hand while trying not to let my surprise show.
“We’re always looking for artists whose work supports conservation efforts. Would you be interested in discussing opportunities for broader exhibition? We have partnerships with nature centers throughout the state.”
Broader exhibition. Regional arts council recognition. Partnerships with conservation organizations. Everything Sterling had insisted was impossible without the right connections and commercial appeal.
“I… yes, I think I’d be very interested in that conversation,” I said, hoping my voice sounded steadier than I felt.
Sarah handed me her business card. “Wonderful. I’ll be in touch next week to set something up. This kind of photography, technically excellent but emotionally resonant, is exactly what we need more of. Kit can talk you through how we work, we’ve been working closely with her on her own projects. Hollow Haven really does have some exceptional talent.”
As she moved away, I stood there holding her business card and trying to process what had just happened. Professional recognition. Career opportunities. Validation that my work had value in the broader art world, not just in Hollow Haven’s supportive community.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” a familiar voice said behind me.
I turned to find Wes approaching, wearing dark jeans and a button-down shirt that made his cedar smoke scent seem warmer somehow. He looked comfortable but polished, like someone who belonged at community events but didn’t usually attend them.
“I think I might have just been offered real career opportunities,” I said, showing him Sarah’s business card.
“That’sincredible.” His smile was genuinely pleased, no trace of the territorial jealousy Sterling would have shown at anyone else recognizing my talent. “But not surprising. This work deserves recognition.”
“You came,” I said, suddenly aware of how much his presence meant to me.
“Of course I came. Wouldn’t miss seeing your artistic breakthrough celebrated properly.” He glanced around the room, taking in the crowd gathered around my photographs. “How are you feeling about all this?”
Like I’m remembering who I used to be before someone convinced me I wasn’t good enough, I thought. “Overwhelmed but good overwhelmed, I think.”
“Willa!” Another voice called out, and I turned to see Elias approaching with a small ceramic cup. “Thought you might need this.” He offered me the tea blend he’d mentioned, the scent carrying hints of chamomile and something citrusy that immediately helped settle my nervous energy.
“Thank you.” I took a sip, surprised by how perfectly the blend addressed my exact emotional state. “This is exactly what I needed.”
“Crowd seems impressed,” Elias observed, nodding toward where several people were examining the photographs with the kind of focused attention that indicated genuine appreciation rather than polite interest.
