Chapter 60
I was late.
As I rushed across the busy pavement, the city in which I was standing buzzed with activity and vibrated with vitality.
SoHo was in full swing, with galleries staging shows, art collectors weaving in and out of coffee shops, and the unmistakable buzz of creative minds. SoHo was a bustling neighborhood.
Even though the big opening of my gallery was only a few days away, the weight of the final touches seemed to increase with each step that I took.
In spite of the fact that today was meant to be about promotion and networking, my thoughts was too preoccupied with recent happenings.
I felt as though I was caught between old flames after Caleb's abrupt reappearance, his approaches, and Tyler's clumsy attempts to reinsert himself in my life. The mystery love letters just made things more confusing than they already were.
These letters had been arriving on a daily basis, and each one seemed to be that much more personal than the one that came before it. It was as though someone knew things that I rarely discussed, since the details were too personal.
The delivery, however, was accompanied by a peculiar exhilaration, despite the fact that it was unsettling.
I decided to stop by The Brew & Brush, a little coffee shop that is well-known for being frequented by a diverse group of art fans and industry personnel.
I only needed five minutes for a coffee boost before another evening event.
As I was examining the space, a familiar voice behind me murmured, "Samantha?"
I turned, and my eyes rested on Owen.
My heart performed an odd little flip. It had been years since we last spoke.
Back then, Owen was a colleague who had occasionally flirted and been a nice face. It was Julie, though, who had twisted that friendship into something much darker, using a simple snapshot of us talking to rip my life with Tyler apart.
"Owen!" I attempted to push away the memories and gave him a nice smile. "It's been ages."
He looked almost the same, maybe a touch sharper in his tailored suit, but his face still had that childlike appeal that made him seem out of place in the tough business world.
He grinned, brushing a hand through his dark hair. "You look amazing," he observed, staring at my clothes and nodding appreciatively. "I heard you opened your own gallery. That's significant news. Congratulations."
"Thank you! It's been...a ride, that's for sure," I laughed. "And you? How are things at Sterling?"
"Oh, I actually left Sterling a while back. I'm with M&T Galleries now. Still in marketing but handling a new range of clientele. It's been fantastic, challenging, you know." He leaned against the counter, ordering a coffee for himself, then turned his attention back to me. "But enough about me. We have to catch up properly."
We grabbed seats near the window, and the next half-hour flowed effortlessly between us.
Owen's chuckle was just as contagious as I remembered.
He talked about projects, funny industry anecdotes, and even a couple career changes that startled me. It was simple to slip into the old dynamic, the one that had felt like a genuine friendship.
"I still remember your drive back as Sterling," he remarked, a nostalgic twinkle in his eye. "You always seemed to be on the verge of something big."
I smiled, while a flicker of uneasiness passed through me. "Life had different plans back then."
Owen hesitated, a shade of regret sliding over his features. "Yeah. It's a tragedy way everything went down. That whole mess... It wasn't fair to you."
My throat clenched. Memories of Tyler's rage, the miscarriage, the loss, all emerged briefly before I managed to force them aside. "It's in the past," I said softly.
He nodded, respect in his gaze as he let the subject continue on.
We laughed about previous coworkers, discussed industry shifts, and found ourselves absorbed in a comfortable, uninhibited back-and-forth.
The years slid away, and for a moment, it felt like I was connecting with someone who actually knew what I had gone through.
As our chat wound down, Owen straightened, appearing contemplative.
"Look, I know it's been a while, but I'd love for you to see the new space at M&T. We might have lunch afterward, catch up more."
"I'd love that," I said, actually meaning it. "Tomorrow?"
"Perfect," he murmured, flashing me another one of those effortless smiles.
We exchanged short goodbyes, and I watched him depart into the street, a sense of homesickness tugging at me.
Owen was a reminder of a chapter I'd closed, yet there was something soothing about reuniting with him in this new, no-pressure atmosphere. I was laughing to myself as I made my way back to the gallery, the familiar SoHo streets growing quieter as the twilight set in.
The walk back allowed my mind to decompress from the day's events.
Tomorrow, I thought.
Tomorrow, I'll have a break, see a fresh space, maybe step outside my universe for a moment. For the first time in weeks, I felt like I'd found a tiny pocket of quiet amidst the commotion.
When I reached the gallery's entrance, I hesitated.
There it was.. the now-familiar cream envelope sitting against the glass door, half-hidden in the shadows. My heartbeat quickened.
Another one. I walked forward, stooping down to take it up, my fingers quivering slightly as I clutched the thick paper.
This letter felt heavier than the others somehow, like it bore even more weight. I turned it over in my hands, studying every inch before placing it inside my purse.
I couldn't bring myself to read it here, in the open, exposed. Not at this time.
As I fumbled for my keys to unlock the door, my foot brushed against something little, something plastic. I looked down and saw a rectangular card laying facedown on the ground alongside the envelope.
Frowning, I went down and picked it up, turned it over.
It was a business card.. Owen's. His name, his work title at M&T Galleries, the identical logo I'd seen countless times over the years.
It was unmistakable.
For a long period, I stared at the card in my hand, trying to process.
How? Why? Owen had just departed. He couldn't have dropped this after our coffee.. we'd said farewell blocks away.
And now, here it was, undeniably tied to the letter that had been sitting outside my gallery.
My thoughts darted through options, but they all landed on a single, unpleasant thought.
Could Owen be the one behind the letters?
I collapsed down the steps, clutching the card and repeating our talk from earlier in my memory, trying for hints, for anything that might explain how he may know those intimate information from the letters.
The thoughtful gestures, the quotations, the recollections that only someone close would understand... It all started to come into place, sending a chill creeping up my spine.
Owen.
I felt the walls of reality twist and close in,
the cordial reunion taking on a new, frightening edge.
The reality loomed in front of me, unpleasant and unreal, as I sat there, the night thickening around me.