“What?” she asked, and when Vanessa pointed, said, “This?”
This was the empty storefront right next to La Vida Mocha, where, pre-pandemic, an art gallery had been. Now, of course, the display windows were empty, save for a “For Lease” sign. Through the windows, she could see the equally barren space inside, littered with a couple of empty moving boxes. Megan had never visited the gallery when it was still around. That was due solely to the fact that the gallery sold nothing but tacky beach scene paintings, some of them done on velvet. Velvet! Megan had always thought it less an art gallery and more of a souvenir shop catering to the lowest common denominator of the tourist crowd.
“This would be an awesome spot for your art gallery,” Vanessa said, peering through the dusty window.
Megan scoffed.
“Art gallery?” What was this woman talking about? “Did you forget I’m moving to New York?”
Vanessa smiled.
“I know, I know; I’m just kidding. But do you remember what was here before? Those fucking velvet paintings? It would be nice if a real artist like you had this space.”
Megan glowed at the compliment.
“With my luck,” Vanessa continued, “they’ll open a Jehovah’s Witness Kingdom Hall or the regional headquarters of the RNC in this space.”
Megan shuddered.
“I don’t know which would be worse,” she said. She stared at the empty storefront. This would be an awesome spot for a gallery of her own. Downtown. Within walking distance of the beach. Next door to a coffeeshop. A coffeeshop owned by the sexiest barista in San Diego Country. A sexy barista who thought Megan was a super talented artist.
Megan turned Vanessa to face her and then took Vanessa’s chin in her hand and moved in for a deep kiss. She didn’t care that they were out in public. Her tongue ran along Vanessa’s lip, demanding entrance, and Vanessa obliged, surrendering her tongue to dance with Megan’s.
“You’re freaking awesome,” Megan murmured, when she pulled away. “Are you sure there isn’t—Oh my God!” she yelped, jumping away from Vanessa. When Vanessa turned to see what Megan was staring at, she yelped too.
That old lady had materialized again, same purse clutched in her tiny hands, same Mister Magoo glasses, same serene smile on her thin lips.
“Hello, dears,” she said.
“Jesus, you’re like a genie!” Megan exclaimed, her hand over her heart, trying to calm down from being startled like that.
“Are you thinking of leasing this space also?” the old woman asked Vanessa.
“No, ma’am.” Vanessa answered. She nodded towards Megan. “I wish she was able to, though. She’s an artist and I think this would make a great gallery for her.”
“Oh, what a wonderful idea!” the lady said. “It would be so nice to have another art gallery in town! You should do it!”
Megan blushed.
“Unfortunately, I’m moving to New York.”
The old lady frowned.
“That’s hardly a reason not to do it nowadays. Here’s what you do: You hire someone local you trust to man the place while you run the entire thing remotely from New York. The secret, I’ve learned, is to have a good VPN. You know, for all the encryption security.”
Megan’s mouth dropped open. She didn’t know which surprised her more: that this elderly lady knew what a VPN was, or that she had accurately described the advantages of using it. She shared a look with Vanessa who was apparently only just keeping her laughter in check.
“Anyway, dear, you think about it,” the lady told Megan before turning to Vanessa and looping her arm around hers. She started leading Vanessa back to La Vida Mocha. “Now that that’s settled,” she said as they walked, “I find myself in the mood for one of your iced coffees, please; but this time, I am going to go a little wild. I’d like you to add a shot of vanilla to it!”
Megan, trying not to laugh, gave Vanessa a little shrug when Vanessa turned back to look at her as she was being led away.
Chapter 21
Vanessa was so tired, her eyes hurt.
As soon as she stepped through the front door of her house at a little after six p.m., she dropped her bag on the floor, toed off her shoes, went straight to her living room and fell face first on her overstuffed couch, her feet hanging off the edge of one of the couch’s arms.
“Oh my God, this feels so fucking good!” she said into the cushion her face was currently half-buried in. She had no intention of moving. Sure, she needed a shower, she should probably have dinner and, if she was honest with herself, despite being in excellent shape, if she laid here like this for m