The Sometime Bride

continued. “Gallery sales are commission based, so whatever price we arrive at is provisional.”
    The corners of Gwen’s mouth took a downturn. The fact was, she didn’t know this at all. “I’m sorry. I’m not sure what you’re saying.”
    Dan set his empty coffee cup aside and laced his fingers together in a sincere fashion. “I’m saying the gallery takes a commission. That’s how it stays in business. Your work for sale there is basically on consignment.”
    The shock and horror hit her in the stomach like a sucker punch. “Consignment? But nothing in Ms. Holstein’s email said anything about—”
    His gaze softened, genuinely apologetic. “I’m sorry, Gwen. She probably thought you knew. Most of the artists we deal with are…experienced.”
    Gwen felt a flash of anger, but she quelled it, realizing nobody had intentionally tried to mislead her. “Are you saying I won’t be getting any money now?” she asked, trying to mask the desperation in her voice.
    “Now?” he asked, as if he’d never considered the possibility. “You mean, like during your ten-day trip to Santa Fe?
    “Gwen, we’re dealing with a process, here. We agree on what we think a reasonable buyer might pay in this market. That is the sale price. The two of us sign a contract, and then you ship the canvases. Once they’re here, we hang them up for sale. As money comes in, it’s funneled directly to you, less the gallery’s twenty-percent commission.”
    Gwen felt her entire world crumbling in on her. Maybe it was her fault, hoping for too much in just one visit. But what if things didn’t sell? What if enough money didn’t come on time? What if the bank failed to extend its credit?
    Gwen thought of Marian and her kids, of lives pulling apart… Of Robert’s repeated infidelities… Her art box being tossed into the ocean… Something cut loose inside, and she felt like she might lose it at any second, break down sobbing on this already soppy napkin. She opened her purse and pulled out a tissue.
    Dan reached a steadying hand across the table and laid it on hers. “Gwen? Are you all right?”
    “Excuse me,” she said, dabbing the corner of her eye. “I’ll be right back.”

    Dan sat there for the longest time, wondering what he’d done wrong. Could Gwen truly have thought she’d fly out of here in just over a week with wads of cash lining her pockets? Were her circumstances really that bad? She’d seemed so fragile when she’d rushed out of here, as if she might break apart at any minute. Dan had no idea what sort of situation she was in, but he did know one thing. If he could, he wanted to help.
    After what seemed like an eternity, Gwen resurfaced, all fresh-faced with newly applied lipstick and powder. Dan was finally starting to understand why women kept so much nonsense in their purses. It was for emergency situations like this.
    “Any better?” he asked with concern.
    She gave a sniff and lifted her chin.
    “Allergies. Never know when they’re going to hit me.”
    “Glad you’re okay.”
    “Yes,” she said, taking her seat. “Just fine, thanks.” She noted the credit card receipt on the table. “Oh, you’ve already paid the bill. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to—”
    “My pleasure,” he said, meaning it. He hadn’t had a lunch this interesting with a woman in a decade. Everything he’d learned about Gwen had been fascinating. But what intrigued him most was all that he didn’t know. “Gwen,” he began, hoping to broach the subject lightly. “I couldn’t help but notice you were a little…thrown by our arrangement.”
    “The consignment, you mean?” she asked proudly. “Oh no, I knew all about it. I suspected that’s how things went.” It was a brave cover, but Dan saw straight through it. Didn’t help her that her chin still trembled slightly.
    “That’s how it normally goes,” he answered. “But there’s really no need for us to go getting all bogged down in normalcy, wouldn’t you say?”
    She knitted her delicately sculpted brow. “I’m sorry? I’m not sure I follow.”
    A few gold tendrils broke free from their pins and spilled forward. Dan had an idiotic impulse to reach out and sweep them back, chancing a touch of her alabaster skin. He stopped himself just in time, tucking away the bill receipt in his pocket instead. “How soon can you get your canvases out here?”
    “To Santa Fe? Why, in just a few days. They’re all packaged and ready to