The only way it doesn't hurt

Part Four

The door opened before we reached it.

A woman stepped out, smiling warmly. “You must be the London team.”

She looked to be around our age—slim, long dark curls, dressed in a linen blouse tucked into loose trousers. There was something grounded about her energy, something local. She extended her hand to Theo first.

“I’m Maya Leona. Welcome to Rosebury. We’ve been looking forward to this.”

“Maya,” Theo greeted with his usual charm, then gestured to the rest of us. “This is Naomi—Head of Curation. Lauren, our assistant-slash-wizard. Leah, junior producer. And of course, Ewan Rhoswen, our lead photographer.”

Maya’s smile was gracious as she shook each hand. “We’re really excited to have you here. I’ll show you around before we sit down for the intro session.”

Inside, the gallery was light and wood and warmth. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, falling across carefully arranged pieces—some familiar, some waiting to be discovered. The place smelled faintly of oil paint and fresh flowers.

Maya led us through a small corridor into a cozy meeting space where tea and a plate of shortbread had already been set on a low table. Everything here felt slower. Softer.

“Before we begin,” Maya said, pouring cups as everyone took their seats, “I should mention that today’s more of a casual meet and greet. The full meeting’s in two days—our gallery director and a few key artists will be joining then.”

Leah perked up instantly. “Will the illustrator be there? The one for the crossover project?”

Maya nodded, settling into her seat. “Yes. She’ll be present for the full planning session. She really wanted to meet you all today, but something came up—she couldn’t make it.”

Leah’s disappointment was brief. “I just love her style. I’ve been following her for months, actually. Her sketches feel like... fairytales, but with a heartbeat.”

I kept my expression neutral, only half listening.

Illustrator. Right.

But no name was offered. No reason for me to care yet.

I glanced out the window as the others chatted—at the fog lifting over the distant hills, the blurred outlines of the sea. Two months here. That was the assignment.

Whatever story I was meant to find—whether in cottages or markets or unspoken tension—it would begin here.

Quietly.

Even if I hadn’t met its other narrator yet.

Theo was already leaning a little closer to Maya, charm turned up just enough to be obvious to those who knew him.

“So, Maya,” he said, swirling the tea like it was something stronger. “You’ve got us all enchanted already—and we haven’t even seen the artist line-up yet. Tell me, is everyone in Rosebury this disarming or just you?”

Maya laughed, not missing a beat. “I think we save the best welcomes for out-of-towners with expensive shoes.”

“Ouch.” Theo grinned, checking his polished boots with a mock wince. “Fair enough. But if that’s your version of a soft landing, I’m nervous to see how you critique the actual work.”

“I believe in honest opinions served with lemon drizzle cake,” she replied smoothly, standing to pass around the said cake slices from a nearby tray. “Keeps people humble.”

Naomi chuckled, clearly impressed. “You’ll fit right in with us.”

Lauren, quieter but observant as always, nodded in agreement. “She’s good. I like her.”

Leah was already flipping through one of the gallery’s lookbooks on the table, pointing out pieces she recognized. “I saw this on your Instagram—your curation’s gorgeous, Maya.”

“Thank you,” Maya said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “We’re proud of what we’ve built here. It’s small, but it’s real.”

Somehow, they were all already folding into the space like they’d been here a week instead of ten minutes. Theo, cracking little jokes. Naomi, leaning forward in interest. Leah talking a mile a minute about pairings and themes. Even Lauren, who rarely said much during these early visits, was scribbling notes with genuine focus.

And me?

I sipped the tea, still warm, and looked around the room.

It was strange how fast they could adapt, how easily they connected.

Maybe I was too good at the part where I didn’t.

Still, I watched Maya as she moved between them—graceful, composed, sharp-witted. She was the kind of person who knew the name of every local dog and which artist needed which blend of coffee to stay sane during exhibit installs. Not performative. Just... present.

I could see why the gallery trusted her.

I just couldn’t figure out why any of it unsettled me.

“You okay there, boss?” Theo nudged my shoulder as he leaned back in his chair, catching me mid-thought.

“Fine,” I replied shortly. “Just listening.”

Maya’s eyes flicked to me briefly, as if reading something behind the answer. But she didn’t press. Instead, she turned to Leah, pointing out a few pieces that would be part of the crossover display.

Leah practically bounced in her seat, eyes alight like she was mid-sugar rush. “Okay—but seriously. When do we get to meet the illustrator? I’ve been obsessed with her work since that fox-and-raincoat series. There’s this softness, but also something really raw. Who is she?”

Maya smiled warmly, smoothing down the corner of the gallery's print catalogue. “She’s a bit of a mystery, I’ll admit. Quiet, not big on spotlight.”

“But she’s brilliant,” Leah pressed. “And she’s local?”

“Yes.” Maya’s voice softened with pride. “She’s been here a few years now. Works from home mostly. Illustrator, yes—but she also writes and illustrates children’s books. The whimsical sort that still hit you in the chest.”

Naomi raised her brows, interested. “That’s rare. Most artists I know focus on one lane.”

“She balances both,” Maya said, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “And she’s a mother. So her days are full before the sun even finishes rising.”

Something about the way she said it made me glance up.

Mother.

It landed strangely in my chest—familiar and unfamiliar at the same time.

“She must not sleep,” Lauren murmured, admiration in her voice.

“She does it all with a quiet kind of grace,” Maya continued. “But she doesn’t really talk about her life much. Keeps to herself. We’re just lucky she agreed to contribute.”

Leah, notebook out again, was scribbling furiously. “Do we have a moodboard of her pieces yet? I'd love to start thinking about how we’ll pair visuals and tone.”

“I can get you a folder by tomorrow,” Maya said. “She’s finalizing which of her pieces she’s submitting.”

And I—

I sat back, letting their voices fill the space, and tried to pretend I wasn’t more curious than I should be. That I wasn’t already forming a shape in my mind from nothing but scraps—an illustrator with restraint, softness, a kind of hidden weight behind her work.

It was the kind of voice I tried not to let into my camera lens. The kind that made me want to understand, and that always ended up costing something.

Not that it mattered.

She was just a collaborator. A name I hadn’t heard yet.

That was all.