“I’m scared, Merrick,” Ryan said as he straightened his bowtie one more time, using the mirror in the entryway.
He’d spent the previous week doing some sketching from memory, as he hadn’t wanted to press his luck and leave the house to go looking for ideas—not when he knew Merrick habitually checked his car’s odometer. Then he’d limned out a few ideas for new drawings.
Now, it was the evening of the exhibition, and Merrick had convinced him to wear a tux, “Because you are the star and stars should dress appropriately.”
“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” Merrick replied, smiling as he helped Ryan adjust the tie. “And before you say it, Mr. Foster and I are not the only ones who love your work. Once the gallery patrons see what you have on display tonight, they’ll be outbidding each other
