Indigo (For The Love of Purple #1) - Audrey Faye Page 0,49

snorts. “We’re good at all kinds of exploits around here. Come on. I’ll sneak you into a few alleyways, get you an advance look.”

I stare, bemused and vaguely jealous, as they walk off, two people from wildly different worlds who found a shared language and a way to understand each other in less than two minutes.

Roger chuckles quietly.

Drew shakes his head, his lips quirking. “She has no idea who he is.”

I wrinkle my nose. “I don’t, either.”

His hand reaches for mine. “Micah Azarian. Tech millionaire. There are a lot of them in Vancouver. Roger found them all and convinced them they needed to buy art that wasn’t boring. Apparently he’s still doing that.”

Roger smiles. “This isn’t my show. I merely invited a few people.”

I got some details out of Drew on the way here. I’m not just meeting his agent. I’m meeting the closest thing he’s got to a father—and someone who once gave a young street artist a chance to prove something to the world. “I’m glad Drew was one of them.”

A pleased nod. “I’m delighted that he brought you. I’ve been hearing stories about your shop. It’s quite a brave thing you did, picking up your roots and setting them down somewhere new.”

That was the easy part, but his eyes look like he maybe knows that.

Rodney buzzes up to us on his skateboard, lime-green paint dripping from his brush. “Pops, I think you need to come with me. Some guy in a fancy suit just wandered into the alley where Jewel is waiting and he’s looking at her metal stuff and she’s breathing kind of funny.”

Roger nods as he steps off of the curb. “I’d be happy to assist. Has she shown him the larger work with the twisted blue spikes?”

“Nope. She thinks that one sucks.”

A quiet chuckle. “That’s where a skilled agent can be of assistance. Artists aren’t always good judges of their own work.”

Their conversation fades into the growing noise on the street. I scan the crowd. A lot more people have arrived, some of them looking exactly like guests at a typical art show, and others like they took a wrong turn on the way to a jazz bar or a fishing hole or a rugby field.

I squeeze Drew’s fingers and tug him forward. There’s no art yet, but it doesn’t matter. It’s already wonderful. “Give me a tour?”

He chuckles. “I don’t know any of these people.”

I grin as the energy of the street sweeps us up. “I don’t think that’s going to matter.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

DREW

She’s so absolutely alive.

I can’t look away from Indigo’s face as Nina ends her quick welcome with an ear-blasting whistle that causes a jumble of energy and art to pour out of the alleyways. Flash mob, activated.

The delight in Indigo’s eyes goes supernova. “Oh, look at them all.” She pushes up on her toes. “There’s someone with a sculpture of rusted metal dandelions. They look like they might blow away any second. And a big guy with graffiti canvases. And someone with really awesome dragon masks.” She dances a small jig around me.

Purple swallows preparing to launch into the sky. I take her hand. I don’t want to get left behind. The last few days have mostly been cautious, thoughtful Indigo. This is the Indigo who buys purple rain boots, eats noodles in the countries where they were born, and reshapes her entire life in service of a friend.

Her eyes meet mine. “This was you, once.”

I expected it to be. Now that we’re here, I’m not so sure. I gather her close as the crowd swirls around us, making way for sculptures and canvases and the young artists who are carrying them. Some are timid, holding up their work with apologetic, doubtful eyes. Some have cloaked themselves in a bravado so familiar I can taste it. Some don’t care—unless you look at their fingers, tightly clenched around canvas and metal and clay.

At least I think it’s clay. I crane my neck to the side, trying to get another glimpse of a glaze that was reflecting all of the colors of the sunset.

Indigo grins and tugs on my hand. “Let’s go look.”

I wanted her to look—or I thought I did. This feels naked. Raw.

She squeezes us through a crack in the crowd that wasn’t meant to fit two grown adults and pulls up next to a teenager with suspicious eyes and a porcelain dragon in his hands that shimmers with movement and light.

Indigo reaches out with an awed finger and then yanks