Lila’s P.O.V.
The quiet hum of the art center was a refreshing contrast to the bustling chaos of the exhibition last week. I’d almost forgotten how calm it could be here—until Maggie and I found ourselves surrounded by stacks of bubble wrap, cardboard boxes, and more sold art pieces than we knew what to do with. The air smelled faintly of paint and paper, mixed with the lavender oil Maggie insisted on diffusing in the back room “for good energy.”
I lifted a canvas from the exhibition’s “sold” section, carefully rolling it into a tube for shipping.
“Remind me again why we thought boxing all of these pieces ourselves was a good idea?”
“Because we’re both absolutely brilliant and marginally unhinged,” Maggie said with a grin, expertly folding the edges of a cardboard box.
“And because
