Whoever is running this account is brilliant. Rosalind thanks you from the bottom of her cold, dead heart. Please contact my assistant Lisa Zimmerli at 212-555-1981.

I had to read the message twice before I fully comprehended its contents, and then I gasped aloud. Brilliant. Irina Venn, a visionary artist whom I had admired for years, thought I was brilliant.

The word “brilliant” was still echoing through my mind as I called the number Irina had given.

“Lisa Zimmerli,” Irina’s assistant answered.

“Lisa, hi,” I said, my voice sounding unnaturally shrill. “My name is Audrey Miller, and I’m the Social Media Manager of the Hirshhorn Museum and Sculpture Garden. As you know, we’re exhibiting Irina Venn’s The Life and Death of Rosalind Rose. I just received a direct message from Irina on Instagram asking me to contact you.”

“Of course, yes. Thanks for calling. Irina has been obsessed with your Instagram posts. She thinks you really get Rosalind.”

“I’m so glad to know she’s pleased,” I said, striving to keep my voice professional while every cell of my body shrieked with triumph.

“Very pleased. In fact, Irina has decided to create a video especially for your institution. In it, she’ll discuss her inspiration and process for creating the pieces. She says you’re free to use it however you wish, but she suggests as a complement to the exhibit.”

I had to swallow my scream of victory. Irina Venn was creating something special for our museum? More to the point, she was creating something because she liked my social media coverage? That promotion was as good as mine.

I promised to connect Lisa with the appropriate person on our end and then hung up, still smiling so hard my face hurt. I spun around, pumping my fist in the air in celebration, and jumped when I found Lawrence standing directly behind me.

“Lawrence! I didn’t know you were there.”

“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he said. He adjusted his round glasses and gave me a quizzical look. “You look awfully pleased with yourself.”

“That’s because I just got off the phone with Irina Venn’s assistant, and Irina likes what I’m doing with Rosalind on Instagram so much that she’s creating a special video for us to exhibit alongside the dioramas!”

“Wow,” Lawrence said, widening his eyes. “That’s incredible.”

“I know!” I exclaimed, deliriously happy, and threw my arms around him.

If he was put off by my lack of professionalism, he didn’t show it. Instead, he squeezed me back and said, “Congratulations, Audrey.”

I SAW THE BRIGHT ORANGE from half a block away. I squinted, confused, as I tried to make sense of the color attached to my gate. Were those … flowers? I had been certain I would come home from a late spin class to find Ryan had broken through the new locks and trashed my apartment, but instead … there were flowers? As I drew nearer, I was able to confirm that yes, there were in fact flowers—a gorgeous bouquet, bursting with orange roses, brightly colored zinnias, and sprigs of wildflowers—fastened to my front gate.