She couldn’t delude herself that she was anywhere close to disrupting the conventional jewelry business—nowhere near competing with Pavlin & Co. She’d been living in a fantasy world. What had she expected? That she’d graduate from college and some billionaire would throw money at her? That they’d look at her Instagram and anoint her the second coming of Elsa Peretti? Even winning the NYSD award—the small, attainable goal she’d set for herself along the way—wasn’t a game-changer. Instead of focusing on what she was doing, the reporter seemed more interested in what she wasn’t doing. And wouldn’t anyone who read the article feel the same?

The redbrick path to the house was lined with flowering bushes. While most of the homes on Commercial had neatly trimmed hydrangea bushes, the front garden of Maud’s pink-shuttered Victorian was a maze of tall grass, marigolds, purple zinnias, sunflowers, and ferns. The house itself was marked with a metal plaque—one of dozens around town—designating the building as having once been the home of a notable artist.

Alvie sat on the front porch, nestled in a cushioned wicker chair with an open bottle of wine on a side table.

“Hey,” Gemma said, sitting on a swinging bench across from her. “I thought you said we needed to be there by five to get a spot.”

“We do,” Alvie said. “This is just pre-gaming. No one shows up at the Boatslip sober.”

Gemma accepted the glass Alvie poured for her. It was a pale white, fruity but not sweet. It went down easy and she had to force herself not to drink it too quickly. She hadn’t eaten in several hours and in her frame of mind she’d be on the fast track to wasted.

She glanced at the front door, wondering if Sanjay was inside. He’d texted her earlier, asking how the interview went. She’d written back, Fine. She’d managed to work in a mention of him when the reporter asked about her success on Instagram. “Photography is instrumental to my business,” she’d said, and told the story of how she and Sanjay began working together to launch her brand.

“Maud should be down any minute and then we can head over,” Alvie said.

Gemma barely heard her because at that moment Sanjay rounded the sidewalk corner, heading to the house. He had his camera bag over one shoulder and was talking on his phone, not noticing the small group on the porch until he was almost at the steps. He abruptly ended his call.

“Hey, have a drink with us,” Alvie called out. Sanjay climbed the stairs and set his camera equipment down on the ground.

“So what happened with the interview?” he said to Gemma.

“Nothing happened,” she said. “I texted you that it went fine.”