Six weeks. That's how long it took to transform the worn gallery into something beautiful.
I stood in the center of the space the night before opening, surrounded by my paintings on freshly painted walls, track lighting illuminating each piece perfectly, and felt tears prick my eyes.
"It's really happening," I whispered.
Skyler wrapped his arms around me from behind. "You did this. You and your vision and your incredible talent."
"We did this. The pack did this." I gestured at the space. "I couldn't have done it alone."
"No. But you had the courage to try." He kissed my neck. "I'm so proud of you."
The gallery opened at ten the next morning. I'd sent invitations to everyone—pack members, human residents, art collectors from Seattle, even Patricia who promised to drive over. Vera had
