IVSal was up to her neck in toner and loudly cussing when Bethan marched in. The harassed designer desperately needed a new printer, or at least one that didn’t ooze ink at the first signs of hard work.
In an attempt to stem the flow of cyan, she had managed to get it all over her hands, across her forehead and down her shirt. However, as Sal was routinely covered in splashes of paint from her life outside the museum as an artist, she hardly noticed.
She clocked Bethan’s face first; Sal knew that look well. As the older of the two by twenty years, Sal was already a fixture at the museum when Bethan arrived.
At first, Sal had thought the younger woman to be closed off, a bit distant and not at all the type of person she’d wish to spend time with. Sal was loud, expressive, and demonstrati
