Mia nodded slowly. Then she did something unexpected. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a crumpled flyer. It was an open call for local artists at a Wynwood gallery—submissions due tomorrow.
“Happy birthday. Cassie paid me an obscene amount of money to be your ‘Personal Miami Experience.’” She made air quotes. “Apparently, your fantasy is to live ‘the life’—meaning, you wanted to know what it’s like to be me for a day. The real me. Not the Instagram reel.”
That was the plan, until her phone buzzed with a text from her best friend, Cassie: Check your doorstep. Your present is bigger than your future.
