He dropped his fork. “Wait. What?”
“I know, it’s crazy, but I’ve always hated the night, and now I live in a world of darkness.” She stabbed a forkful of scrambled eggs and took a bite. “Not bad,” she said after she swallowed. “I cooked them in the bacon grease because I couldn’t find the oil.”
“I usually use butter.”
She nodded. “Hence no oil. That makes sense.”
They sat there for a moment in silence while they ate. He looked around the kitchen. She’d cleaned the dishes and put them away. It baffled him at how he’d misread her.
“I think I owe you an apology.”
She laughed. “Wait until you’re certain you don’t get sick.”
She was funny. Despite her circumstances, she found humor in things, or at least she liked to yank his chain.
“No, I’m sorry for thinking I’d have to babysit you.” The bacon he picked up was crispier than he liked but edible by any standards. “It looks like you’re babysitting me.”
Her hand went to her coffee cup, and she pulled the mug to her lips. She drank deeply and stared at him like she could see him. It was the most off-putting thing. Her eyes seemed to take in everything, and yet he knew she saw nothing.
“It’s easy to misjudge a person until you know them.”
He agreed judgment came fast and easy to most. He never thought he was like the rest of the world, but she’d proven he was. “Tell you what. Once you’re dressed, I’ll take you to your studio. That way, you can start packing. I have some clients to see, and then I’ll stop by at lunch and pick you up.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. You found your way around the kitchen, but I don’t want you trying to get to The Guild Creative Center on your own.”
“I would have tried.” She picked up her phone sitting next to her plate. “This is my lifeline. I could have asked it to navigate for me.”
“I don’t even want to think about it.” He rose and put his empty plate in the sink. “It might get you there, but it won’t tell you what’s in your path.”
“I have my cane for that.”
“Are you good with it?”
She laughed. “No, I suck, but isn’t it time to figure it out and get better?”
He narrowed his eyes and took her in. He wanted to dislike her because that would make his growing attraction easier to ignore.
“Get dressed. Since you cooked, I’ll clean. Can you be ready in twenty minutes?”
“I’ll be there in ten.”
She was as good as her word. Ten minutes later, her cane tapped along the hallway and came to a stop at the kitchen entrance.
He stared at her for a few minutes. She was wearing the same clothes she had on yesterday, but something was different. As he moved toward her, he saw it was her eyes; they were no longer clouded with confusion.
“You look nice.” He moved past her to get his keys from the table.
“Thank you. I used to worry about what I looked like and now ... well, I just hope my lip gloss is on my lips.”
He stared at her glistening lips for too long, wondering if the shiny pink gloss was sweet tasting.
“You look good.” He noticed a piece of hair that hadn’t got tucked into the hair tie. “Can I fix your hair? There’s rogue section hanging loose.”
She pulled the elastic out, and the blonde strands fell over her shoulders. “Have at it. You can’t do worse than a blind girl.”
“Hey, hair is my specialty.” He ran his fingers through her soft tresses. “I helped Riley with hers when we were kids. Dad remarried after mom left, but Kathy was never really a mother. She certainly did nothing to help make Riley’s life easier.” He pulled her hair into a ponytail and secured the hair tie. “There, it’s all contained.” Before she stepped away, he leaned forward and breathed her in. “What perfume are you wearing?”
“I think it’s called bacon and coffee with a spritz of lavender-scented hand sanitizer.”
He wrapped his arm over her shoulder. “It’s working for you.”
She counted the steps as she made her way down the stairs. At the bottom, she cocked her head to the side. “Told you I could count.”
Side by side, they walked around the corner to where his truck was parked, and he helped her inside.
When he climbed behind the steering wheel, he turned to her. “I totally underestimated you. I don’t think there’s much you can’t do.”
“Wrong, I can’t see.”
He turned the key, and the engine rumbled to life.
It took them less than ten minutes to get to her studio. When they arrived, he got out of the truck and walked her to the entrance, where she stood in front of the door and took several breaths.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes.” She shook her head. “No.” She stuck the key in the lock and swung the door open. “I’m not sure how this will go. It feels like a funeral.”
He looked at his watch. He could spend a little time helping her if she wanted his assistance.
“Let’s start this together.”
“I got it. You’ve done enough.”
“I’ve got time.” He stepped inside her studio and took in the canvases that lined the walls. The back side of the room was all windows and light. The forest sprang up in the distance, circling a meadow of wildflowers.
She silently moved there, like a moth drawn to a flame, and leaned against the windowsill. “Stunning, right? I can still see the snow on the ground from the last time I visited.” She stepped back and looked at the paintings that lined the walls. “Most of them are of that meadow during all the seasons.”
He walked the circle of the big room, hypnotized by the paintings and their artistry. “They’re … remarkable,” he said in awe as he looked around the room. He noticed that they were all in various stages of completion; some merely had the land and sky, but others were almost finished. “I bet you could paint with your eyes closed.”
She turned around and leaned against the wall.
“I used to. It was a game to me. I’d tie a bandana over my eyes and see what I could come up with.”
“And?”
“They weren’t all awful.”
He moved toward her and set his hands on her shoulders. “I heard that you’re in a bit of a pickle.”
“You know those pickles, they’re hard to get out of.” She leaned forward and set her head against his chest. “My life is a mess.”
He wrapped his arm around her back and held her close. “Maybe, or maybe you can actually save yourself. You can still paint. Your hands aren’t broken.”
She tilted her head back so he could see her eyes. A single tear ran down her cheek. “I can’t. It’s impossible.”
He chuckled. “Says the blind woman who cooked me breakfast this morning. I think you’re capable of anything you put your mind to. Let’s see.” He looked around the studio for a blank canvas. “Let’s set up a canvas, and you can try it.”
She shook her head. “I can’t. I have no perspective.”
He tapped the top of her head. “You have everything you need right here. I truly believe that you can do anything you put your mind to. I mean, you are still an artist, so you have a handle on color and scale.”
She sighed but nodded. “I used to, but I’m not sure anymore.”
“Just try. What can it hurt?”
“Nothing, I suppose.”
“That’s the spirit.”
He placed a canvas on an easel and found a table where she stored her paints. “The biggest problem I see is knowing what color you’re using.”
“White is the thickest.”
“How do you want them set up?”
Her hands shook as she felt her way across the surface of the table. “I can’t do this.”
“You can. Tell me what order.”
She let out a growl. “Fine, let’s do them in the order of the color wheel.”
He set her tubes of paint in a row fr
om yellow, green, blue, to purple, red, and orange. He placed the white and black to each side. “Your brushes are here. There’s some kind of palette and a can of linseed oil.”
“Thank you.” She turned in a circle. “Do you see a smock around?”
He grabbed it from a hook by the door and helped her into it. A look at his watch told him he needed to go, but he hated to leave her alone. “Are you going to be okay?”
“You dropped me off so I could pack up my stuff, not paint.”
“There’s nothing wrong with a little detour.”
She snapped the front of the blue cotton jacket together. “You know this means I have to stay longer.”
“There are worse things than having you in the apartment.” He moved toward the door. “What’s your dinner specialty?”
She picked up a tube of paint and squeezed a dollop onto the palette. “Takeout pizza.”
“I’ll be back in a few hours.” He realized she was missing one thing. He found a large piece of cotton sheeting in the corner. He tore off a strip, walked back to her, and covered her eyes. “Just like old times.” He kissed the top of her head and left.
All the way to the new builds the Cooper brothers were erecting, he told himself he was an idiot. If he’d just packed her stuff up, she’d be on her way by tomorrow. He reminded himself that he wasn’t looking for a companion or in need of love. He lacked the qualifications to be a good anything, especially a boyfriend, particularly for a woman who needed so much more than he could give.
Chapter Seven
Sitting on the floor covered in paint and shame, caused anger to boil in her veins. Painting blindfolded was not the same as painting blind. At the end of scenario one, she could take off whatever covered her eyes and correct mistakes. In the second example, there was no save.
Having fallen from the easel, the corner of the canvas covered her thigh. She picked it up and flung it across the room. She could hear the destruction of the frame as it hit the wall.
In her mind, she’d painted the meadow from memory. Tall trees rose on the outskirts, protecting the flowers. A small rabbit scurried across the field of green grass. That was her vision, but who knew what went on the canvas. For all she knew, the rabbit’s head was in the trees, and the grass was climbing the bark of the pines.
She had no perspective on anything these days. How was she supposed to finish ten canvases when she could barely match her clothes? And the Albright project would never get completed. The advance would have to be paid back, but she didn’t have a plan. And how was she supposed to feel about a man who loathed having her in his home, and yet, made her feel something wonderful by being there? For a moment, she had value beyond an artist, but that wasn’t real. It was a mirage in a desert of despair.
The feeling that warmed her belly that morning as he pressed his lips to her hair wasn't real. He was setting her on a path to accomplish what she came here to do. His talk of painting gave her hope, but the act showed her reality—life as she knew it was over.
She buried her face in her hands and sobbed.
“I’m back,” she heard from behind her.
Heavy footfalls moved toward her, and she cried harder.
“Oh hell. What happened?” Baxter knelt beside her.
The iciness of the cement seeped through her pores until she shook. The cold floor had chilled her entire being, but the heat emanating from him comforted her. She opened her mouth to speak, but a plaintive wail escaped, and she found herself being pulled into his lap. He leaned against the wall and cradled her in his arms.
Soothing words coated her while warm arms held her.
She knew she should rise and walk away, but his touch was the only thing keeping her tethered to sanity. His sweet words telling her it would be okay made it seem possible. She wanted to believe them, but she knew the truth. She was a lawsuit away from total destruction.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I shouldn’t have left you alone.” He shifted her, so she sat sideways on his lap with one arm caressing her back and the other cupping her cheek. “It’s just that you were so positive this morning and ...”
She drew in a shaky breath and let her head fall against his chest. “It’s not your fault. I drank the Kool-Aid because I wanted to believe my life wasn’t over.”
He held her tighter. “Your life isn’t over, it’s just different.”
“I was an artist. It was how I made a living, but I’m no longer that person.”
His hand rested on her sternum. “You are still an artist. It’s steeped in your soul, a part of your heart, and your being.”
She pointed away from them. Having nothing to give her perspective, she didn’t know what she was aiming at, but it didn’t matter. “I don’t even know what I painted.” He shifted her off his lap and rose to his feet. With his arm wrapped over her shoulders, he walked her several feet away.
“It’s good, Sosie. It’s not like the others, but who wants the same thing?”
“My clients.”
“Get new clients.”
She shifted away, but the feeling was hollow and cold, so she moved back to his side.
“What do you see when you look at the canvas?”
His body shook with laughter. “Besides the big gaping hole in the center?”
“There’s a hole?”
His lips touched the top of her head again. This time they lingered there for several seconds. “Yep, it cuts straight through the forest like you were paving a road—a new road for yourself.” He shifted from side to side. “I like it. What are you calling this piece?”
“Trash, I’m calling it trash. Throw it away.”
His hand cupped her shoulder and pulled her closer. “No way, this is a Sosie Grant original.”
“Like me, it has no value.”
“I disagree. It’s a progress piece, and I love it.”
“You can have it. It’s not even finished and never will be.” She sniffled and sighed.
“Like you, it’s a work in progress. None of us are ever finished. We are constantly learning and growing.”
“Who are you?”
He laughed. “I’m Baxter Black, and I’m hungry. How about I take my new roommate to lunch?”
She looked up at him or at least hoped she was looking at him. “How can you eat at a time like this?”
He turned her around and unsnapped the smock. “It takes energy to recreate yourself, you’ll need fuel. You’re not over Sosie, your life has just begun.” They started for the door when he stopped. “I almost forgot my art.”
“You are not taking that, are you?”
He let her go, and the sound of his shoes moved deeper into the studio. “You gave it to me. I’d never take your gift for granted. I have the perfect place to hang it when my house is finished.”
“Garage rafters?”
“Nope, this is fireplace art.” He pressed his arm against her hand.
She gripped him and followed him out the door. “Perfect. Get the flame really hot and toss it in.”
“Such a comedian.”
“I’m serious. Just toss it away.”
“Nope, let’s name it.”
“Rage.”
She heard the car door open and a shuffling sound, then the door shut before another opened, and he helped her inside.
“I can see that, but honestly, the sun is too bright, and the bunny is too cute.”
“Oh my God, you can see the rabbit?”
“Sure, it’s as clear as mud.” The sound of his laugh followed him around the car until he opened the driver’s door and climbed inside. “If it wasn’t for the ears, I wouldn’t have really known.”
“It’s awful, isn’t it?”
“Nope, it’s beautiful, and you know why? It came from your soul. That painting is the beginning of something.” He put the truck in gear and pulled forward.
“That painting is wet, and you’re insane.”
The truck shifted, and the ground turned from bumpy to
smooth.
“Wait, I forgot my bag and my cane.”
He reached over and grabbed her hand. “Do you trust me?”
Did she? She had to because, at this point in her life, there was no one else to count on.
“I’m driving blind here, Baxter. I don’t know what direction to go anymore.”
“Go in the direction I’m going. I won’t leave you behind.”
“Will your direction take me by the Corner Store to get a toothbrush?”
He let go of her hand, and there was a rustling sound that came from behind. “I already got you one and some face wipes and some moisturizer my sister says a girl can’t live without.”
She sat in stunned silence. “Why would you do that?”
“Maybe I’m nice, or maybe that breakfast was the best meal I’ve eaten in a long time, and I’m jockeying for more.”
“You’re insane.”
He made a hard left, then came to a stop. “I’ve been called worse. Just last night, some hot chick called me an asshole.”
She knew he was referring to her. “Are you sure you should drive?”
He killed the engine. “I’m an excellent driver, why?”
“'Hot chick'? I think you might be vision impaired too.”
“Come on, let’s eat.” He exited the car at the same time she did, although she stood next to her closed door waiting for him. He asked her to trust him, and this was his first test. She couldn’t depend on anyone who led her astray.
She smelled his cologne on the air as he approached to take her hand and place it on his arm.
“What’s that cologne you wear?”
He leaned in and whispered, “It’s a signature blend called cocky asshole.”
She smiled. “It fits you.” How funny was it, that only a half an hour before she was ready to throw herself off a cliff, and now she was dining with a man that felt like heaven and smelled like trouble?
He led her into the diner and helped her into a booth. Moments later, arms wrapped around her in a hug.
“Oh my God, Sosie. It’s been so long.” The person speaking scooted into the booth next to her. “I’m sorry to hear about your vision loss.”
She tried to put a face to the voice but couldn’t and wished now that she’d taken the time to get to know people better.
One Hundred Glances (An Aspen Cove Small Town Romance Book 14) Page 5
